Part 17

From Tobolsk they proceeded to Bernaoul, the capital of the province of Kolyvan, where Dr. Brown’s journey terminated. At this place Ledyard remained a whole week, and was entertained in a very hospitable manner by the treasurer of the mines. He observes, that the immense plain he had traversed in reaching this city was in many places dotted with large mounds of earth, which very much resembled those supposed monumental piles found among various tribes of North America, and the barrows or heroic tombs of ancient Europe. In the people the Tartar features began to appear before they reached Kazan. But there existed great variety in the population; the same village containing every variety of mankind, from those with fair skin, light hair, and white eyes, to those of olive complexion, and jet-black eyes and hair. Poverty, as may be supposed, was no stranger in these villages; for they had not, like the Chremylus of Aristophanes, discovered the secret of restoring sight to Plutus; but this did not discourage the fair moieties of the peasants from painting their faces, like a discontented English beauty, both with red and white. As these damsels are not niggardly of their kisses, it would be useless for them to adopt the custom which prevailed among the ancient Greek ladies, of painting the lips; but this, it would seem, is the sole consideration which opposes the introduction of the custom. “The Tartar, however situated,” says Ledyard, “is a voluptuary; and it is an original and striking trait in their character, from the grand seignior to him who pitches his tent on the wild frontiers of Russia and China, that they are more addicted to real sensual pleasure than any other people.” This is a judicious remark, and corroborates the testimony of the ancient historian, who tells us that the Scythian ladies were accustomed to put out the eyes of their male slaves, that they might be ignorant of the name and quality of the mistresses to whose wantonness they were made subservient.

From Barnaoul he proceeded with an imperial courier to Tomsk, discovering as he rode along marks of the tremendous winds which sometimes devastate Siberia. The trees of the forest were uprooted, and whole fields of grain were beaten into the earth. Hurrying onward in the same rapid manner, he crossed the Yeïusei at Krasnojarsk, and entered a rough mountainous country covered with thick forests, which continued all the way to Irkutsk, where he arrived in ten days after leaving Tomsk.

During his stay in this town he made an excursion, in company with a German colonel, to the Lake Baikal, which, in the Kalmuck language, signifies the “North Sea.” Arriving on the shores of the lake, they found a galliot, which in summer plies as a packet across the “North Sea.” In this galliot they went out with line and lead to take soundings; but having only fifty fathoms of line, which at one hundred feet from the shore was wholly taken up, they quickly abandoned their soundings, and returned through the rain in the galliot’s boat to Irkutsk.

On the 26th of August he quitted Irkutsk, and proceeded towards the point where he was to embark on the river Lena for Yakutsk. The country in this part was well cultivated, and therefore cheerful; but the forest trees had already begun to drop their foliage, and put on the garb of autumn. Having proceeded one hundred and fifty miles in his kibitka, he embarked with Lieutenant Laxman, a Swede, in a boat on the Lena, and commenced a voyage of fourteen hundred miles. Their boat was carried along at the rate of eighty or a hundred miles per day, “the river gradually increasing in size, and the mountain scenery putting on an infinite variety of forms, alternately sublime and picturesque, bold and fantastic, with craggy rocks and jutting headlands, bearing on their brows the verdure of pines, larches, and other evergreens, and alpine shrubs.” All the way to Yakutsk the river was studded with islands, which, recurring at short intervals, added to the romantic effect of the scenery; but the weather was growing cold, and heavy fogs hung over the river until a late hour in the morning. The mountains flanking the river were said to abound with wolves and bears; and there was an abundance of wild fowl, of which our travellers shot as many as they pleased. Salmon-trout was plentiful in the river; and the inhabitants fished with seines, and also with spears, like the natives of Tahiti, by torchlight.

On the 18th of September he arrived at Yakutsk, where he immediately waited on the commandant with his letters of recommendation, and explained his desire of proceeding with all possible celerity to Okotsk, before winter should shut in and cut off his progress. The commandant, however, had received secret orders to detain him; and under pretence that the season was already too far advanced, informed him that he must pass the winter at Yakutsk. Though nothing could exceed the rage and vexation of Ledyard at this unexpected disappointment, he was sensible that it was necessary to submit; the determination of the despots around him being as irresistible as destiny. He therefore bent his attention to the consideration of the objects within his reach; and in these compulsory studies awaited the return of spring.

Of the Russians in general Ledyard’s experience led him to think unfavourably; but “I have observed,” says he, “among all nations, that the women ornament themselves more than the men; that, wherever found, they are the same kind, civil, obliging, humane, tender beings; that they are ever inclined to be gay and cheerful, timorous and modest. They do not hesitate, like man, to perform a hospitable or generous action; not haughty, nor arrogant, nor supercilious, but full of courtesy, and fond of society; industrious, economical, ingenious; more liable in general to err than man, but in general also more virtuous, and performing more good actions than he. I never addressed myself in the language of decency and friendship to a woman, whether civilized or savage, without receiving a decent and friendly answer. With man it has often been otherwise. In wandering over the barren plains of inhospitable Denmark, through honest Sweden, frozen Lapland, rude and churlish Finland, unprincipled Russia, and the wide-spread regions of the wandering Tartar, if hungry, dry, cold, wet, or sick, woman has ever been friendly to me, and uniformly so; and to add to this virtue, so worthy of the appellation of benevolence, these actions have been performed in so free and so kind a manner, that if I was dry I drank the sweet draught, and if hungry ate the coarse morsel, with a double relish.” These remarks, to the correctness of which every man worthy of the name will bear testimony, do honour to the heart no less than to the ability of our traveller; for many who have been no less indebted, perhaps, than he to the inexhaustible benevolence of women have repaid the obligation with satire against the whole sex.

During the winter, Captain Billings, who had formerly been assistant-astronomer in Cook’s expedition, but was now in the Russian service, arrived at Yakutsk. He was surprised to meet Ledyard in the heart of Siberia; but having a disinclination to connect himself with any person not favoured by fortune, evinced no disposition to be of the least service to him. It has even been suspected, and not altogether without probability, that Billings had some share in bringing about the unfortunate catastrophe which terminated Ledyard’s travels in Siberia. However, previous to this event, he invited his old shipmate to accompany him to Irkutsk, whither they proceeded up the frozen Lena upon sledges. Here, soon after their arrival, Ledyard was arrested as a French spy, placed in a kibitka with two hussars, and hurried back with incredible speed to the frontiers of Poland, where he was dismissed, with the strictest injunctions never again to enter the dominions of Russia. It would now be idle to inquire into the motives which urged the old profligate she-despot into the commission of this act of flagrant injustice. She had no doubt been told (Dr. Clarke suspects by Billings) that his success might be some way or another detrimental to the interests of her commerce; and, without consideration or inquiry, perhaps in some furious fit of rage or drunkenness, she issued the order for his recall, which was executed with no less barbarity than it was issued.

How the poor victim found his way from Poland to London Heaven only knows. His sufferings, he says, were too great to be disclosed. However, he had scarcely reached London before a proposal was made to him to travel for the African Association, which, wretched as he was, he was but too happy to accept. The object of his mission, like that of many other brave and adventurous men who have perished in the same track, was to explore the centre of Africa from Sennaar westward, “in the latitude and supposed direction of the Niger.” For this purpose he proceeded to Egypt; but having ascended the Nile to Cairo, and made every necessary preparation for travelling with a caravan to Sennaar, he was suddenly attacked by a bilious disorder, and was poisoned by the vitriolic acid which he took as a remedy, in the month of November, 1788.

Mr. Beaufoy, secretary to the African Association, who had several opportunities of conversing with Ledyard while he was in London preparing for his travels in Africa, has drawn the following character of him, which, to those who consider the scantiness of his means and the boldness of his designs, will not appear exaggerated:—“To those who have never seen Mr. Ledyard, it may not, perhaps,” says he, “be uninteresting to know, that his person, though scarcely exceeding the middle size, was remarkably expressive of activity and strength; and that his manners, though unpolished, were neither uncivil nor unpleasing. Little attentive to difference of rank, he seemed to consider all men as his equals, and as such he respected them. His genius, though uncultivated and irregular, was original and comprehensive. Ardent in his wishes, yet calm in his deliberations; daring in his purposes, but guarded in his measures; impatient of control, yet capable of strong endurance; adventurous beyond the conception of ordinary men, yet wary, and considerate, and attentive to all precautions;—he appeared to be formed by nature for achievements of hardihood and peril.”

GEORGE FORSTER.

Born about 1750.—Died 1791.

IT is greatly to be regretted that of the life of this able and adventurous traveller little is known, excepting that portion which was spent in acquiring his reputation. He seems to have been born about the year 1750. At the usual age he entered into the civil service of the East India Company, and was appointed to fill the office of writer at the Madras presidency. Here he gradually rose in the usual manner to offices of trust and emolument until the year 1782, when he obtained permission to visit his friends in England. Instead of adopting the usual mode of returning by sea, he formed the hazardous design of proceeding through the upper provinces of India, Afghanistân, and Persia, into the Russian empire, and thence by sea to England.

Fully aware of the difficulties and dangers of the route, he made every necessary preparation which could be effected in India, obtained bills upon merchants in various cities on his road, and, still further to ensure his safety, determined to adopt the Mohammedan character as soon as he should quit the British territories. With these views he proceeded to Calcutta in the spring of 1782, and, having remained some time at that city, set out on the 23d of May on his journey up the country. His mind was naturally full of those recent and memorable events which established the British power in India; and he visited with peculiar interest several of those fields where our countrymen had won their bloody laurels, and shattered to pieces the mighty fabric of the Mogul empire.

Having visited Burhampore, Moorshedabad, and other places celebrated in the history of India, he on the 25th of June embarked in a boat on the main branch of the Ganges. The river in this place was four miles broad, and, being agitated by a strong wind, which threw the water into short breaking waves, resembled an arm of the sea. The same evening he arrived at Rajmahal. This place, which had lately been the principal city and favourite residence of a powerful and opulent chief, was now reduced to the condition of an insignificant town, which, but for its historical importance, and the mounds of ruins interspersed among the modern buildings, would have possessed but few claims to the attention of the traveller. Forster, who, though by no means of a gloomy disposition, was rather given to moralizing upon the wrecks of ancient grandeur,—a habit which in a country like Hindostan may be easily indulged,—sauntered out in the twilight among the ruined buildings upon the banks of the river, where he found an old man employed in digging. With this remnant of the past age, who happened to be more intelligent and communicative than ordinary, he entered into conversation, and from him learned many particulars of the history of Rajmahal. This spot, he observed, which he was then cultivating, was the site of the _Nobet Ghah_, or music-hall, of the old palace; and that within his recollection a capacious garden had extended in front of his little enclosure, which the Ganges had now swept away.

From Rajmahal he proceeded to Monghee, and from thence to Patna, where he arrived on the 5th of July. This city, which, according to the opinion of several modern geographers, occupies the site of the ancient Palibothra, is still a spacious and populous place, enriched by its opium and saltpetre manufactories. Being here, he could not resist the desire to visit the spot on which a number of English prisoners were massacred in 1763, by order of Cassim Ali, then retreating before our army. The sanguinary command was executed by Sumroo, a German. A monument, but without any inscription, has been erected on the place.

On the 26th of July he arrived at Benares, a city which, for its wealth, costly buildings, and the number of its inhabitants, was considered the first then remaining in the possession of the Hindoos. Hither the professors of the confused and intricate, but frequently sublime, theology of Brahma had retired from all parts of Hindostan as the most holy spot on earth. Being conversant with the language necessary for the conducting of such researches, Forster devoted the time spent at Benares in endeavouring to penetrate, as far as a stranger was permitted, into the mysteries of Brahminism. This subject, after all the researches which have been made by Europeans, is still enveloped in much obscurity. It is not known whether, commencing in the grossest polytheism, the sages of Hindostan gradually elevated their minds to the knowledge of one supreme and invisible God, or, commencing with this simple and sublime truth, degenerated into polytheism and idolatry. The latter is the prevalent theory. It is thought more rational to imagine, that while in every other department of knowledge mankind proceeded from the less to the greater, and by constant exercise improved their mind, the only instrument which man possesses for measuring the universe, their progress in theology, if I may so express myself, has in general been retrograde, at least in Hindostan. Forster was of this opinion. “There is reason,” he says, “to believe, that in the more early periods of time, before the priests of the Hindoos had found it expedient, for the firmer establishment of their sway over the minds of the people, to raise a huge superstructure of emblematical worship, the temples erected to the Supreme Being were plain and void of personification. The remains of one of these are now to be seen on the summit of a hill near the city of Kashmere, which, according to tradition, had been dedicated to the Creator of the world. In this the prayers of those who entered were addressed to the Deity, without supplicating the intercession of any intermediate agent, nor had any image or symbol of the Divine Power a place.” He was likewise informed that at Chillambram, about twenty miles southward of Cuddalore, there was another Hindoo religious edifice, plain, and without any interior figure, which was devoted to the worship of the “Invisible God,” and was never approached but with tokens of profound awe and reverence.

The foundation upon which this theory, which is totally at variance with the history of human nature, has been erected, it is not difficult to discover. In the most remote and barbarous ages of the world, as in all other times, some few men of superior intellect and genius arose, to whom profound meditation and an ardent desire of truth revealed the unity of the Divine nature. These men, perhaps, uniting eloquence with the enthusiasm of virtue, became the nucleus of a small sect of pure worshippers, erected temples to the true God, and laboured to transmit the light of truth to posterity. But these could never have been more in those times than feeble points of light in the thick moral darkness which brooded over the globe; and although their temples and the tradition of their creed may in some instances have been preserved, it would be an abuse of common sense to infer from their enlightenment a general diffusion of knowledge in their times, in opposition to innumerable monuments attesting their extreme ignorance and debasement.

It is not my intention, however, to follow Mr. Forster in his inquiries, which are curious and liberal, into the mythology and philosophy of the Hindoos. The subject has been discussed by others, whose advantages and acquirements I am very far from possessing; and although I am not on all occasions satisfied with the explanations of Sir William Jones or Mr. Colebrook, I should, even with the aid of our ingenious traveller, despair of carrying light into the works which they have left in obscurity.

Having spent three months in conversing with the Brahmins, and endeavouring to see his way through the obscure mazes of their religious system, Forster set out on the 3d of November on an excursion to Bijjighur, a place rendered famous, he observes, in the Bengal annals, from a large amount of plunder acquired there by the English. His first day’s journey brought him to Luttufghur, about eighteen miles south of Benares. The fort, situated in the centre of a circular range of hills, and approached on all sides through a dense and lofty forest, was now deserted, and the passages leading to it were nearly choked up with trees. The circulation of the air being greatly impeded by the hills and woods, the atmosphere had acquired a malignant quality, which, exerting its influence on all animal bodies, produced what in India is termed the hill-fever. In all places of this kind, as, for example, at the southern foot of the Gurwal and Kemaoon mountains, the water partakes of the baneful quality of the air, by which in part it seems to be impregnated with its pestiferous properties, which may, however, be aggravated by the continual falling of branches and leaves into the rivulets and reservoirs.

In this desolate and deserted spot, where the elements array themselves in properties so hostile to life, our traveller found a Mohammedan fakeer, who had taken up his lonely residence at the gate of the fort. He was meager, wan, and nearly consumed by the effects of fever and ague; but when he was advised to leave so melancholy a situation, and go to some other place where he might recover his health, he replied, that he preferred an existence where he was, though under a load of misery, to the chance of starving in districts where he should be wholly unknown.

The view from the fort of Bijjighur, where he arrived next day, is highly diversified and magnificent; but when you throw the eye on the deep and rugged precipice beneath, the prospect is infinitely grand, though not divested of that horror which naturally affects the mind when contemplating objects from so abrupt a height. The rising and setting sun here exhibits a magnificent scene, and excites a train of ideas strongly impressed with a grateful admiration of the First Cause of nature. The view of the setting sun takes in the river Saone, which is seen winding its stream, brightened by the rays of the western light, through a long tract of diversified country. A fort also appears on the side of a distant hill, which is only brought out in the evening prospect.

Returning from thence to Benares, he assumed for his greater safety the name of a Georgian, and on the 12th of December set out for Allahabad. On this road, and indeed on almost every other in India, the traveller seldom fails meeting with a public lodging or a reservoir of water, where he may perform his ablutions and quench his thirst. In every respectable village there is a caravansary, of which the stationary tenants are frequently women, some of whom are very pretty. These approach the traveller on his entrance, and in alluring language describe the various excellences of their several lodgings; and when the choice is made, which, says Forster, is often perplexing, so many are the inducements thrown out on all sides, a bed is laid out for his repose, a smoking-pipe is brought, and the utensils are cleansed for preparing his repast.

From Allahabad he went on to Lucknow, the capital of the kingdom of Oude, a large but irregular and filthy city, which contains little worthy the notice of a traveller. Here he remained some time, however, and then proceeded through the Delhi province to Rampoor, near the foot of the Kemaoon hills. On setting out from this town he enjoyed a complete view of the Himalaya mountains, covered with eternal snows, and forming the boundary between Hindostan and Tibet.

On arriving at Najebabad, a town built by Najeb ud Dowlah to facilitate the commerce of Kashmere, he found that the only caravansary in the place was occupied, and thought himself fortunate in being admitted into a cook’s shop, where kabobs and beefsteaks were dressed in savoury taste for the public. A better place for observing the manners of the people he could scarcely have chosen. It was what a coffee-house is in London, the resort of all the newsmongers, idlers, politicians, and disbanded soldiers of the district. Here, while he was eating his dinner, he saw a boy enter, who inquired whether there were any travellers going to Kashmere or Jummoo, as the kafilah would depart next day. Upon inquiry, he found that this kafilah consisted of about one hundred mules laden with raw silk, cotton cloths, and ordinary calicoes for the Jummoo markets. By a banker, to whom he had been furnished with a letter, he was introduced to the merchants of the kafilah, who readily received him into their company. He now dropped the character of a Georgian, and represented himself as a Turkish merchant going into Kashmere to purchase shawls. To accompany him in this journey he hired a Kashmerian servant, “a fellow of infinite jest,” whose memory was stored with a thousand stories, every one of which he embellished in the telling of it. He was otherwise an active and excellent servant.