CHAPTER VIII
THE GOVERNOR
Great rivers, shady trees, medicinal plants, and virtuous people are not born for themselves, but for the good of mankind in general.-SLOKA.
An important social duty which has to be done on arrival in Madras, besides paying calls on the residents, is the writing of the name of the newcomer in the visitors' book at Government House. It is equivalent to making a call.
As my husband and I drove up to the house, the scarlet and gold of the uniforms, sacred to the use of the representatives of the Empress of India, was an impressive and picturesque sight. The peons stood grouped at the wide entrance with a background of marble-white pillars and green palms and ferns. The long scarlet coat, the red sash with burnished badge worn across the chest, the neatly folded turban, the bare feet and silent tread, the brown complexion, the quiet dignity and deferential manner, were touches that accorded well with the noble building.
We were conducted inside the large hall, of which the staircase occupies a considerable portion, to a table whereon lay the visitors' book for the year 1877. The volumes, which by this time fill more than one shelf, must be of immense interest, containing as they do the autographs of almost every Englishman who has been in the civil and military services of Madras. When the name was duly inscribed and the calling-cards deposited upon the table the magnificent peon in scarlet and gold conducted us back to the carriage. I was whirled away with regret at having had so short a time to make my acquaintance with a building that fully deserves the title of palace.
The old merchants, who laid out the Company's Physic Garden on the banks of the Cooum, little thought, when they obtained a reluctant permission from the directors in 1676 to put up 'two or three chambers for the sick,' that their modest sanatorium would in course of time develop into the imposing pile we call Government House. The building of the first house was completed in 1681. It became the official residence of the Governor. Its successor has seen a long line of visitors, beginning with the Dutch Commissary-General, who was conducted to the old house in the State barge, and culminating in the person of the King-Emperor, who, as Prince of Wales, was entertained by the Duke of Buckingham in 1875.
The change of site was brought about by the destruction of the old house by the French (1746). When the English returned after the rendition of the fort (1749) they found the Company's garden-house levelled to the ground. It was associated with the memory of Yale and Pitt, and a long line of Governors extending over sixty years, beginning with Gyfford and ending with Nicholas Morse, whose bones lie in the cemetery on the island.
Associations carried little weight with the Company, and it was decided (1753) to purchase for the Governor's garden-residence a house in Triplicane that had belonged to Luis de Madeiros, a descendant of one of the old Portuguese merchants of Mylapore. Sir Arthur Havelock, when he was Governor, took an interest in local history, and he suggested that the bungalow standing between the banqueting hall and the river and occupied by the aides might be the old house. There is no means of corroborating this surmise. The latest authority on the topography of Madras is Colonel Love, E.E., who says in his book, 'A List of Pictures in Government House, Madras,' that Madeiros's house was the nucleus of the present building.
Since the acquisition of the property the road has been altered. 'At that time,' says Colonel Love, 'the roads which now bound the park did not exist. The Triplicane high road ran north without deviation up to Government House bridge, and passed within fifty yards of the house that is, through the present compound. This road was, in fact, the main thoroughfare from the fort to St. Thome.'
The line followed by this old road is still distinguishable by the avenue of old trees.
Five years after the purchase the French were once more in Madras, but not in possession of the fort. Government House was invested with their troops, who pulled down the verandahs, burned the village of Chepak, and destroyed the private houses of the English in the neighbourhood. The year 1759 saw Lally defeated and his army in retreat. The house was restored in 1762 and occupied, but it did not assume its present proportions until the beginning of the nineteenth century, when Lord Clive was Governor. In addition to the extensive alterations, the present banqueting hall was built. In 1860 a third storey was added, and the park enlarged by adding a part of the garden that had belonged to the Nabob of the Carnatic.
The bridge over the Cooum near Government House is one of the handsomest in Madras. The natives call it the Government bridge on account of its proximity to the Governor's residence. It bears this inscription : 1 St. George's bridge : erected under the orders of Government, 1805. Lieutenant T. Fraser, Engineer.' Seen from the road that runs along the south side of the river from the Mount Road to the sea, with the sunset colours behind it, it forms a subject worthy of the artist's brush. The trees along the banks and the emerald green of the island lend a charm that belongs to a sylvan country far removed from the habitations of men ; yet the old Blacktown is barely a mile distant.
Between this bridge and the Wallajah bridge the white tents of Lord Roberts gleamed on the island a few years ago. He had no house assigned to his use in Madras, and he considered that he had just cause of complaint. His right abode should have been in the fort in the midst of the garrison. He cast longing eyes on the Accountant-General's office, once occupied by the Duke of Wellington. It would have made a fitting residence for the Commander-in-Chief of Madras, as he was then called ; but the authorities did not take the hint, so he pitched his camp within sound of the garrison bugles and in sight of the fort.
The Duke of Buckingham had been Governor for nearly two years when we arrived. It was not long before I had the opportunity of seeing him as he passed me in the Mount Road, leaving an impression on my mind of clattering outriders in handsome uniform, the rattle of hoofs from the horses, and a vision of three modest-looking ladies, his daughters, and a grizzly bearded man in a grey sun-topee. A cloud of dust raised by the feet of the horses enveloped the cortege and hid it from my backward glance of curiosity.
He was an able man, blunt in manners and casual in dress, caring nothing for State ceremonial. He wore the grey sun-helmet on all occasions when not in uniform, whether it was a garden-party, or the inspection of troops, or a State visit to a native prince. I saw him frequently, and always in a grey hat when out-of-doors. He used to drive along the marina with his daughters every evening and enjoy the sea-breeze. Above all things he was practical and given to examining personally into details, sometimes to the annoyance and confusion of the people in charge. His twinkling dark eyes were everywhere ; nothing seemed to escape them as he plied his victim with searching questions. The theory of personal inspection is excellent, and has found favour with exalted per- sonages of higher rank than dukes ; but it leads to curious experiences, as he discovered on more than one occasion, and some embarrassment to the staff whose duties keep them in close attendance. The following stories are told of him. I cannot vouch for their accuracy. If not true they are ben trovato.
He had once been chairman on the directorate of the Great Northern Railway, and while occupying that position he acquired a taste, which he never lost, for the detailed working of the iron road. A story was told that when the Viceroy was to pay an official visit to Madras it was arranged that the Duke and his staff should meet him on the border of the Presidency, and that they should stop and see some of the places of interest on the way.
The Duke's special ran into the station where they were to meet, closely followed by the one carrying the Viceroy. The Viceregal party stepped out on to the platform. Not seeing the Duke they moved up towards the Madras train. An aide in uniform descended from the saloon carriage followed by the private secretary and other members of the staff; but there was no sign of the Duke. They gazed blankly up and down the platform, and the Viceroy, turning to one of the aides, said :
'There must be some mistake ; we had better go on as the Duke is not here.'
He was just moving away to return to his saloon carriage, when a grizzled, travel-stained man in a huge sun-topee and with blackened fingers hurried towards them with apologies for having kept the Viceroy waiting, saying that he had understood that his arrival was to have been later. This remarkable person was none other than his Excellency the Governor of Madras, who had been riding on the engine and driving his own train!
When the Duke visited Trichinopoly in his official capacity he is said to have been again lost by his staff. Report had it that they found him inside the boiler of an engine which had been disabled by an unusual accident. He was inspecting the flaw that had caused the trouble, and was discussing it with a European engine-driver in the employment of the South Indian Railway whom he had known in England on the Great Northern Railway.
The Duke used no ceremony towards his subordinates. He was in the habit of addressing them by their surnames with the familiarity of an old friend. At oar first dinner at Government House he leaned forward, looked towards my husband and called out ' Say grace, Penny.'
Some of the older men, who were accustomed to the ceremonial which is traditional in Indian official life between the Governor and his subordinates, did not altogether approve of his style of address. As one of them remarked :
'It is hardly fair upon us. When the Duke says "Cockerill, my boy," I can't reply "Buckingham, my boy." '
For all his eccentricities he made an excellent Governor, sparing himself no pains to gain all sorts of knowledge connected with his duties and responsibilities, and seeing to the best of his ability that laws and regulations were properly carried out. His thirst for information was often a source of trouble to the already over-worked officials. Certain alterations were required in one of the churches up-country, and they had to be sanctioned before they could be put in hand. Plans were prepared and were forwarded through the executive engineer to Madras to be laid before the Governor and council. The alteration was in the east end, and there was occasion to use the word 'sanctuary.' In due course the plans came before the Duke, who scribbled in blue pencil over them 'What is a sanctuary?' They were returned to the office of the chief engineer, who sent them on to the executive engineer of the district to which the church belonged. He forwarded them to the chaplain in charge for an explanation. Back went the official reply written on official paper in official language. The chaplain had the honour to inform the executive engineer that the word 'sanctuary' was the technical term for that portion of the church where the altar stood.
It was said that the Duke once sent back the plans of a church to have the points of the compass marked !
In the matter of questions he was insatiable ; he put them continually, important and unimportant, giving his staff no rest until they obtained the information he desired. Aware of this ardent pursuit of knowledge, they sometimes drew a bow at a venture.
On one of his visits up-country he was no sooner seated in the carriage that was to take him round the station to the different points he wished to inspect than he began his catechism :
'Whose house is that ? ' he asked, addressing the gentleman whose duty it was to accompany him. In vain that individual racked his brains to remember who lived there. Priding himself on his general knowledge he would not admit ignorance, and feeling sure that the Duke would not stop to verify the truth of his statement, he ventured to reply : 'Krishna Moodelliar's house, sir.'
'Oh ! Why is that woman wearing that bright - coloured cloth ? ' inquired the Duke pointing to a native in a garment stained with brilliant aniline dye.
'Because she is out on a holiday to see you, sir ' and so on.
It happened that they returned by the same route. The Duke still persevered in his questions :
'Whose house is that ? ' he asked, pointing to the same house that had raised his curiosity at starting.
'Ramaswamy Moodelliar's, sir,' was the unwary answer.
'Oh!' rejoined the Duke quickly, 'I thought you told me that it was Krishna Moodelliar's.'
Born and brought up a peer of the realm he possessed a certain amount of imperiousness in his nature, which occasionally showed itself in spite of his casual manner and disregard of ceremony. One day in council he took up a document, saying:
'About this letter ; I see it is from Kuff.'
One of the Members of Council ventured to correct him : 'He is called Keough, sir.'
'I call him "Kuff," ' replied the Duke decisively. And Kuff he remained all through the sitting of the council.
The old story about the three-chatty filter is well known to Madrasees. I have been assured more than once that it is true. For the benefit of those who have not been in India I venture to repeat it.
It must be explained that just before the Duke began his reign there was an agitation over the water-supply in many parts of the Presidency. Although Madras itself was well off in that respect, the towns in the Mofussil had only their wells and tanks to rely on. These sources might have been pure had the people been cleanly ; but from time immemorial villagers have been in the habit of washing themselves, their cattle, and their clothes in the same tank from which they draw their drinking-water. By the advice of the medical faculty the hospitals and public offices were supplied with niters, which were cheap and effective. They are still to be seen in every European and Eurasian house.
The filter is formed of three large earthen pots, which are placed upon a stand one above the other. The pot at the top contains sand, the second charcoal, and the lowest is the receptacle for the filtered water after it has percolated through the sand and charcoal. The two upper chatties are pierced with holes to allow the water to drip through into the lowest. But the best plans devised by European skill and science are often upset by the natives, who dislike the trouble involved in carrying them out.
The Duke was greatly interested in the working of the filter, its simplicity and cheapness commending the arrangement to his practical mind. He was visiting a town in the Mofussil, and among other things he inspected the hospital. There he saw a chatty-filter. Stopping before it he asked the medical officer to explain the process. He accordingly described how the water filtered through the sand first, leaving its grosser impurities behind. Passing through the second pot containing the charcoal it was again filtered. The Duke listened attentively and, turning to one of his aides, he said 'Fetch a chair.'
It was brought and his Excellency mounted it. Lifting the lid from the topmost pot he plunged his hand in, while his eagle eye fixed the unfortunate medical officer.
'The pot's empty!' he exclaimed in surprise.
'H'm ! ' was the comment, as the ducal hand explored the depths of the second pot. Again emptiness met his groping fingers. 'So is this!' he remarked, as he stepped down from the chair.
The brimming pot below told its own tale of how the waterman, to save himself the trouble of lifting his pot to the top, had poured the water straight into the lowest chatty !
Remenibering his experience, the Duke never passed a chatty-filter without close inspection. He did not wait for the officer in charge of the hospital to play the part of showman, but used to push his hand into the sand and charcoal pots without ceremony. People soon learned his ways and took care, when he was expected, to warn the waterman before he arrived to have the jars properly filled.
One day he stopped short as usual before a filter. The upper waterpot was full of water which was percolating in orthodox fashion through the perforated bottom into the chatty containing the charcoal. The ducal hand sought the sand to make sure that it was there. Instead of sand it grasped a mass of sodden muslin, which was drawn out before the astonished gaze of the assembled party. The hospital peon, it appeared, knowing the way of the waterman, had been in the habit of keeping his best turban in the dry waterpot, and unaware of the order given, had not removed it.
One day, shortly before our arrival, the Duke was being driven down the Mount Road in an open wagonette which was unusually high in the build. The carriage was drawn by four horses and was accompanied by the bodyguard. Coming up the centre of the Mount Road was a perambulator wheeled by an ayah. It contained the child of Mr. Leeming, one of the chaplains attached to the Cathedral. At the sight of the cavalcade bearing swiftly down upon her the ayah fled shrieking in terror to. the side of the road, leaving her charge to its fate. The horses and the carriage with a clatter of hoofs and a cloud of red dust appeared to pass directly over the deserted child. Marvellous to relate, the little equipage remained intact, saved by the height of the carriage. The screaming of the ayah attracted the attention of the Duke. He called a halt, and instead of deputing an aide to inquire into the commotion he descended from the carriage himself, hurried to the perambulator, still standing in the middle of the road, and felt the limbs of the little one to discover if it had sustained any injury. Having reassured himself on this point he resumed his seat and continued his journey.
When the Duke came to Madras he brought with him a large amount of family plate. His guests at Government House had the unusual experience of eating their dinners off silver plates. Dessert was served on a beautiful service of silver-gilt. He was a genial host, peculiarly easy in his manner, and was much liked in spite of his eccentricities. He died a few years after retirement and the title became extinct.