Part 14

Knowing the sporting proclivities of Ulwur, we had not wasted much of our valuable time in the “field” elsewhere, and after some consultation with the Maharajah, drew up a programme of sports. The first on the list was one which now has become a thing of the past in Europe, viz., hawking. Here, however, birds are kept specially for this kind of amusement, and they are so admirably trained that one can spend hours watching the wonderful control the master has over his birds. The next chase on the feathery tribe, and a most extraordinary pastime of our host, is bird-catching with lynxes. The lynx, as everyone knows, is a half-link between the cat and the tiger, a most active quadruped, more especially when trained for the sport now witnessed here. The lynx is brought out tied to a small chain. The birds are kept in a box, with a spring trap. Pigeons are usually resorted to. The keeper loosens the collar of the lynx, but holds him, whilst the bird is thrown up in the air. Treacherous though he be by nature, the lynx never attempts to take an undue advantage of its prey. It allows a fair start, and seldom, if ever, tries to catch it before it is fairly on the wing, from twelve to sixteen feet from the ground. One bound, and the bird is caught. We witnessed the operation more than a hundred times, out of which the lynx did not miss its aim more than once in twenty.

The Maharajah’s great love for horseflesh naturally leads him to pay special care to his stud—Arabs, English, Pegu; indeed, every known breed is well and largely represented. The stables, which completely outshine even Her Majesty’s at Windsor Castle, are alone worthy of a trip to Ulwur. White marble loose boxes, with marble mangers and troughs, marble slabs over the doors, with gold inscriptions of name and pedigree, may perhaps convey some idea of the care that is taken of this valuable and extensive stud. Every horse has its own attendants, who live, eat, and sleep with the animal, whose instinct and intellect is so well under control that it obeys every word, every sign of its keeper. But, above all, the most remarkable feature is how thoroughly all these beautiful creatures know “the master.” By the bye, it may be worth mentioning here, that a whim of the Maharajah was to ride up to the top of his palace, where the zenana dwells. In order to be able to do so, the main staircase of the palace has been removed, and an inclined plane substituted, so that when His Highness goes “home,” instead of dismounting at the gate of the palace, he gallops up to the very door of the harem, where the groom in waiting takes charge of his horse, and leads it to the stables, until summoned by his master to lead it up again.

As might naturally be inferred, His Highness is a good whip, and his love for the horse extends to a great proclivity for driving. Indeed, so great is that fancy in him, that he possesses more, and a greater variety of, carriages than anyone I ever came across. It would fill a volume to give a lucid enumeration of the various vehicles I saw at Ulwur. From the bullock-gharry to the mail coach, all the newest, as well as the most old-fashioned two, three, or four-wheeled conveyances, can be seen in the various and immense buildings in which they are kept. The Maharajah is not satisfied with the gigs, buggies, landaus, Victorias, barouches, brakes of the outer world; he has taxed his own ingenuity to create novel means of travelling, which are certainly quaint in their way, though very acceptable in case of need. Amongst them I shall confine myself to the “zenana” carriage, which, in reality, is a roomy house, on enormous wheels, much wider and higher than a Pullman railway car, but also much more roomy and comfortable. This ponderous “trap” is drawn by a team of four, six, or eight elephants, according to the Maharajah’s whim. When he has to drive through the city an order has to be issued to close all the shops and stop all traffic. The machine quite fills the streets from side to side.

The other contrivance is more of an amphibious kind. It is a most elegant steam launch, built of polished mahogany, and most gorgeously fitted up. It rests on a cradle provided with four wheels. When bent on a fishing excursion, or inclined for a trip on one of the rivers—which are some distance from the city—His Highness and suite get into the cabin of this lovely yacht, ten or twelve powerful horses or a couple of elephants are yoked to it, and the boat is driven _into_ the water until it floats off its cradle.

This craze for out-of-the-way modes of locomotion would be incomplete if I failed to state that during the Calcutta Exhibition one of the native princes, to whom the representative of Messrs. Fowler and Co. showed a traction road engine, was so struck with it that he at once purchased it, and now uses it occasionally as a steam carriage in his palace grounds.

We had been promised a deer-hunt, and accordingly had to take an early breakfast next morning in order to reach the prairie in which these pretty creatures graze at daybreak, in the cool of the morning. When we came out of the bungalow we found what appeared like a monster circus troupe. In front of our verandah were carriages, horses, camels, elephants, bullock gharries, all harnessed or saddled, and in charge of some fifty or more attendants, all clad in the Maharajah’s livery. A note from His Highness explained that, being in doubt as to what mode of conveyance the ladies would prefer, he begged to send a “choice” for them to select from; but considering the distance we had to go, he would strongly recommend saddle horses, camels, or, better still, elephants.

For the sake of novelty some of the boys mounted the camels. I joined the ladies, and the drivers, having made the elephants kneel, placed ladders on their flanks. We thus got into the “howdah,” a most gorgeously-ornamented apartment, built so as to be securely fixed on the huge animal’s back. When we had taken our seats, the driver (who sits on the neck of the animal, using the back of its ears as stirrups) gave a peculiar cry, at which “Jumbo” gave a lurch which brought up his fore-paws to the ground, naturally throwing the howdah and its contents, at an incline of 45 degrees, towards the elephant’s tail. Before we could exactly realise the position, another “Dutt!” from our dusky driver caused the unwieldy brute to perform with his hind legs the same acrobatic trick he had just accomplished in front. The jerk was more powerful than pleasant, but we had now assumed for the time being a horizontal seat, and—though it was 16 or 18 feet from the ground, we felt pretty safe and comfortable. The jog-trot of the elephant is not unpleasant. We certainly had a marked advantage in point of comfort over the members of our party who had selected camels.

The jungle we traversed was very dense—in some instances really grand. Although thickly populated with tigers, leopards, and other small vermin, we did not see or hear any. At last the timber grew thinner, and we reached a large open plain, to leeward of which we halted.

A number of huntsmen had been sent the day before to scour the neighbourhood, and drive the deer gradually to this prairie, where they soon came, feeding and playing about, quite unconscious of impending danger.

At the space where we had halted we found awaiting our arrival the hunters with the cheetah chained on a small hand-cart, apparently asleep; a leather mask was fastened round the brute’s head, entirely covering its eyes.

When the herd of deer was quietly settled in the centre of the plain before us, two or three of the hunters crept cautiously through the herbage until quite near the game, when one held his hand above the grass; this being a signal that all was ready, the leather bandage was removed from one of the cheetahs. It sat up, gave a yawn, and one look to the plain. Its eyes at once dilated; a sniff, and, like an arrow, it shot across, in stupendous bounds, so rapid and so prodigious, that really the animal seemed ever on the wing. In much less time than it has taken me to describe it—indeed, with the deadly speed and accuracy of a shot—the panther had seized one of the deer by the throat and pinned it to the ground, where it would have torn it to shreds had not one of the scouts been ready to snatch it from its dangerous claws and fangs.

This operation, in my opinion, is the most dangerous part of this kind of sport. It needs, not only a good deal of pluck, but also some management. The hunter—a naked Indian—carries a wooden bowl, a sharp knife, and the leather mask of the cheetah. While the carnivorous, blood-thirsty animal holds its prey, a sharp cut across the deer’s throat causes the blood to flow into the bowl; dropping the knife, but firmly holding the bowl, the native grasps the panther by the back of the neck, and forcing it to relinquish the deer, thrusts its nose into the hot blood; the mask is deftly fixed on, the deer skinned, the entrails and fore-quarters put near the bowl, so that the cheetah may find enough feed to divert its attention from the removal of the hind quarters, which were brought to our halting place, whilst the next cheetah was brought forward for another “slaughter of the innocents.”

At the risk of again losing caste amongst sportsmen, I confess that while glad to have seen this deer-hunting once, I never wish to see it again. It is a pity to take such a mean advantage of a pretty, inoffensive creature, and bring to its resting place its deadly foe, to kill it without even a chance of escape. Fleet as the cheetah is, if it had neared the spot on the weather side, the deer would scent its approach, and then the longer leg would win the day.

These are only a few amongst the many sports our genial host had provided for our amusement during the short stay we made at Ulwur. Every hour of our time was most fully employed driving, riding, or steaming, to visit this most admirably governed kingdom.

One of the sights, however, which deserves special mention, is that of the Crown jewels, belonging to the hereditary prince. A vast, strong, fire-proof room in the palace has been fitted up with large Tann’s safes, reaching from floor to ceiling. A guard stands sentry night and day at the door of this chamber, the keys of which are in the keeping of two trustworthy members of the Government.

In order that we may better inspect this wonderful and valuable collection of gems, a large table, covered with blue cloth, had been placed in the gallery facing the door, and seats provided round it. Our friend Sri-Ram asked the ladies which kind of precious stones they gave preference to. With true feminine acumen diamonds had the majority of votes. Several of the safes were opened; sliding trays, lined with purple velvet, were placed on the table, which at once glittered with most costly jewellery, set with that most precious of all gems. Rings, bangles, brooches, stars, necklaces, tiaras, lockets—indeed, ornaments of all kinds, shapes, and fashion. After these, pearls, lapis lazuli, emeralds, amethysts, rubies, garnets, topazes, cat’s-eyes, turquoise, &c., &c., were laid before us in the same profusion, the last of the “show” being a collection of twelve hundred watches!—the last addition having been made only a few days before in the shape of a shell of diminutive dimension, the case on both sides being most marvellously enamelled work, studded with pearls and brilliants, a _chef-d’œuvre_ of Parisian art.

On inquiry from Sri-Ram I was told that of course the Maharajah and his wives had in their private apartments, and for daily use, some of the most valuable gems; but what this strong room now held was computed to be worth close on a million sterling!

To proceed in the usual course, going from the “sublime to the ridiculous,” we left this gem room, and descended into the vault of the palace, where the coin is kept. Vulgar and ridiculous though they might seem, next to the dazzling sight we had just left, the piles of bags containing gold mohurs, silver rupees, or four-anna pieces, were nevertheless very tempting.

Ulwur is one of the few native princes to whom the British Government has granted the right of coinage, consequently he now issues coins of his own—with, of course, the Empress of India’s effigy. In this strong-room, however, we found many chests or sackfuls of ancient coins, and were permitted to annex a certain number of great antiquity—some bearing dates, in Arabic figures, long, long before the Christian era. Some of the smaller coins were actually beyond computation as to age.

Whilst on the subject, which might prove of interest to archælogists, I will mention that one day while on a hunting expedition in the jungle between Dholpore and Ulwur, we came across a most interesting piece of antiquity in the shape of a bronze cannon—some twenty-five or thirty feet long, and, I should say, weighing several tons. The whole of this piece of ordnance represented a mythological animal something like a griffin—the mouth of the monster forming the muzzle of the gun, whilst its tail ended it. The whole length of the piece is covered with carvings or castings, intermingled with Arabic characters, which, I am sorry to say, I was not able to read. When I mentioned this “find” to the Prince (Dholpore), he told me that his people were aware of the existence of this gun, but no one could say how it came there, though, from some ruins in the neighbourhood, it is evident that at some early period a fort or a city must have existed in the locality.

I regretted very much that time did not allow of my pushing my enquiry further. But it is evident that this gun, which showed great artistic beauty, a perfect knowledge of “powder,” and the use of the appliances in boring metal, must have been manufactured some thousands of years ago, the Arabic characters being quite identical with those I find on the coins given to me by the Maharajah of Ulwur, which bear dates many centuries anterior to the Christian era.

While so much time and so much money are spent in searching the ruins of Pompeii, Herculanum, and Nineveh, I wonder that no one has yet deemed it expedient to search Ceylon or India, where, I am quite sure, most interesting relics of the early history of the world could be traced. I cannot but think that if a corner of the veil which hides the past of India was raised, many secrets would be divulged which would upset old established theories.

Our holiday tour was drawing to a close. The time for sailing from Bombay did not permit of our going to Hyderabad, as we had promised the Nizam to do. We returned to Delhi, and after a short but interesting visit through old Delhi, started direct from Bombay, finding most comfortable quarters at the Waverley Hotel. Whilst Calcutta is essentially an Indian city, Bombay justly claims to be in many respects more European, owing doubtless to its Portuguese origin—the very name, both of the province as well as its metropolitan city, being quite Portuguese—“Bom Bahia”—which in that country’s language means “good harbour,” as that of Bombay most undeniably is. This great mercantile centre, inhabited by nearly three-quarters of a million of people of all nationalities and creeds, has quite a distinctive aspect from any of the other Indian cities, owing, no doubt, to the fact that the town is built on what at one time was an island, which therefore cannot possibly extend in area. The houses are constructed in numerous flats, most of these dwellings being six, seven, and eight stories high.

A large majority of the inhabitants, principally in the trading community, are Parsees, a most thrifty, intelligent race, in whose hands the commerce, banking, &c., are placed.

This being one of the great Parsee centres, these people have their temples, and what they term the “Tower of Silence,” which is the place where the Parsees dispose of their dead. Unlike both Christians, Buddhists, and Mahomedans, they avoid burial, cremation, or committing the dead to the sacred waters of the Ganges.

This Tower of Silence is a structure standing over a deep vault, the summit being an iron grating, upon which the body is deposited high up in the air. The birds of prey which flock around this charnel house soon dispose of the flesh, leaving the bones, when decayed, to fall through the grating into the fosse at the foot of the tower.

There is something terrible in the idea of one’s body being handed over as food for loathsome condors, hawks, and crows, but this is intensified when such things happen as that which occurred whilst I was in Bombay. Madame Follet, the wife of the French Consul in Bombay, was driving home in her open carriage, and when passing near this Tower of Silence, an ærial fight was raging between several birds, for what appeared to be some particular “tit-bit,” the holder of which dropped the object in the carriage. Horrible to say—it was the forearm and small hand of an infant!

I think, after all, that cremation is preferable to this mode of disposing of the dead.

In Bombay, like in other Indian cities, the people do not seem to take much heed of either cholera or smallpox. On one occasion, whilst strolling through the bazaar, I came across a gathering of natives. In forcing my way amongst the crowd, I saw a man writhing in pain on the footpath. Several natives were busily engaged rubbing him with great force, whilst others were holding him tightly round both hands and feet. On inquiry, I was informed that the poor wretch had been seized with cholera, and that while his friends had gone for a palanquin, he was being rubbed to keep up the circulation. I need not say that I made a bee line for my hotel, and inasmuch as several of my children were suffering from attacks of ague and jungle fever, I thought it prudent to expedite our departure from Bombay. I accordingly hastened my arrangements, and within a week we were once more on the “briny,” comfortably settled on board the good ship Parramatta, on our way to Australia.

“HOME, ‘DEAR’ HOME.”

After nearly two years in India one is glad to be once more amongst kindred people. Half a century in Australasia leads me very naturally to look upon it as “home.” All my belongings are Australians; to them, therefore, it is “home.” Besides—be it in Melbourne, Adelaide, Sydney, Brisbane, or even in Perth—everyone I meet is a friend, and it is a comfort to meet friendly faces.

What a change had taken place in Melbourne in two years! Since I had left it the silver-mining had been brought to light, and the land boom had fairly set in.

My return in the midst of this feverish excitement, from a country where all excitement is unknown, was tantamount to a revelation.

Past experience, both in mining or land speculation, made me chary to enter into either. Still, it is not in my nature to remain idle, more particularly in the midst of such a lively community as that of Victoria.

Ere I had been in it three months I began to feel that bank interest was barely enough to get for my money. The marvellous and rapid fortunes made on the Stock or Land Exchange gradually thawed the frigidity of my first impressions.

I need not add that at almost every step I was button-holed by brokers, offering investments. Land increased in value from day to day. A block bought for £100 changed hands within a week for £1000, bought up by a syndicate, floated into a Company for £10,000, and cut up in allotments. Thus some property realised fabulous returns.

Still, I thought all this would come to an end. I could not be persuaded to venture in such risky speculations. I thought that city property would be best. I always had more faith in stone or brick. Consequently, I spotted a block of land in the very centre of Melbourne; half an acre at the corner of Exhibition Street and Little Bourke Street, a piece of land which for the last thirty years had a most wretched name—one that no one would tackle at any price, and which accordingly the owner, who derived no revenue from it, would sell or lease cheap.

Unfortunately, he declined selling, but after long haggling, I secured the place for thirty years at a very low rental. During the interval I had matured my plans, so that the day the lease was executed I commenced the erection of what is now known as the Alexandra Buildings (a block of thirteen three-storied houses with shop fronts), and in the centre of the block what is, and will be for a long time to come, the largest theatre in the Southern Hemisphere.

Alas! I had not reckoned on the many difficulties I would have to encounter. First of all, the City Surveyors, then the Board of Health, and ultimately the Local Option.

Buildings which I had reckoned would not exceed £25,000, owing to the rigidity of the bye-laws of the City Surveyors and Health Board, involved me in an outlay of £40,000, and after going to an enormous outlay for hotel, bars, and cafés, in connection with the theatre, the licence could not be obtained.

Coupled with such disastrous impediments, I had the ill-luck to open the theatre under very bad management, which almost gave the death-blow to my venture. I had hardly been back eighteen months in my Australian home when I had every reason to call it my “dear” home. Trouble, worry, and loss of money preyed on my mind to such an extent that my health failed me altogether. Struggle as I would, everything seemed to go crooked. Doctors and friends vainly tried their skill or kind words to rouse my fallen spirits and energies. I would have thrown up the sponge, when the Government initiated the Centennial Exhibition.

The word “Exhibition” sounded in my ears like the blast of the clarion to the war-horse. If an exhibition was on the _tapis_ I _must_ be in it. Naturally I endeavoured to have a “finger in the pie;” made application to the Victorian Government; laid a scheme before the Cabinet, showing how the great show could be carried on profitably. This, however, “did not suit.” The Exhibition, undertaken by a Ministry flushed with money, was made a political handle to secure popularity. Money was no object: popularity—favouritism—were. My prediction that instead of a surplus of at least £100,000, it would end in a deficit of a quarter of a million, has since been realised, almost to a fraction.

New South Wales needed a representative. My much esteemed and old friend, Mr. Burdett Smith, M.P., the Executive Commissioner for the mother colony, recommended my appointment, so that once again I put on the harness. The excitement of Exhibition work proved the best and only cure to my ailments. As my old friend and medical adviser, Dr. B. Fyffe, had often told my people, “Only take the Alexandra off his mind and he will soon be cured.” In the turmoil and hard work attending the Exhibition I forgot the Alexandra and my other troubles. The wheel of Fortune once more turned in the right direction. After many vicissitudes and many trials, Simonsen’s opera, Carrie Swain, and last of all, my old friend, Alfred Dampier, helped to put my theatre in the right groove. The two former lessees had a short but profitable season, whilst Dampier, with great wisdom, adopted a system of popular prices, coupled with excellence of acting and _mise-en-scene_, which has given him unabated success for the last two years—a success which there is every probability he will maintain to the end of his lease, which we have gladly extended for a long period.

Under such able management I had no hesitation to leave the property under the charge of one of my sons, and under medical advice, have sought the bracing atmosphere of the South Island of New Zealand, to complete the cure of ailments which, after all, were more mental than physical.