Letters from India Volume I/To the Countess of Buckinghamshire 4
My dearest Sister,—I have at last found a good subject for a letter, something worth writing about. I have heard a great deal about you and Eastcombe, and you have no idea of the fun and pleasure of it; much the most amusing day I have had in India, and quite unexpected. We have had a Captain and Mrs. staying with us at Barrackpore. He is a very clever man, about forty-five, and nearly seven feet high; and four months ago he married a little tiny Miss , who is just eighteen, and does not come up quite to his elbow, but is a good-humoured merry little thing, with a pretty face. However, I have always rather fancied her, and now I know why—there is no rule so safe to go by as what is called a fancy. I asked her to go out with me on the elephant yesterday, and as topics are neither many nor original, I asked where she had lived at home, in town or in the country. ‘At Blackheath chiefly,’ she said; whereupon I said, ‘Do you know a place called Eastcombe in that neighbourhood?’ ‘Oh! yes; such a pretty place, and it belongs to a Lady Buckinghamshire, whom one of my uncles knows very well.’ ‘Did you ever see her?’ I said carelessly, which was rather a shame; but I wanted to see what people at the top of elephants thought of you. ‘Oh! yes; she used to come very often to my uncle’s church, She is very handsome; such a beautiful figure! I used to say to my aunt it was a pleasure to see her come into church.’ Whereupon I nearly kissed the dear little thing, only I was afraid of toppling her off the elephant; so I told her you were my sister, which interested her beyond measure, and she wanted to know if you were not fond of flowers. ‘As my aunt and I used to see her drive out with the front seat empty, and come back with it full of flowers, and my aunt used to say, “How I envy Lady Buckinghamshire the quantity of new flowers she has.”’ Don’t I see you whisking by St. Germain’s chapel, and by those little white tea-caddies of cottages on the Dover Road, and up that lane over which there was a stationary skylark always singing, with your carriage full of Guernsey lilies, and the coachman’s back looking broader than it did the day before. Then, of course, we talked over Greenwich Park, and our own dear house there (that anchor which was so foolishly cut), and the pensioners; and Mrs. had looked through the coloured glasses with which the old man on the top of the hill plagued one’s heart out. That brought her into very near connection with us. But, to crown all, she said, ‘I was once at Eastcombe. Dr. West took me to the lodge to be vaccinated from the gardener’s children.’ Can you conceive such a climax of interest? The luck of meeting at the farthest extremity of the globe with a girl who had been vaccinated by our West from Bell’s and ‘the guinea-pig’s’ children. It made her my second cousin on the spot. The little thing herself was in such delight at being able to talk over her English days; for, like all young Indians, she is quite a stranger to her parents, and her whole heart is with ‘grandmamma and my aunt at Blackheath.’ When they came over to dinner Captain said he had not seen her in such spirits since she came out; and then everybody began asking her questions, and insisted on her recollecting Boritt, which she could not comply with; and, at last, by way of pointing out where he lived, George said, ‘But were you never at Trill’s?’ ‘Oh, Lord Auckland, do you know Trill’s? what a good shop it was, was it not?’ and, as this was almost the first time she had dared to speak to George, it made us all laugh; but there was something cheering in the sound of Trill. Wright said the other day, with a deep sigh, ‘To be sure what a different place this would be if we had but Trill’s shop within reach.’ I have nothing more to say about the s visit, and perhaps you cannot understand the intense interest with which one knocks one’s head against a familiar post in a strange land. I do not mean to call you a post, poor dear sister; but you catch the idea of the simile; and if ever you happen to be 15,000 miles from Eastcombe, you will see the value of the individual who sees and knows the terrace walk and the lodge, &c. Even Dandy Mrs. knew by sight, which I have mentioned to Chance, who tucks himself under his bearer’s blanket and does not care.
I had great amusement on Sunday in watching Chance’s embarkation from Barrackpore. There was a boat going down to Calcutta, in which his man chose to set off; and at low water it is very difficult to go from the Ghaut to the boat, there is such an expanse of mud and water. Chance and his man were plodding over a very slippery plank, and had just reached the boat, when the man’s foot slipped, and of course man and dog fell into the river, which, as they can both swim, did not signify; but it was great fun seeing them both picked out, and then to see all the black creatures on deck down on their knees wiping ‘the Prince Royal,’ as calls him, with their blankets and cloths, leaving Jimmund to dry his own black person. It proved to me how kind the native servants are to their masters’ pets, for I saw all this through a frightfully good telescope which George has bought, and set up on a stand in my room, and it brings people a mile or two nearer than the next room. I am not sure whether we cannot hear what they say through it; but, at all events, I could see that the natives, who did not know that they were observed, instead of giving Chance a kick for tumbling into the water, were wrapping him up in their own garments—and they have nothing to spare in that article—and they finally handed him into the cabin, where I suppose he took possession of the sofa; but the telescope does not look through a deal board, which, considering its other powers, is disappointing.
Having constantly abused the weather, I must say that for the last month it has really been much pleasanter than I thought possible. The mornings till nine or ten quite cool, and those people who are strong and silly enough to get up and go out before breakfast say it is quite cold. The days are all alike in India, because the old sun will have its own wicked will, and the glare and heat make it necessary to keep the shutters shut; but with that the house is quite cool now; and then the hour in the evening from five to six, which is all the going out we can have, is really very enjoyable. It grows too foggy and dark after six to stay out; which is a pity. It certainly is a shocking life for very young people. I don’t think it signifies so much for us who have had our share of air and exercise in our day; but there are a number of young ladies just come out by the last ships, looking so fresh and English, and longing to amuse themselves; and it must be such a bore at that age to be shut up for twenty-three hours out of the twenty-four; and the one hour that they are out is only an airing just where the roads are watered. They have no gardens, no villages, no poor people, no schools, no poultry to look after—none of the occupations of young people. Very few of them are at their ease with their parents; and, in short, it is a melancholy sight to see a new young arrival.
Our Captain has a sister just landed; a nice-looking, merry little girl, with a fresh colour, which will be all gone in six weeks; and very high spirits, which will soon follow the colour; and she had never seen her parents since she was two years old.
God bless you, dearest sister. I like Mrs . Don’t you?