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THE LIFE OF

CAPTAIN

SIR RICHARD F. BURTON,

K.C.M.G., F.R.G.S.

BY HIS WIFE,

ISABEL BURTON.

WITH NUMEROUS PORTRAITS, ILLUSTRATIONS,

AND MAPS.

_IN TWO VOLUMES_.

VOL. I.

LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL, LD.

1893.

[Illustration: RICHARD BURTON IN HIS TENT IN AFRICA.]






CONSECRATION.

TO MY EARTHLY MASTER,

WHO IS WAITING FOR ME ON HEAVEN'S FRONTIERS.

Whilst waiting to rejoin you, I leave as a message to the World we
inhabited, the record of the Life into which both our lives were
fused. Would that I could write as well as I can love, and do you
that justice, that honour, which you deserve! I will do my best, and
then I will leave it to more brilliant pens, whose wielders will feel
less--and write better.

Meet me soon--I wait the signal!

ISABEL BURTON.




FOREWORD.

"No man can write a man down except himself."


In speaking of my husband, I shall not call him "Sir Richard," or
"Burton," as many wives would; nor yet by the pet name I used for him
at home, which for some reason which I cannot explain was "Jemmy;" nor
yet what he was generally called at home, and what his friends called
him, "Dick;" but I will call him Richard in speaking of him, and "I"
where he speaks on his own account, as he does in his private journals.
I always thought and told him that he destroyed much of the interest of
his works by hardly ever alluding to himself, and now that I mention
it, people may remark it, that in writing he seldom uses the pronoun
_I_. I have therefore drawn, not from his books, but from his private
journals. It was one of his asceticisms, an act of humility, which the
world passed by, and probably only thought one of his eccentricities.
In his works he would generally speak of himself as the Ensign, the
Traveller, the Explorer, the Consul, and so on, so that I often think
that people who are _not_ earnest readers never understood _who_ it
was that did this, thought that, or saw the other. If I make him speak
plainly for himself, as he does in his private journals, but never to
the public, it will give twenty times the interest in relating events;
so I shall throughout let him speak for himself where I can.

In early January, 1876, Richard and I were on our way to India for a
six months' trip to visit the old haunts. We divided our intended
journey into two lots. We cut India down the middle, the long way on
the map, from north to south, and took the western side, leaving the
eastern side for a trip which was deferred, alas! for our old age and
retirement. We utilized the voyage out (which occupied thirty-three
days in an Austrian Lloyd, used as a Haj, or pilgrim-ship), and also
the voyage back, in the part of the following pages which refers to his
early life, he dictating and I writing.

In 1887, when my husband was beginning to be a real invalid, he lent
some of these notes to Mr. Hitchman (who asked leave to write his
biography), Richard promising not to tread upon his heels by his own
Autobiography till he should be free from service in 1891. It will not,
I think, do any harm to the reading public to reproduce it with more
detail, because only seven hundred people got Mr. Hitchman's, who did
not by any means use the whole of the material before he returned it,
and what I give is the original just as Richard dictated it, and it is
more needful, because it deals with a part of his life that was only
known to himself, to me only by dictation; because everything that he
wrote of himself is infinitely precious, and because to leave to the
public a sketch of an early Richard Burton is desirable, otherwise
readers would be obliged to purchase Mr. Hitchman's, as well as this
work, in order to make a perfect whole.

I must take warning, however, that when Mr. Hitchman's book came out,
part of the Press found this account of my husband's boyhood and youth
charming, and another part of the Press said that I was too candid,
and did nothing to gloss over the faults and foibles of the youthful
Burtons; they doubted the accuracy of my information--I was informed
that my style was too rough-and-ready, and of many others of my
shortcomings. In short, I was considered rather as writing against my
own husband, whilst both sides of the Press in their reviews assumed
that I wrote it; this charmed Richard, and he would not let me refute.
Not one word was mine--it was only dictation, and peremptory dictation
when I objected to certain self-accusations. I beg leave to state
that I did not write one single word; I could not, for I did not know
it--and all that the family objected to, or considered exaggerated,
will not be repeated here. Before entering on these pages, I must warn
the reader not to expect the goody-goody boy nor yet the precocious
vicious youth of 1893. It is the recital of a high-spirited lad of the
old school, full of animal spirits and manly notions, a lively sense
of fun and humour, reckless of the consequences of playing tricks,
but without a vestige of vice in the meaner or lower forms--a lad, in
short, who _would_ be a gentleman and a man of the world in his teens,
and who, from his foreign travel, had seen more of life than boys do
brought up at home.

I do not begin this work--the last important work of my life--without
fear and trembling. If I can perform this sacred duty--this labour of
love--well,--I shall be glad indeed, but I begin it with unfeigned
humility. I have never needed any one to point out to me that my
husband was on a pedestal far above _me_, or anybody else in the world.
I have known it from 1850 to 1893, from a young girl to an old widow,
_i.e._ for forty-three years. I feel that I cannot do justice to his
scientific life, that I may miss points in travel that would have
been more brilliantly treated by a clever man. My only comfort is,
that his travels and services are already more or less known to the
public, and that other books will be written about them. But if I am
so unfortunate as to disappoint the public in _this_ way, there is one
thing that I feel I _am_ fit for, and that is to lift the veil as to
the _inner_ man. He was misunderstood and unappreciated by the world
at large, during his life. No one ever thought of looking for the real
man beneath the cultivated mask that generally hid all feelings and
belief--but now the world is beginning to know what it _has_ lost. The
old, old, sad story.

He shall tell his own tale till 1861, the first forty years, annotated
by me. Whilst dictating to me I sometimes remarked, "Oh, do you think
it would be well to write this?" and the answer always was, "Yes! I do
not see the use of writing a biography at all, unless it is the exact
truth, a very photograph of the man or woman in question." On this
principle he taught me to write quite openly in the unconventional and
personal style--being the only way to make a biography interesting,
which we _now_ class as the Marie Bashkirtcheff style. As you will
see, he always makes the worst of himself, and offers no excuse. As a
lad he does not know what to do to show his manliness, and all that a
boy should, ought, and does think brave and honourable, be it wild or
not, all that he does.

What appals me is, that the task is one of such magnitude--the enormous
quantity of his books and writings that I have to look through, and,
out of eighty or more publications, to ascertain what has seen the
light and what has not, because it is impossible to carry the work of
forty-eight years in one's head; and, again, the immense quantity of
subjects he has studied and written upon, some in only a fragmentary
state, is wonderful. My wish would be to produce this life, speaking
only of him--and afterwards to reproduce everything he has written
that has not been published. I propose putting all the heavier matter,
such as pamphlets, essays, letters, correspondence, and the _résumé_
of his works--that is, _what portion shows his labours and works for
the benefit of the human race_--into two after-volumes, to be called
"Labours and Wisdom of Richard Burton." After his biography I shall
renew _his_ "Arabian Nights" with his Forewords, Terminal Essay, and
Biography of the book in such form that it can be copyrighted--it is
now protected by _my_ copyright. His "Catullus" and "Pentamerone" are
now more or less in the Press, to be followed by degrees by all his
unpublished works. His hitherto published works I shall bring out as
a Uniform Library, so that not a word will be lost that he ever wrote
for the public. Fortunately, I have kept all his books classified as he
kept them himself, with a catalogue, and have separate shelves ticketed
and numbered; for example, "Sword," "Gypsy," "Pentamerone," "Camoens,"
and so on.

If I were sure of life, I should have wished for six months to look
through and sort our papers and materials before I began this work,
because I have five rooms full. Our books, about eight thousand, only
got housed in March, 1892, and they _are_ sorted--but not the papers
and correspondence; but I fancy that the public would rather have a
spontaneous work sooner, than wait longer. If I live I shall always go
on with them. I have no leisure to think of style or of polish, or
to select the best language, the best English,--no time to shine as
an authoress. I must just think aloud, so as not to keep the public
waiting.

From the time of my husband's becoming a real invalid--February,
1887--whilst my constant thoughts reviewed the dread To Come--the
catastrophe of his death--and the subsequent suffering, I have been
totally incapable, except writing his letters or attending to his
business, of doing any good literary work until July, 1892, a period of
five years, which was not improved by four attacks of influenza.

Richard was such a many-sided man, that he will have appeared different
to every set of people who knew him. He was as a diamond with so many
facets. The tender, the true, the brilliant, the scientific,--and to
those who deserved it, the cynical, the hard, the severe. Loads of
books will be written about him, and every one will be different;
and though perhaps it is an unseemly boast, I venture to feel sure
that mine will be the truest one, for I have no interest to serve, no
notoriety to gain, belong to no party, have nothing to sway me, except
the desire to let the world understand what it once possessed, what it
has lost. With many it will mean _I_. With me it means _HIM_.

When this biography is out, the public will, theoretically, but not
practically, know him as well as I can make them, and all of his
friends will be able after that to put forth a work representing that
particular facet of his character which he turned on to them, or which
they drew from him. He was so great, so world-wide, he could turn a
fresh facet and sympathy on to each world. I always think that a man is
one character to his wife at his fireside corner, another man to his
_own_ family, another man to _her_ family, a fourth to a mistress or an
amourette--if he have one,--a fifth to his men friends, a sixth to his
boon companions, and a seventh to his public, and so on _ad infinitum_;
but I think the wife, if they are happy and love each other, gets the
pearl out of the seven oyster-shells.

I fear that this work will be too long. I cannot help it. When I
embarked on it I had no conception of the scope: it was a labour of
love. I thought I could fly over it; but I have found that the more
I worked, the more it grew, and that the end receded from me like the
mirage in the desert. I only aim at giving a simple, true recital
without comment, and at fairness on all questions of whatever sort. I
am very personal, because I believe the public like it. I want to give
Richard as I knew him at home. I apologize in advance to my readers if
I am sometimes obliged to mention myself oftener than they and I care
about; but they will understand that our lives were so interwoven,
so bound together, that I should very often spoil a good story or an
anecdote or a dialogue were I to leave myself out. It would be an
affectation that would spoil my work.

I am rather disheartened by being told by a literary friend that the
present British public likes its reading "in sips." How _can_ I give
a life of seventy years, every moment of which was employed in a
remarkable way, "in sips"? It is impossible. Though I must not detail
much from his books, I want to convey to the public, at least, what
they were about; striking points of travel, his schemes, wise warnings,
advice, and plans for the benefit of England--then what about "sips"?
It must not be dry, it must not be heavy, nor tedious, nor voluminous;
so it shall be personal, full of traits of character, sentiments and
opinions, brightened with cheerful anecdotes, and the more serious part
shall go into the before-mentioned two volumes, the "Labours and Wisdom
of Richard Burton."

I am not putting in many letters, because he generally said such
personal things, that few would like them to be shown. His business
letters would not interest. To economize time he used to get expressly
made for him the smallest possible pieces of paper, into which he used
to cram the greatest amount of news--telegram form. He only wrote much
in detail, if he had any literary business to transact.

One of my greatest difficulties, which I scarcely know how to express,
is, that which I think the most interesting, and which most of my
intimates think well worth exploring; it is that of showing the dual
man with, as it were, two natures in one person, diametrically opposed
to each other, of which he was himself perfectly conscious. I had a
party of literary friends to dinner one night, and I put my manuscript
on the table before them after dinner, and I begged them each to take
a part and look over it. Feeling as I do that the general public never
understood him, and that his mantle after death seemed to descend
upon my shoulders, that everything I say seems to be misunderstood,
and that, in some few eyes, I can do nothing right, I said at the end
of the evening, "If I endeavour to explain, will it not be throwing
pearls to swine?" (not that I meant, dear readers, to compare _you_ to
swine--it is but an expression of thought well understood). And the
answer was, "Oh, Lady Burton, _do_ give the world the ins and outs
of this remarkable and interesting character, and let the swine take
care of themselves." "If you leave out by order" (said one) "religion
and politics, the two touchstones of the British public, you leave
out the great part of a man." "Mind you gloss over nothing to please
anybody" (said a second). I think they are right--one set of people
see one side, and another see another side, and neither of the two
will comprehend (like St. Thomas) anything that they have not seen
and felt; or, to quote one of Richard's favourite mottoes from St.
Augustine, "Let them laugh at me for speaking of things which they do
not understand, and I must pity them, whilst they laugh at me." So I
must remain an unfortunate buffer amidst a cyclone of opinions. I can
only avoid controversies and opinions _of my own_, and quote his and
his actions.

These words are forced from me, because I have received my orders, if
not exactly from the public, from a few of the friends who profess to
know him best. I am ordered to describe Richard as a sort of Didérot
(a disciple of Voltaire's), who wrote "that the world would never be
quiet till the last king was strangled with the bowels of the last
priest,"--whereas there was no one whom Richard delighted more to
honour than a worthy King, or an honest straightforward Priest.

There _are_ people who are ready to stone me, if I will not describe
Richard as being absolutely without belief in anything; yet I really
cannot oblige them, without being absolutely untruthful. He was a
spade-truth man, and he honestly used to say that he examined every
religion, and picked out its pearl to practise it. He did not scoff at
them, he was perfectly sincere and honest in what he said; nor did he
change, but he _grew_. He always _said_, and innumerable people _could_
come forward, if they had the courage--I could name some--to say that
they have heard him declare, that at the end of all things there were
only two points to stand upon--NOTHING and CATHOLICISM; and many
_could_, if they _would_, come forward and say, that when they asked
him what religion he was, he answered Catholic.

He _never was_, what is called _here_ and _now_ in England, an
Agnostic; he was a Master-Sufi, he practised Tasáwwuf or Sufi-ism,
which combines the poetry and prose of religion, and is mystic. The
Sufi is a profound student of the different branches of language and
metaphysics, is gifted with a musical ear, indulges in luxuriant
imagery and description. They have a simple sense--a _double entendre_
understood amongst themselves--God in Nature,--Nature in God--a
mystical affection for a Higher Life, dead to excitement, hope, fear,
etc. He was fond of quoting Sayyid Mohammad Hosayn's motto, "It is
better to restore one dead heart to Eternal Life, than Life to a
thousand dead bodies."

I have seen him receive gratuitous copies of an Agnostic paper in
England, and I remember one in particular--I do not know who wrote
it,--it was very long, and all the verses ended with "Curse God the
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost." I can see him now reading it--and
stroking his long moustache, and muttering, "Poor devil! Vulgar beast!"
He was quite satisfied, as his friends say, that we are not gifted with
the senses to understand the origin of the Mysteries by which we are
surrounded, and in this nobody agrees more thoroughly than I do. He
likewise said he believed there was a God, but that he could not define
Him; neither can I, neither can you, but _I_ do not want to. Great
minds tower above and see into little ones, but the little minds never
climb sufficiently high to see into the Great Minds, and never did Lord
Beaconsfield say a truer thing, speaking of religion than when he said,
"_Sensible men never tell_." As I want to make this work both valuable
and interesting, I am not going into the unknown or the unknowable,
only into what he knew--what I know; therefore I shall freely quote
his early training, his politics, his Mohammedanism, his Sufi-ism, his
Brahminical thread, his Spiritualism, and all the religions which he
studied, and nobody can give me a sensible reason why I should leave
out the Catholicism, except to point the Spanish proverb, "that no one
pelts a tree, unless it has fruit on it," but were I to do so, the
biography would be incomplete.

Let us suppose a person residing inside a house, and another person
looking at the house from the opposite side of the street; you would
not be unjust enough to expect the person on the outside to describe
minutely its inner chambers and everything that was in it, because he
would have to take it on trust from the person who resided inside,
but you _would_ take the report of the man living outside as to the
_exterior_ of the house. That is exactly the same as my writing my
husband's history. Do you want an edition of the inside or an edition
of the outside? If you do not want the truth, if you order me to
describe a Darwin, a Spencer, a John Stuart Mill, I can do it; but it
will not be the home-Richard, the fireside-Richard whom _I_ knew, the
two perfectly distinct Richards in one person; it will be the man as
he was at lunch, at dinner, or when friends came in, or when he dined
out, or when he paid visits; and if the world--or, let us say, a small
portion of the world,--is so unjust and silly as to wish for untrue
history, it must get somebody else to write it. To me there are only
two courses: I must either tell the truth, and lay open the "inner
life" of the man, by a faithful photograph, or I must let it alone, and
leave his friends to misrepresent him, according to their lights.

It has been threatened to me that if I speak the truth I am to reap
the whirlwind, because others, who claim to know my husband _well_,
see him quite in a different light. (I know many people intimately,
but I am quite incompetent to write their lives--I am only fit to do
that for the man with whom I lived night and day for thirty years;
there are three other people who could each write a small section of
his life, and after those nobody; I do not accept the so-called general
term "friend.") I shall be very happy indeed to answer anybody who
attacks me, who is brave enough to put his or her name; but during
the two years I have been in England I have hardly had anything but
anonymous communications and paragraphs signed under the brave names of
"Agnostic," or "One who knows," so I have no man or woman to deal with,
but empty air, which is beneath my contempt. This is a very old game,
perhaps even more ancient than "Prophesy, O Christ, who it was that
struck Thee!" but it is cowardly and un-English--that is, if England
"stands where she did." I would also remind you of the good old Arab
proverb, that "a thousand curses never tore a shirt."

I would have you remember that I gain _nothing_ by trying to describe
my husband as belonging to _any particular religion_. If I would
describe him as an English Agnostic--the last new popular word--the
small band of people who call themselves his intimate friends, and who
think to honour him by injuring me, would be perfectly satisfied. I
should have all their sympathy, and my name would be at rest, both in
Society and in the Press. I have no interest to serve in saying he was
a Catholic more than anything else; I have no bigotry on the question
_at all_. If he did something Catholic I shall say it, and if he did
something Mohammedan or Agnostic I shall equally say it.

It is also a curious fact, that the people who are most vexed with me
on this score, are men who, before their wives, mothers, sisters, are
good Protestants, and who go twice to the Protestant church on Sundays,
but who are quite scandalized that my husband should be allowed a
religion, and are furious because I will not allow that Richard Burton
was their Captain. No, thank you! it is not good enough: he was not,
never _was_ like _any_ of you--nor can I see what it can possibly be to
you what faith, or no faith, Richard Burton chose to die in, and why
you threaten me if I speak the truth! _We_ only knew _two_ things--the
beautiful mysticism of the East, which, until I lived here, I thought
was Agnosticism, and I find it is _not_; and calm, liberal-minded Roman
Catholicism. The difference between you and Richard is--you, I mean,
who admired my husband--that you are not going anywhere,--according to
your own Creed you have nowhere to go to,--whilst _he_ had a God and
a continuation, and said he would wait for me; he is only gone a long
journey, and presently I shall join him; we shall take up where we left
off, and we shall be very much happier even than we have been here.

Of the thousands that have written to me since his death, everybody
writes, "What a marvellous brain your husband had! How modest about
his learning and everything concerning himself! He was a man never
understood by the world." It is no wonder he was _not_ understood
by the World; his friends hindered it, and when one who knew him
thoroughly, offers to _make_ him understood, it is resented.

The Press has recently circulated a paragraph saying that "I am not
the fittest person to write my husband's life." After I have finished
these two volumes, it will interest me very much to read those of the
competent person, who will be so kind as to step to the front,--with a
name, please, not anonymously,--and to learn all the things I do not
know.

He, she, or it, will write what he said and wrote; I write what he
_thought_ and _did_.

ISABEL BURTON.

29_th May_, 1893.


NOTE.--I must beg the reader to note, that a word often has
several different spellings, and my husband used to give them a turn
all round. Indeed, I may say that during the latter years of his life
he adopted quite a different spelling, which he judged to be correcter.
In many cases it is caused by the English way of spelling a thing, and
the real native way of spelling the same. For English Meeanee, native
way Miani. The battle of Dabba (English) is spelt Dubba, Dubbah, by the
natives. Fulailee river (English) is spelt Phuleli (native). Mecca and
Medina have sometimes an _h_ at the end of them. Karrachee is Karáchi.
Sind is spelt Sind, Sindh, Scind, Scinde; and what the Anglo-Indians
call Bóbagees are really Babárchis, and so on. I therefore beg that
the spelling may not be criticized. In quoting letters, I write as the
author does, since I must not change other people's spelling.--I. B.

[TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE.--The page headings of the original
edition have been converted into sidenotes in this digital edition.
Typographical and other obvious errors have also been corrected, but
the variations in the spelling of proper names, etc., mentioned above
remain.]




CONTENTS.




CHAPTER I.

THE EARLY DAYS OF RICHARD F. BURTON.

Family history--The Napoleon Romance--The Louis XIVth
Romance.


CHAPTER II.

RICHARD'S BIRTH AND CHILDHOOD.

Richard Burton's early life--At Tours--His first
school--Trips--Grandmammas Baker and Burton--Aunt
G.--They leave Tours.


CHAPTER III.

THE CHILDREN ARE BROUGHT TO ENGLAND.

School at Richmond--Measles disperse the
school--Education at Blois--They leave Blois
for Italy--Pisa--Siena--Vetturino-travelling
--Florence--Shooting--Rome in Holy Week
--Sorrento--Classical games--Chess--Naples
--Cholera--Marseille--Pau--Bagnières de
Bigorres--Contrabandistas--Pau education--Argélés--The
boys fall in love--Drawing--Music--The baths of
Lucca--The boys get too old for home--Schinznach and
England--The family break up.


CHAPTER IV.

OXFORD.

Practical jokes--Friends--Fencing-rooms--Manners and
customs--Food and smoking--Drs. Newman and Pusey--Began
Arabic--Play--Town life--College friends--Coaching
and languages--Latin--Greek--Holidays--The Rhine to
Wiesbaden--The Nassau Brigade--The straws that broke the
camel's back--Rusticated.


CHAPTER V.

GOING TO INDIA.

He gets a commission and begins Hindostani--He goes
to be sworn in at the India Office.


CHAPTER VI.

MY PUBLIC LIFE BEGINS.

The voyage and arrival--The sanitarium--His
moonshee--Indian Navy--English bigotry--Engages
servants--Reaches Baroda--Brother officers--Mess
--Drill--Pig-sticking--Sport--Society--Feeding
--Nautch--Reviews--Races--Cobden and Indian history
--Somnath gates--Outram and Napier--He learns Indian
riding and training--Passes exams. in Hindostani
--Receives the Brahminical thread--On the march--Embarks
for Sind--Karáchi, Sind--He passes in Maharátta.


CHAPTER VII.

THE REMINISCENCES WRITTEN FOR MR. HITCHMAN IN 1888--INDIA.

A later chapter on same events differently told--His
little autobiography--His books on India--Burying a
Sányasi--His Indian career practically ends.


CHAPTER VIII.

ON RETURN FROM INDIA.

Boulogne--Bayonet exercise--Meets me at Boulogne at
school--His famous journey to Mecca and El Medinah--His
start from Alexandria to Cairo--Twelve days in an open
Sambúk--Ten days' ride to Mecca--Moslem Holy Week--The
all-important crisis--His safe return--On board an English
ship--Interesting letters--The Kasîdah--The end of the
Kasîdah--Christian Poetry.


CHAPTER IX.

HARAR--THE MOSLEM ABYSSINIA--THE TIMBUCTOO OF EAST AFRICA,
THE EXPLORATION OF WHICH HAD BEEN ATTEMPTED IN VAIN BY
SOME THIRTY TRAVELLERS.

He starts for Harar in Somali-land--Preparations
at Zayla--Desert journey--He enters the city
in triumph--Interview with the Amir--Has great
success--Damaging reports--He leaves Harar safely--A
fearful desert journey--Want of water--They reach
Berberah--Join Speke, Herne, Stroyan--He sails for
Aden--Returns with forty men--They are attacked--A
desperate fight--Richard and Speke desperately wounded.


CHAPTER X.

WITH BEATSON'S HORSE.

The Crimea--End of Crimea--Beatson's trial.


CHAPTER XI.

BETWEEN THE CRIMEA AND THE LAKE REGIONS OF CENTRAL AFRICA.

We become engaged--The story of Hagar Burton--Hagar
Burton, the Gipsy--Our strange parting.


CHAPTER XII.

HIS EXPLORATION OF THE LAKE REGIONS, TAKING CAPTAIN SPEKE
AS SECOND IN COMMAND.

Preliminary canter--Hippopotamus shooting--Our first fever.


CHAPTER XIII.

THE REAL START FOR TANGANYIKA IN THE INTERIOR.

A long march--Marsh fever--They ascend from Zungomero
to a better climate--From lovely scenery to fœtid
marshes--Ants--The war-cry of the Wahúmba--Evil
reports--Game--Vermin--A hard jungle march--Description
of caravans and difficulties--Reptiles--Ill and attended
by a witch--Partial paralysis--Blindness--Elephants--The
crossing of the great river Malagarázi.


CHAPTER XIV.

OUR REWARD--SUCCESS.

Scenery--In an Arab craft to Ujiji--More Scenery
--After twenty-seven days Speke returns--A fight--Are
received with honour--A caravan arrives--Geographical
remarks--Troublesome following--Forest on fire--He
sends Speke to find the Nyanza--The Chief Suna--Richard
collects a vocabulary--Speke returns and the differences
arose--Richard soliloquizes on Speke's change of
front--For geographers--The kindness of Musa Mzuri and
Snay bin Amir--Speke's illness--They cross the "Fiery
Field"--An official wigging--Christmas Day, 1858--Speke
leaves Richard ill, but apparently friendly.


CHAPTER XV.

RICHARD AND I MEET AGAIN.

We try to effect a reconciliation between Speke and
Richard--My appeal to my mother--My letter to my
mother--Not a success--News of Richard and subsequent
return--A family council decides the matter--Our
wedding--We are received at home again--A delightful
London season--Fire at Grindlay's--Delightful days at
country houses--Richard goes to West Africa.


CHAPTER XVI.

WEST COAST OF AFRICA--RICHARD'S FIRST CONSULATE.

The West African negroes--The black man is raised above
the white man--Richard inaugurates a better state of
things--Method of protecting the negro--Teaching fair
treatment for the negro--West African gold.


CHAPTER XVII.

HIS FIRST LEAVE.

We sail for West Africa--We land at Madeira--Yellow
fever--The peak of Teneriffe--I return home--Richard sent
as H.M.'s Commissioner to Dahomè--Dahomè and Richard's
travels--His travels, business, etc., on the West Coast.


CHAPTER XVIII.

HOME.

Speke's death--Some lines I wrote on Richard and
Speke--Richard's "Stone Talk"--Gaiety--Winwood
Reade--We go to Ireland--Richard and Sir Bernard
Burke--Bianconi--The anthropological farewell dinner--Lord
Derby's speech as chairman--Richard returns thanks--He
speaks his mind about the Nile.


CHAPTER XIX.

SANTOS, SÃO PAULO, BRAZIL--RICHARD'S SECOND CONSULATE.

We explore Portugal--I rejoin him at Rio de
Janeiro--Arrival at Santos and São Paulo--Life in
Brazil--Brazilian life--Life at Rio--The Barra for
contrast--To the mines in Minas Gerães--We go down the big
mine--Below--Chico and I start on a fifteen days' ride
alone--The landlord of the hotel is mystified--Richard
dangerously ill--Mesmerizing--Regatta--We leave
Brazil--Richard goes south--Lord Derby gives Richard
Damascus--His carbine pistol--Pleasant days in
Vichy and Auvergne--The Fell Railway--Geographical
disagreeables--Work--The Nile--Still the Nile--I sail for
Damascus.


CHAPTER XX.

DAMASCUS--HIS THIRD CONSULATE.

I find Richard has had a cordial reception--We go to
Palmyra, or Tadmor in the desert--We go without an
escort--Tadmor--Camp life--Our travelling day--Night
camps--Return home after desert--Native life--The Arabic
library at Damascus--The library--The environs of
Damascus--How our days were passed--Our reception day
--A most interesting and remarkable woman--A romantic
history--Richard's love for children--Richard's notes
on our wilder travels--The Tulúl el Safá--Our home in
the Anti-Lebanon--Our day--With Drake and Palmer in
the Lebanon--Religious disturbances--Holo Pasha gives
us a panther--The Druzes--Their stronghold--We camp at
the Waters of Merom--Richard is stung by a scorpion
--Explorations of unknown tracts--I prevent Rashíd
Pasha's intentions taking effect--Rashíd's intrigue
about the Druzes--The manner in which we are received in
villages--Remarks on the journey--Kurdish dogs--Excursions
to unknown tracts--Troubles from a self-appointed zealot
--Usurers very troublesome--A Jehád threatened--Jews
--Usurers try to remove Richard--Letters of indignation
and sympathy--Jews--Omar Bey's fine mare--Horse-breeding
--The Holy Land.


CHAPTER XXI.

RELIGION.

Shádilis--Sufis becoming Catholics--They are tried and
condemned--And persecuted--The Protestant converts--The
Shádilis--Richard quotes Mr. Gladstone--Letters approving
his conduct--Richard's answer and remarks--He leaves--I
take a night ride across country--We were stoned at
Nazareth--General information--Salih's description of
Richard--Letters showing the state of Syria after his
recall--The interval I remained as a hostage--I leave the
Anti-Lebanon--Wind up at Damascus--I get fever--Eventually
reach home--He gets an _amende_--We become
penniless--Small jottings--Death of my mother--Richard
accepts Trieste--The old story of shooting people, and a
newer one--The truth--Difficulty of English officials
doing their duty--Conclusion of his Damascus career.




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


RICHARD BURTON IN HIS TENT.

LUNGE AND CUT IN CARTE (INSIDE).

RICHARD BURTON, AS HAJI ABDULLAH, EN ROUTE TO MECCA.

MECCA AND THE KA'ABAH, OR THE HOLY GRAIL OF THE MOSLEMS.

BURTON'S SKETCH MAP OF AFRICA.

MINIATURE OF RICHARD BURTON.

RICHARD BURTON. _By Louis Desanges._

ISABEL BURTON. _By Louis Desanges._

FACSIMILE LETTER.

THE MAN WHO WINS.

THE CHIEF OFFICER OF RICHARD'S BRIGADE OF AMAZONS.

CRUCIFIX FROM DAHOMÈ.

MAPS OF AFRICA.

CARBINE PISTOL.

OUR DESERT CAMP.

THE BURTONS' HOUSE IN SALAHÍYYAH, DAMASCUS.
_By Sir Frederick Leighton._

SALAHÍYYAH, DAMASCUS IN THE OASIS.

THE BURTONS' HOUSE-ROOF AT DAMASCUS AND THE ADJOINING
MOSQUE-MINARET.

THE BURTONS' HOUSE AT BLUDÁN, IN ANTI-LEBANON.




THE LIFE OF SIR RICHARD BURTON.


CHAPTER I.

THE EARLY DAYS OF RICHARD F. BURTON.

_By himself. Copied from his private Journals._

    "He travels and expatriates; as the bee
    From flower to flower, so he from land to land,
    The manners, customs, policy of all
    Pay contributions to the store he gleans;
    He seeks intelligence from every clime,
    And spreads the honey of his deep research
    At his return--a rich repast for _me!_"


GENEALOGY AND FAMILY.


Autobiographers generally begin too late.

Elderly gentlemen of eminence sit down to compose memories, describe
with fond minuteness babyhood, childhood, and boyhood, and drop the pen
before reaching adolescence.

Physiologists say that a man's body changes totally every seven years.
However that may be, I am certain that the moral man does, and I cannot
imagine anything more trying than for a man to meet himself as he was.
Conceive his entering a room, and finding a collection of himself at
the several decades. First the puking squalling baby one year old, then
the pert unpleasant schoolboy of ten, the collegian of twenty who, like
Lothair, "knows everything and has nothing to learn." The _homme fait_
of thirty in the full warmth and heyday of life, the reasonable man of
forty, who first recognizes his ignorance and knows his own mind, of
fifty with white teeth turned dark, and dark hair turned white, whose
experience is mostly disappointment with regrets for lost time and
vanished opportunities. Sixty when the man begins to die and mourns
for his past youth, at seventy when he _ought_ to prepare for his long
journey and never does. And at all these ages he is seven different
beings not one of which he would wish to be again.

[Sidenote: _Family History._]

First I would make one or two notes on family history.

My grandfather was the Rev. Edward Burton, Rector of Tuam, in Galway
(who with his brother, eventually Bishop Burton, of Killala, were the
first of our branch to settle in Ireland). They were two of the Burtons
of Barker Hill, near Shap, Westmoreland, who own a common ancestor
with the Burtons of Yorkshire, of Carlow, and Northamptonshire. My
grandfather married Maria Margaretta Campbell, daughter, by a Lejeune,
of Dr. John Campbell, LL.D., Vicar-General of Tuam. Their son was my
father, Lieut.-Colonel Joseph Netterville Burton, of the 36th Regiment,
who married a Miss (Beckwith) Baker, of Nottinghamshire, a descendant,
on her mother's side, of the Scotch Macgregors. The Lejeune above
mentioned was related to the Montmorencys and Drelincourts, French
Huguenots of the time of Louis XIV. To this hangs a story which will
be told by-and-by. This Lejeune, whose real name was Louis Lejeune,
is supposed to have been a son of Louis XIV. by the Huguenot Countess
of Montmorency. He was secretly carried off to Ireland. His name
was translated to Louis Young, and he eventually became a Doctor of
Divinity. The royal, or rather morganatic, marriage contract was
asserted to have existed, but has disappeared. The Lady Primrose of
that date, who was a very remarkable personage, and a strong ally of
the Jacobites, protected him and conveyed him to Ireland.

The Burtons of Shap derive themselves from the Burtons of Longnor, like
Lord Conyngham and Sir Charles Burton of Pollacton, and the two above
named were the collateral descendants of Francis Pierpoint Burton,
first Marquis of Conyngham, who gave up the name of Burton. The notable
man of the family was Sir Edward Burton, a desperate Yorkist who was
made a Knight Banneret by Edward IV. after the second battle of St.
Albans, and who added to his arms the Cross and four roses.

The Bishop of Killala's son was Admiral J. Ryder Burton, who entered
the Navy in 1806. He served in the West Indies, and off the North
Coast of Spain, when in an attack on the town of Castro, July, 1812,
he received a gunshot wound in the left side, from which the ball was
never extracted. From 1813 to 1816 he served in the Mediterranean
and Adriatic, and was present at the bombardment of Algiers, when he
volunteered to command one of the gunboats for destroying the shipping
inside the Mole. His last appointment was in May, 1820, to the command
of the _Cornelian_ brig, in which he proceeded in early 1824 to
Algiers, where, in company with the _Naiad_ frigate, he fell in with
an Algerine corvette, the _Tripoli_, of eighteen guns and one hundred
men, which, after a close and gallant action under the batteries of the
place, he boarded and carried. This irascible veteran at his death was
in receipt of a pension for wounds. He was Rear Admiral in 1853, Vice
Admiral in 1858, and Admiral in 1863. He married, in 1822, Anna Maria,
daughter of the thirteenth Lord Dunsany; she died in 1850, leaving
one son, Francis Augustus Plunkett Burton, Colonel of the Coldstream
Guards. He married the great heiress Sarah Drax, and died in 1865,
leaving one daughter, Erulí, who married her cousin, John Plunkett, the
future Lord Dunsany.

My father, Joseph Netterville Burton, was a lieutenant-colonel in the
36th Regiment. He must have been born in the latter quarter of the
eighteenth century, but he had always a superstition about mentioning
his birthday, which gave rise to a family joke that he was born in
Leap Year. Although of very mixed blood, he was more of a Roman in
appearance than anything else, of moderate height, dark hair, sallow
skin, high nose, and piercing black eyes. He was considered a very
handsome man, especially in uniform, and attracted attention even in
the street. Even when past fifty he was considered the best-looking man
at the Baths of Lucca. As handsome men generally do, he married a plain
woman, and, "Just like Provy," the children favoured, as the saying is,
the mother.[1]

In mind he was a thorough Irishman. When he received a commission in
the army it was on condition of so many of his tenants accompanying
him. Not a few of the younger sort volunteered to enlist, but when they
joined the regiment and found that the "young master" was all right,
they at once ran away.

The only service that he saw was in Sicily, under Sir John Moore,
afterwards of Corunna, and there he fell in love with Italy. He was
a duellist, and shot one brother officer twice, nursing him tenderly
each time afterwards. When peace was concluded he came to England and
visited Ireland. As that did not suit him he returned to his regiment
in England. Then took place his marriage, which was favoured by his
mother-in-law and opposed by his father-in-law. The latter, being a
sharp old man of business, tied up every farthing of his daughter's
property, £30,000, and it was well that he did so. My father, like too
many of his cloth, developed a decided taste for speculation. He was a
highly moral man, who would have hated the idea of _rouge et noir_, but
he gambled on the Stock Exchange, and when railways came out he bought
shares. Happily he could not touch his wife's property, or it would
speedily have melted away; yet it was one of his grievances to the end
of his life that he could not use his wife's money to make a gigantic
fortune. He was utterly reckless where others would be more prudent.
Before his wedding tour, he passed through Windermere, and would not
call upon an aunt who was settled near the Lakes, for fear that she
might think he expected her property. She heard of it, and left every
farthing to some more dutiful nephew.

He never went to Ireland after his marriage, but received occasional
visits from his numerous brothers and sisters.

The eldest of the family was the Rev. Edward Burton, who had succeeded
to the living. He wasted every farthing of his property, and at
last had the sense to migrate to Canada, where he built a little
Burtonville. In his younger days he intended to marry a girl who
preferred another man. When she was a widow with three children, and
he a widower with six children, they married, and the result was
eventually a total of about a score. Such families do better than is
supposed. The elder children are old enough to assist the younger
ones, and they seem to hang together. My father's sisters, especially
Mrs. Mathews, used to visit him when in England, and as it was known
that he had married an heiress, they all hung to him, apparently,
for themselves and their children. They managed to get hold of all
the Irish land that fell to his share, and after his death they were
incessant in their claims upon his children. My mother was Martha
Baker, one of three sister co-heiresses, and was the second daughter.
The third daughter married Robert Bagshaw, Esq., M.P. for Harwich, and
died without issue. The eldest, Sarah, married Francis Burton, the
youngest brother of my father. He had an especial ambition to enter
the Church, but circumstances compelled him to become military surgeon
in the 66th Regiment. There was only one remarkable event in his life,
which is told in a few very interesting pages by Mrs. Ward, wife of
General Ward, with a short comment by Alfred Bate Richards, late editor
of the _Morning Advertiser_, who, together with Andrew Wilson, author
of the "Abode of Snow," who took it up at his death, compiled and put
together a short _résumé_ of the principal features of my life, of
which some three hundred copies were printed, in pamphlet form and
circulated to private friends.

[Sidenote: _The Napoleon Romance._]

 "FACTS CONNECTED WITH THE LAST HOURS OF NAPOLEON.


 "On the night of the 5th of May, 1821, a young ensign of the 66th
 Regiment, quartered at St. Helena, was wending his solitary way
 along the path leading from the plain of Deadwood to his barracks,
 situated on a patch of table-land called Francis Plain. The road was
 dreary, for to the left yawned a vast chasm, the remains of a crater,
 and known to the islanders as the 'Devil's Punchbowl;' although the
 weather had been perfectly calm, puffs of wind occasionally issued
 from the neighbouring valleys; and, at last, one of these puffs having
 got into a gully, had so much ado to get out of it, that it shrieked,
 and moaned, and gibbered, till it burst its bonds with a roar like
 thunder--and dragging up in its wrath, on its passage to the sea, a
 few shrubs, and one of those fair willows beneath which Napoleon,
 first Emperor of France, had passed many a peaceful, if not a happy,
 hour of repose, surrounded by his faithful friends in exile.

 "This occurrence, not uncommon at St. Helena, has given rise to an
 idea, adopted even by Sir Walter Scott, that the soul of Napoleon had
 passed to another destiny on the wings of the Storm Spirit; but, so
 far from there being any tumult among the elements on that eventful
 night, the gust of wind I have alluded to was only heard by the few
 whose cottages dotted the green slopes of the neighbouring mountains.
 But as that fair tree dropped, a whisper fell among the islanders that
 Napoleon was dead! No need to dwell upon what abler pens than mine
 have recorded; the eagle's wings were folded, the dauntless eyes were
 closed, the last words, '_Tête d'armée_,' had passed the faded lips,
 the proud heart had ceased to beat...!!

 "They arrayed the illustrious corpse in the attire identified with
 Napoleon even at the present day; and among the jewelled honours of
 earth, so profusely scattered upon the breast, rested the symbol of
 the faith he had professed. They shaded the magnificent brow with the
 unsightly cocked hat,[2] and stretched down the beautiful hands in
 ungraceful fashion; every one, in fact, is familiar with the attitude
 I describe, as well as with a death-like cast of the imperial head,
 from which a fine engraving has been taken. The cast is true enough to
 Nature, but the character of the engraving is spoiled by the addition
 of a laurel-wreath on the lofty but insensate brow.

 "About this cast there is a _historiette_ with which it is time the
 public should become more intimately acquainted; it was the subject
 of litigation, the particulars of which are detailed in the _Times_
 newspaper of the 7th September, 1821, but to which I have now no
 opportunity of referring. Evidence, however, was unfortunately wanting
 at the necessary moment, and the complainant's case fell to the
 ground. The facts are these:--

 "The day after Napoleon's decease, the young officer I have alluded
 to, instigated by emotions which drew vast numbers to Longwood House,
 found himself within the very death-chamber of Napoleon. After the
 first thrill of awe had subsided, he sat down, and on the fly-leaf
 torn from a book, and given him by General Bertrand, he took a rapid
 but faithful sketch of the deceased Emperor. Earlier in the day, the
 officer had accompanied his friend, Mr. Burton, through certain paths
 in the island, in order to collect material for making a composition
 resembling plaster of Paris, for the purpose of taking the cast with
 as little delay after death as possible. Mr. Burton having prepared
 the composition, set to work and completed the task satisfactorily.
 The cast being moist, was not easy to remove; and, at Mr. Burton's
 request, a tray was brought from Madame Bertrand's apartments,
 Madame herself holding it to receive the precious deposit. Mr. Ward,
 the ensign alluded to, impressed with the value of such a memento,
 offered to take charge of it at his quarters till it was dry enough
 to be removed to Mr. Burton's; Madame Bertrand, however, pleaded so
 hard to have the care of it, that the two gentlemen, both Irishmen
 and soldiers, yielded to her entreaties, and she withdrew with the
 treasure, which she _never afterwards would resign_.

 "There can scarcely, therefore, be a question that the casts and
 engravings of Napoleon, now sold as emanating from the skill and
 reverence of Antommarchi, are from the original taken by Mr. Burton.
 We can only rest on circumstantial evidence, which the reader will
 allow is most conclusive. It is to be regretted that Mr. Burton's cast
 and that _supposed_ to have been taken by Antommarchi were not _both_
 demanded in evidence at the trial in 1821.

 "The engraving I have spoken of has been Italianized by Antommarchi,
 the name inscribed beneath being _Napoleone_.

 "So completely was the daily history of Napoleon's life at St.
 Helena a sealed record, that, on the arrival of papers from England,
 the first question asked by the islanders and the officers of the
 garrison was, 'What news of Buonaparte?' Under such circumstances
 it was natural that an intense curiosity should be felt concerning
 every movement of the mysterious and ill-starred exile. Our young
 soldier one night fairly risked his commission for the chance of a
 glimpse behind the curtain of the Longwood windows, and, after all,
 saw nothing but the imperial form from the knees downwards. Every
 night at sunset a _cordon_ of sentries was drawn round the Longwood
 plantations. Passing between the sentinels, the venturesome youth
 crept, under cover of trees, to a lighted window of the mansion.
 The curtains were not drawn, but the blind was lowered. Between the
 latter, however, and the window-frame were two or three inches of
 space; so down knelt Mr. Ward! Some one was walking up and down the
 apartment, which was brilliantly illuminated.[3] The footsteps drew
 nearer, and Mr. Ward saw the diamond buckles of a pair of thin shoes,
 then two well-formed lower limbs, encased in silk stockings; and,
 lastly, the edge of a coat, lined with white silk. On a sofa at a
 little distance was seated Madame Bertrand, with her boy leaning
 on her knee; and some one was probably writing under Napoleon's
 dictation, for the Emperor was speaking slowly and distinctly. Mr.
 Ward returned to his guard-house satisfied with having _heard the
 voice of Napoleon Buonaparte_.

 "Mr. Ward had an opportunity of seeing the great captive at a distance
 on the very last occasion that Buonaparte breathed the outer air. It
 was a bright morning when the serjeant of the guard at Longwood Gate
 informed our ensign that 'General Buonaparte' was in the garden on
 to which the guard-room looked. Mr. Ward seized his spy-glass, and
 took a breathless survey of Napoleon, who was standing in front of
 his house with one of his Generals. Something on the ground attracted
 his notice; he stooped to examine (probably a colony of ants, whose
 movements he watched with interest), when the music of a band at a
 distance stirred the air on Deadwood Plain; and he who had once led
 multitudes forth at his slightest word now wended his melancholy way
 through the grounds of Longwood, to catch a distant glimpse of a
 British regiment under inspection.

 "We have in our possession a small signal book which was used at St.
 Helena during the period of Napoleon's exile. The following passages
 will give some idea of the system of vigilance which it was thought
 necessary to exercise, lest the world should again be suddenly
 uproused by the appearance of the French Emperor on the battle-field
 of Europe. It is not for me to offer any opinion on such a system,
 but I take leave to say that I never yet heard any British officer
 acknowledge that he would have accepted the authority of Governor
 under the burden of the duties it entailed. In a word, although every
 one admits the difficulties and responsibilities of Sir Hudson Lowe's
 position, all deprecate the system to which he considered himself
 obliged to bend.

 "But the signal-book! Here are some of the passages which passed from
 hill to valley while Napoleon took his daily ride within the boundary
 prescribed:--

 "'General Buonaparte has left Longwood.'

 "'General Buonaparte has passed the guards.'

 "'General Buonaparte is at Hutt's Gate.'

 "'General Buonaparte is missing.'

 "The latter paragraph resulted from General Buonaparte having, in
 the course of his ride, turned an angle of a hill, or descended some
 valley beyond the ken, for a few minutes, of the men working the
 telegraphs on the hills!

 "It was not permitted that the once Emperor of France should be
 designated by any other title than '_General_ Buonaparte;' and, alas!
 innumerable were the squabbles that arose between the Governor and
 his captive, because the British Ministry had made this puerile order
 peremptory. I have now no hesitation in making known the great Duke's
 opinion on this subject, which was transmitted to me two years ago,
 by one who for some months every year held daily intercourse with his
 Grace, but who could not, while the Duke was living, permit me to
 publish what had been expressed in private conversation.

 "'I would have taken care that he did not escape from St. Helena,'
 said Wellington: 'but he might have been addressed by any name he
 pleased.'

 "I cannot close this paper without saying a word or two on the
 condition of the buildings once occupied by the most illustrious and
 most unfortunate of exiles.

 "It is well known that Napoleon never would inhabit the house which
 was latterly erected at Longwood for his reception; that, he said,
 'would serve for his tomb;' and that the slabs from the kitchen
 _did_ actually form part of the vault in which he was placed in his
 favourite valley beneath the willows, and near the fountain whose
 crystal waters had so often refreshed him.

 "This abode, therefore, is not invested with the same interest as his
 real residence, well named the 'Old House at Longwood;' for a more
 crazy, wretched, filthy barn, it would scarcely be possible to meet
 with; and many painful emotions have filled my heart during nearly
 a four years' sojourn on 'The Rock,' as I have seen French soldiers
 and sailors march gravely and decorously to the spot, hallowed in
 their eyes, of course, by its associations with their invisible but
 unforgotten idol, and degraded, it must be admitted, by the change it
 has undergone.

 "Indeed, few French persons can be brought to believe that it ever was
 a decent abode; and no one can deny that it must outrage the feelings
 of a people like the French, so especially affected by associations,
 to see the bedchamber of their former Emperor a dirty stable, and the
 room in which he breathed his last sigh, appropriated to the purpose
 of winnowing and thrashing wheat! In the last-named room are two
 pathetic mementoes of affection. When Napoleon's remains were exhumed
 in 1846, Counts Bertrand and Las Casas carried off with them, the
 former a piece of the boarded floor on which the Emperor's bed had
 rested, the latter a stone from the wall pressed by the pillow of his
 dying Chief.

 "Would that I had the influence to recommend to the British
 Government, that these ruined and, I must add, desecrated, buildings
 should be razed to the ground; and that on their site should be
 erected a convalescent hospital for the sick of all ranks, of
 _both_ services, and of _both_ nations. Were the British and French
 Governments to unite in this plan, how grand a sight would it be to
 behold the two nations shaking hands, so to speak, over the grave of
 Napoleon!

 "On offering this suggestion, when in Paris lately, to one of the
 nephews of the first Emperor Napoleon, the Prince replied that 'the
 idea was nobly philanthropic, but that England would never listen
 to it.' I must add that his Highness said this 'rather in sorrow
 than in anger;' then, addressing Count L----, one of the faithful
 followers of Napoleon in exile, and asking him which mausoleum
 _he_ preferred,--the one in which we then stood, the dome of the
 _Invalides_, or the rock of St. Helena,--he answered, to my surprise,
 'St. Helena; for no grander monument than that can ever be raised to
 the Emperor!'

 "Circumstances made one little incident connected with this, our visit
 to the _Invalides_, most deeply interesting. Comte D'Orsay was of the
 party; indeed it was in his elegant _atélier_ we had all assembled,
 ere starting, to survey the mausoleum then being prepared for the
 ashes of Napoleon. Suffering and debilitated as Comte D'Orsay was,
 precious, as critiques on art, were the words that fell from his lips
 during our progress through the work-rooms, as we stopped before the
 sculptures intended to adorn the vault wherein the sarcophagus is to
 rest. Ere leaving the works, the Director, in exhibiting the solidity
 of the granite which was finally to encase Napoleon, struck fire
 with a mallet from the magnificent block. 'See,' said Comte D'Orsay,
 'though the dome of the _Invalides_ may fall, France may yet light a
 torch at the tomb of her Emperor.' I cannot remember the exact words,
 but such was their import. Comte D'Orsay died a few weeks after this.

 "Since the foregoing was written, members of the Burton family
 have told me, that, after taking the cast, Mr. Burton went to his
 regimental rounds, leaving the mask on the tray to dry; the back of
 the head was left on to await his return, not being dry enough to take
 off, and was thus overlooked by Madame Bertrand. When he returned he
 found that the mask was packed up and sent on board ship for France in
 Antommarchi's name. From a feeling of deep mortification he took the
 back part of the cast, reverently scraped off the hair now enclosed
 in a ring, and, overcome by his feelings, dashed it into a thousand
 pieces. He was afterwards offered by Messrs. Gall and Spurzheim
 (phrenologists), one thousand pounds sterling for that portion of the
 cast which was wanting to the cast so called Antommarchi's. Amongst
 family private papers there was a correspondence, read by most members
 of it, between Antommarchi and Mr. Burton, in which Antommarchi stated
 that he knew Burton had made the plaster and taken the cast. Mrs.
 Burton, after the death of her husband and Antommarchi, thought the
 correspondence useless and burnt it; but the hair was preserved under
 a glass watch-case in the family for forty years. There was an offer
 made about the year 1827 or 1828 by persons high in position in France
 who knew the truth to have the matter cleared up, but Mr. Burton was
 dying at the time, and was unable to take any part in it, so the
 affair dropped.

       *       *       *       *       *

 "THE BUST OF BUONAPARTE.

 "_Extract from the 'New Times' of September_ 7_th,_ 1821.


 "On Wednesday a case of a very singular nature occurred at the Bow
 Street Office.

 "Count Bertrand, the companion of Buonaparte in his exile at St.
 Helena (and the executor under his will), appeared before Richard
 Birnie, Esq., accompanied by Sir Robert Wilson, in consequence of a
 warrant having been issued to search the residence of the Count for
 a bust of his illustrious master, which, it was alleged, was the
 property of Mr. Burton, 66th Regiment, when at St. Helena.

 "The following are the circumstances of the case:--

 "Previous to the death of Buonaparte, he had given directions to his
 executors that his body should not be touched by any person after his
 death; however, Count Bertrand directed Dr. Antommarchi to take a bust
 of him; but not being able to find a material which he thought would
 answer the purpose, he mentioned the circumstances to Mr. Burton, who
 promised that he would procure some if possible.

 "The Englishman, in pursuance of this promise, took a boat and picked
 up raw materials on the island, some distance from Longwood. He made a
 plaster, which he conceived would answer this purpose. When he showed
 it to Dr. Antommarchi he said it would not answer, and refused to have
 anything to do with it, in consequence of which Mr. Burton proceeded
 to take a bust himself, with the sanction of Madame Bertrand, who was
 in the room at the time. An agreement was entered into that copies
 should be made of the bust, and that Messieurs Burton and Antommarchi
 were to have each a copy.

 "It was found, however, that the plaster was not sufficiently durable
 for the purpose, and it was proposed to send the original to England
 to have copies taken.

 "When Mr. Burton, however, afterwards inquired for the bust, he was
 informed that it was packed and nailed up; but a promise was made,
 that upon its arrival in Europe, an application should be made to the
 family of Buonaparte for the copy required by Mr. Burton.

 "On its arrival, Mr. Burton wrote to the Count to have his promised
 copy, but he was told, as before, that application would be made to
 the family of Buonaparte for it.

 "Mr. Burton upon this applied to Bow Street for a search warrant in
 order to obtain the bust, as he conceived he had a right to it, he
 having furnished the materials and executed it.

 "A warrant was issued, and Taunton and Salmon, two officers, went to
 the Count's residence in Leicester Square. When they arrived, and
 made known their errand, they were remonstrated with by Sir Robert
 Wilson and the Count, who begged they would not act till they had an
 interview with Mr. Birnie, as there must be some mistake. The officers
 politely acceded to the request, and waived their right of search.

 "Count Bertrand had, it seems, offered a pecuniary compensation to
 Mr. Burton for his trouble, but it was _indignantly refused by that
 officer_, who persisted in the assertion of his right to the bust as
 his own property, and made application for the search warrant.

 "Count Bertrand, in answer to the case stated by Mr. Burton, said that
 the bust was the property of the family of the deceased, to whom he
 was executor, and he thought he should not be authorized in giving
 it up. If, however, the law of this country ordained it otherwise, he
 must submit; but he should protest earnestly against it.

 "The worthy magistrate, having sworn the Count to the fact that he was
 executor under the will of Buonaparte, observed that it was a case out
 of his jurisdiction altogether, and if Mr. Burton chose to persist in
 his claim, he must seek a remedy before another tribunal.

 "The case was dismissed, and the warrant was cancelled.

       *       *       *       *       *

 "The sequel to the Buonaparte story is short; Captain Burton (in
 1861) thinking that the sketch, which was perfect, and the lock
 of hair which had been preserved in a family watch-case for forty
 years, would be great treasures to the Buonapartes, and should be
 given to them, begged the sketch of General and Mrs. Ward, and the
 hair from the Burtons; he had the hair set in a handsome ring, with
 a wreath of laurels and the Buonaparte bees. His wife had a complete
 set of her husband's works very handsomely bound, as a gift, and in
 January, 1862, Captain Burton sent his wife over to Paris, with the
 sketch, the ring, and the books, to request an audience with the
 Emperor and Empress, and offer them these things, simply as an act
 of civility--for Captain and Mrs. Burton in opinion and feeling were
 Legitimists. Captain Burton was away on a journey, and Mrs. Burton had
 to go alone. She was young and inexperienced, and had not a single
 friend in Paris to advise her. She left her letter and presents at the
 Tuileries. The audience was not granted. His Imperial Majesty declined
 the presents, and she never heard anything more of them. They were
 not returned. Frightened and disappointed at the failure of this, her
 first little mission at the outset of her married life, she returned
 to London directly, where she found the Burton family anything but
 pleased at her failure and her want of _savoir faire_ in the matter,
 having unwittingly caused their treasure to be utterly unappreciated.
 She said to me on her return, 'I never felt so snubbed in my life, and
 I shall never like Paris again;' and I believe she has kept her word.

 "OXONIAN."

Francis Burton, alluded to in these pages, returned to England after
the death of Napoleon, married one of the three co-heiress (Baker)
sisters, and died early, leaving only two daughters. One died, and the
other, Sarah, became Mrs. Pryce-Harrison.

[Sidenote: _The Louis XIVth Romance._]

Nor was this the only little romance in our Burton family, as the
following story taken from family documents tends to show. Here is the
Louis XIV. history--

 "With regard to Louis XIV. there are one or two curious and
 interesting legends in the Burton family, well authenticated, which
 make Richard Burton great-great-great-grandson of Louis XIV. of
 France, by a morganatic marriage; and another which would entitle him
 to an English baronetcy, dating from 1622.

 "One of the documents in the family is entitled, 'A Pedigree of the
 Young family, showing their descent from Louis XIV. of France,' and
 which runs as follows:--

 "Louis XIV. of France took the beautiful Countess of Montmorency from
 her husband and shut him up in a fortress. After the death of (her
 husband) the Constable de Montmorency, Louis morganatically _married_
 the Countess. She had a son called Louis le Jeune, who 'was brought
 over to Ireland by Lady Primrose,' then a widow. This Lady Primrose's
 maiden name was Drelincourt, and the baby was named Drelincourt after
 his godfather and guardian, Dean Drelincourt (of Armagh), who was the
 father of Lady Primrose. He grew up, was educated at Armagh, and was
 known as Drelincourt Young. He married a daughter of Dean Drelincourt,
 and became the father of Hercules Drelincourt Young, and also of Miss
 (Sarah) Young, who married Dr. John Campbell, LL.D., Vicar-General of
 Tuam (_ob_. 1772). Sarah Young's brother, the above-mentioned Hercules
 Young, married and had a son George, a merchant in Dublin, who had
 some French deeds and various documents, which proved his right to
 property in France.

 "The above-named Dr. John Campbell, by his marriage with Miss Sarah
 Young (rightly Lejeune, for they had changed the name from French to
 English), had a daughter, Maria Margaretta Campbell, who was Richard
 Burton's grandmother. The same Dr. John Campbell was a member of the
 Argyll family, and a first cousin of the 'three beautiful Gunnings,'
 and was Richard Burton's great-grandfather.

 "These papers (for there are other documents) affect a host of
 families in Ireland--the Campbells, Nettervilles, Droughts, Graves,
 Burtons, Plunketts, Trimlestons, and many more.

 "In 1875 _Notes and Queries_ was full of this question and the various
 documents, but it has never been settled.

 "The genealogy runs thus:--

 "Louis XIV.

 "_Son_, Louis le Jeune (known as Louis Drelincourt Young), by Countess
 Montmorency; adopted by Lady Primrose[4] (see Earl of Rosebery), and
 subsequently married to a daughter of Drelincourt, Dean of Armagh.

 "_Daughter_, Sarah Young; married to Dr. John Campbell, LL.D.,
 Vicar-General of Tuam, Galway.

 "_Daughter_, Maria Margaretta Campbell; married to the Rev. Edward
 Burton, Rector of Tuam, Galway.

 "_Son_, Lieutenant-Colonel Joseph Netterville Burton, 36th Regiment.

 "_Son_, Richard Burton, whose biography I am now relating.

 "There was a Lady Primrose buried in the Rosebery vaults, by her
 express will, with a little casket in her hands, containing some
 secret, which was to die with her; many think that it might contain
 the missing link.

 "The wife of Richard Burton received, in 1875, two very tantalizing
 anonymous letters, which she published in _Notes and Queries_, but
 which she has never been able to turn to account, through the writer
 declining to come forward, _even secretly_.

 "One ran thus:--


  "'MADAM,--There is an old baronetcy in the Burton family to
  which you belong, dating from the reign of Edw. III.[5]--I rather
  believe _now in abeyance_--which it was thought Admiral Ryder Burton
  would have taken up, and which after his death can be taken up by your
  branch of the family. All particulars you will find by searching the
  Heralds' Office; but I am positive my information is correct.--From
  one who read your letter in _N. and Q_.


 "She shortly after received and published the second anonymous letter;
 but, though she made several appeals to the writer in _Notes and
 Queries_, no answer was obtained, and Admiral Ryder Burton eventually
 died.


  "'MADAM,--I cannot help thinking that if you were to have
  the records of the Burton family searched carefully at Shap, in
  Westmoreland, you would be able to fill up the link wanting in your
  husband's descent, from 1712 to 1750, or thereabouts. As I am _quite
  positive_ of a baronetcy _being in abeyance_ in the Burton family,
  and that _an old one_, it would be worth your while getting all the
  information you can from Shap and Tuam--the Rev. Edward Burton, Dean
  of Killala and Rector of Tuam, whose niece he married was a Miss
  Ryder, of the Earl of Harrowby's family, by whom he had no children.
  His second wife, a Miss Judge, was a descendant of the Otways, of
  Castle Otway, and connected with many leading families in Ireland.
  Admiral James Ryder Burton could, if he _would_, supply you with
  information respecting the missing link in your husband's descent. I
  have always heard that _de Burton_ was the proper family name, and I
  saw lately that a _de Burton_ now lives in Lincolnshire.

  "'Hoping, madam, that you will be able to establish your claim to the
  baronetcy,

  "'I remain, yours truly,

  "'A READER OF _N. and Q_.

  "'P.S.--I rather think also, and advise your ascertaining the _fact_,
  that the estate of Barker Hill, Shap, Westmoreland, by the law of
  _entail_, will devolve, at the death of Admiral Ryder Burton, on your
  husband, Captain Richard Burton.'

 "From the Royal College of Heralds, however, the following information
 was forwarded to Mrs. Richard Burton:--

  "'There _was_ a baronetcy in the family of Burton. The first was Sir
  Thomas Burton, Knight, of Stokestone, Leicestershire; created July
  22nd, 1622, a baronet, by King James I. Sir Charles was the last
  baronet. He appears to have been in great distress--a prisoner for
  debt, 1712. He is supposed to have died without issue, when the title
  became extinct--at least nobody has claimed it since. If your husband
  can prove his descent from a younger son of any of the baronets, he
  would have a right to the title. The few years must be filled up
  between 1712 and the birth of your husband's grandfather, which was
  about 1750; and you must prove that the Rev. Edward Burton, Rector of
  Tuam in Galway, your husband's grandfather (who came from Shap, in
  Westmoreland, with his brother, Bishop Burton, of Tuam), was descended
  from any of the sons of any of the baronets named.'"[6]

[1] N.B.--This I deny. Richard was the handsomest and most attractive
man I have ever seen, and Edward, though smaller, was very
good-looking, but there is no doubt that Richard grew handsomer every
year of his life, and I can remember Maria exceedingly attractive so
far back as 1857.--I. B.

[2] "The coffin being too short to admit this array in the order
proposed, the hat was placed at the feet before interment."

[3] "Napoleon's dining-room lamp, from Longwood, is, I believe, still
in the possession of the 91st Regiment, it having been purchased by the
officers at St. Helena in 1836."

[4] "This Lady Primrose was a person of no small importance, and
was the centre of the Jacobite Society in London, and the friend of
several distinguished people; and as she was connected on her own side
and her husband's with the French Calvinists, she may very likely
have protected Lejeune from France to Ireland, and he would probably
have, when grown up, married some younger Drelincourt--as such were
undoubtedly the names of the parents of Sarah Young, who married Dr.
John Campbell. We can only give the various documents as we have seen
them."

[5] "This is an error of the anonymous writer. Baronetcies were first
created in 1605."--I. B.

[6] N.B.--We never had the money to pursue these enquiries. But should
they ever be sifted, the proper heir, since my husband is dead, will be
Captain Richard St. George Burton, of the "Black Watch." We made out
all the links, except twelve years from 1712. It is said that Admiral
Ryder Burton himself was the author of those two anonymous letters to
me. My husband often used to say there were only two titles he would
care to have. Firstly, the old family baronetcy, and the other to be
created Duke of Midian.--ISABEL BURTON.




CHAPTER II.

RICHARD'S BIRTH AND CHILDHOOD.


[Sidenote: _Richard Burton's Early Life._]

I was born at 9.30 p.m., 19th March (Feast of St. Joseph in the
calendar), 1821, at Barham House, Herts, and suppose I was baptized
in due course at the parish church. My birth took place in the same
year as, but the day before, the grand event of George IV. visiting
the Opera for the first time after the Coronation, March 20th. I was
the eldest of three children. The second was Maria Catherine Eliza,
who married Henry, afterwards General Sir Henry Stisted, a very
distinguished officer, who died, leaving only two daughters, one of
whom, Georgina Martha, survives. Third, Edward Joseph Netterville, late
Captain in the 37th Regiment, unmarried.

The first thing I remember, and it is always interesting to record a
child's first memories, was being brought down after dinner at Barham
House to eat white currants, seated upon the knee of a tall man with
yellow hair and blue eyes; but whether the memory is composed of a
miniature of my grandfather, and whether the white frock and blue sash
with bows come from a miniature of myself and not from life, I can
never make up my mind.

Barham House was a country place bought by my grandfather, Richard
Baker, who determined to make me his heir because I had red hair, an
unusual thing in the Burton family. The hair soon changed to black,
which seems to justify the following remarks by Alfred Bate Richards in
the pamphlet alluded to. They are as follows:--

 "Richard Burton's talents for mixing with and assimilating natives of
 all countries, but especially Oriental characters, and of becoming as
 one of themselves without any one doubting or suspecting his origin;
 his perfect knowledge of their languages, manners, customs, habits,
 and religion; and last, but not least, his being gifted by nature
 with an Arab head and face, favoured this his first enterprise"
 (the pilgrimage to Mecca). "One can learn from that versatile
 poet-traveller, the excellent Théophile Gautier, why Richard Burton
 is an Arab in appearance; and account for that incurable restlessness
 that is unable to wrest from fortune a spot on earth wherein to repose
 when weary of wandering like the desert sands.

 "'There is a reason,' says Gautier, who had studied the Andalusian
 and the Moor, 'for the fantasy of nature which causes an Arab to be
 born in Paris, or a Greek in Auvergne; the mysterious voice of blood
 which is silent for generations, or only utters a confused murmur,
 speaks at rare intervals a more intelligible language. In the general
 confusion race claims its own, and some forgotten ancestor asserts
 his rights. Who knows what alien drops are mingled with our blood?
 The great migrations from the table-lands of India, the descents of
 the Northern races, the Roman and Arab invasions, have all left their
 marks. Instincts which seem _bizarre_ spring from these confused
 recollections, these hints of distant country. The vague desire of
 this primitive Fatherland moves such minds as retain the more vivid
 memories of the past. Hence the wild unrest that wakens in certain
 spirits the need of flight, such as the cranes and the swallows feel
 when kept in bondage--the impulses that make a man leave his luxurious
 life to bury himself in the Steppes, the Desert, the Pampas, the
 Sahara. He goes to seek his brothers. It would be easy to point out
 the intellectual Fatherland of our greatest minds. Lamartine, De
 Musset, and De Vigny are English; Delacroix is an Anglo-Indian; Victor
 Hugo a Spaniard; Ingres belongs to the Italy of Florence and Rome.'

 "Richard Burton has also some peculiarities which oblige one to
 suspect a drop of Oriental, perhaps gipsy, blood. By gipsy we must
 understand the pure Eastern."

My mother had a wild half-brother--Richard Baker, junior, a
barrister-at-law, who refused a judgeship in Australia, and died a
soap-boiler. To him she was madly attached, and delayed the signing of
my grandfather's will as much as possible to the prejudice of her own
babe. My grandfather Baker drove in his carriage to see Messrs. Dendy,
his lawyers, with the object of signing the will, and dropped dead, on
getting out of the carriage, of ossification of the heart; and, the
document being unsigned, the property was divided. It would now be
worth half a million of money.

When I was sent out to India as a cadet, in 1842, I ran down to see
the old house for the last time, and started off in a sailing ship
round the Cape for Bombay, in a frame of mind to lead any forlorn hope
wherever it might be. Warren Hastings, Governor-General of India, under
similar circumstances threw himself under a tree, and formed the fine
resolution to come back and buy the old place; but _he_ belonged to
the eighteenth century. The nineteenth is far more cosmopolitan. I
always acted upon the saying, _Omne solum_ _forti patria_, or, as I
translated it, "For every region is a strong man's home."

Meantime my father had been obliged to go on half-pay by the Duke of
Wellington for having refused to appear as a witness against Queen
Caroline. He had been town mayor at Genoa when she lived there, and her
kindness to the officers had greatly prepossessed them in her favour;
so, when ordered by the War Office to turn Judas, he flatly refused. A
great loss to himself, as Lord William Bentinck, Governor-General of
India, was about to take him as aide-de-camp, and to his family, as
he lost all connection with the army, and lived entirely abroad, and,
eventually coming back, died with his wife at Bath in 1857. However, he
behaved like a gentleman, and none of his family ever murmured at the
step, though I began life as an East Indian cadet, and my brother in a
marching regiment, whilst our cousins were in the Guards and the Rifles
and other crack corps of the army.

[Sidenote: _At Tours._]

The family went abroad when I was a few months old, and settled at
Tours, the charming capital of Touraine, which then contained some two
hundred English families (now reduced to a score or so), attracted
by the beauty of the place, the healthy climate, the economy of
living, the facilities of education, and the friendly feeling of the
French inhabitants, who, despite Waterloo, associated freely with the
strangers.

They had a chaplain, the Rev. Mr. Way (whose son afterwards entered the
Indian army; I met him in India, and he died young); their schoolmaster
was Mr. Clough, who bolted from his debts, and then Mr. Gilchrist, who,
like the Rev. Edward Irving, Carlisle's friend (whom the butcher once
asked if he couldn't assist him), caned his pupils to the utmost. The
celebrated Dr. Brettoneau took charge of the invalids. They had their
duellist, the Honourable Martin Hawke, their hounds that hunted the
Forest of Amboise, and a select colony of Irishmen, Messrs. Hume and
others, who added immensely to the fun and frolic of the place.

At that period a host of these little colonies were scattered over the
Continent nearest England; in fact, an oasis of Anglo-Saxondom in a
desert of continentalism, somewhat like the society of English country
towns as it was in 1800, not as it is now, where society is confined to
the parson, dentist, surgeon, general practitioners, the bankers, and
the lawyers. And in those days it had this advantage, that there were
no snobs, and one seldom noticed the _aigre discorde_, the _maladie
chronique des ménages bourgeoises_. Knowing nothing of Mrs. Grundy, the
difference of the foreign colonies was that the _weight_ of English
respectability appeared to be taken off them, though their lives were
respectable and respected. The Mrs. Gamps and Mrs. Grundys were not so
rampant. The English of these little colonies were intensely patriotic,
and cared comparatively little for party politics. They stuck to their
own Church because it _was_ their Church, and they knew as much about
the Catholics at their very door, as the average Englishman does of the
Hindú. Moreover, they honestly called themselves Protestants in those
days, and the French called themselves Catholics. There was no quibble
about "their being Anglo-Catholics, and the others Roman-Catholics."
They subscribed liberally to the Church, and did not disdain to act
as churchwardens. They kept a sharp look-out upon the parson, and one
of your Modern High Church Protestants or Puseyites or Ritualists
would have got the sack after the first sermon. They were intensely
national. Any Englishman in those days who refused to fight a duel
with a Frenchman was sent to Coventry, and bullied out of the place.
English girls who flirted with foreigners, were looked upon very much
as white women who permit the addresses of a nigger, are looked upon
by those English who have lived in black countries. White women who do
these things lose caste. Beauséjour, the château taken by the family,
was inhabited by the Maréchale de Menon in 1778, and eventually became
the property of her _homme d'affaires_, Monsieur Froguet. The dear old
place stands on the right bank of the Loire, halfway up the heights
that bound the stream, commanding a splendid view, and fronted by a
French garden and vineyards now uprooted. In 1875 I paid it a last
visit, and found a friend from Brazil, a Madame Izarié, widow of my
friend the French Consul of Bahía, who had come to die in the house of
his sister, Madame Froguet.

Tours was in those days (1820-30) the most mediæval City in France.
The western half of the city, divided from the eastern by the Rue
Royale, contained a number of old turreted houses of freestone, which
might have belonged to the fifteenth century. There also was the tomb
of the Venerable St. Martin in a crypt, where lamps are ever burning,
and where the destroyed cathedral has not yet been rebuilt. The
eastern city contained the grand Cathedral of St. Garcien, with its
domed towers, and the Archévêché or Archbishop's palace with beautiful
gardens. Both are still kept in the best order. In forty-five years the
city has grown enormously. The southern suburbs, where the Mall and
Ramparts used to be, has become Boulevards Heurteloup and Béranger;
and "Places," such as that of the Palais de Justice, where cabbage
gardens fenced with paling and thorn hedges once showed a few pauper
cottages defended by the fortifications, are now Crescents and Kiosks
for loungers, houses with tall mansarde roofs, and the large railway
station that connects Tours with the outer world. The river, once
crossed by a single long stone bridge, has now two suspension bridges
and a railway bridge, and the river-holms, formerly strips of sand,
are now grown to double their size, covered with trees and defended by
stone dykes.

I remember passing over the river on foot when it was frozen, but
with the increased population that no longer happens. Still there are
vestiges of the old establishments. The Boule d'Or with its Golden
Ball, and the Pheasant Hotel, both in the Rue Royale, still remain.
You still read, "Maison Piernadine recommended for _is_ elegance, _is_
good taste, _is_ new fashions of the first choice." Madame Fisterre,
the maker of admirable apple-puffs, has disappeared and has left no
sign. This was, as may be supposed, one of my first childish visits. We
young ones enjoyed ourselves very much at the Château de Beauséjour,
eating grapes in the garden, putting our Noah's ark animals under the
box hedges, picking snail-shells and cowslips in the lanes, playing
with the dogs--three black pointers of splendid breed, much admired by
the Duke of Cumberland when he afterwards saw them in Richmond Park,
named Juno, Jupiter, and Ponto. Charlotte Ling, the old nurse, daughter
of the lodge-keeper at Barham House, could not stand the absence of
beef and beer and the presence of kickshaws and dandelion salad, and
after Aunt Georgina Baker had paid us a visit, she returned with her
to Old England. A favourite amusement of us children was swarming up
the tails of our father's horses, three in number, and one--a horse
of Mecklenburg breed--was as tame as an Arab. The first story Aunt
Georgina used to tell of me was of my lying on my back in a broiling
sun, and exclaiming, "How I love a bright burning sun!" (Nature
speaking in early years). Occasional drawbacks were violent storms of
thunder and lightning, when we children were hustled out of our little
cots under the roof, and taken to the drawing-room, lest the lightning
should strike us, and the daily necessity of learning the alphabet and
so forth, multiplication table, and our prayers.

I was intended for that wretched being, the infant phenomenon, and so
began Latin at three and Greek at four. Things are better now. Our
father used to go out wild-boar hunting in the _Forêt d'Amboise_, where
is the château in which Abd-el-Kadir was imprisoned by the French
Government from 1847 to 1852, when he was set free by Napoleon III.,
at the entreaties of Lord Londonderry. (It is said that his Majesty
entered his prison in person and set him free. Abd-el-Kadir, at
Damascus, often expressed his obligations to the English, and warmly
welcomed any English face. On one occasion I took a near relation of
Lord Londonderry's to see him, and he was quite overcome.) My father
was periodically brought home hurt by running against a tree. Sport was
so much in vogue then as to come between the parson and his sermon.

[Sidenote: _His First School._]

This pleasant life came to a close one day. We were three: I was six,
Maria four, and Edward three. One morning saw the hateful school-books
fastened with a little strap, and we boys and our little bundle were
conveyed in a small carriage to the town, where we were introduced
into a room with a number of English and French boys, who were sitting
opposite hacked and ink-spotted desks, looking as demure as they could,
though every now and then they broke out into wicked grins and nudges.
A lame Irish schoolmaster (Clough) smiled most graciously at us as
long as our father was in the room, but was not half so pleasant when
we were left alone. We wondered "what we were doing in that _Galère_,"
especially as we were sent there day after day, and presently we learnt
the dread truth that we were at school at the ripe ages of six and
three. Presently it was found that the house was at an inconvenient
distance from school, and the family transferred itself to the Rue de
l'Archévêché, a very nice house in the north-eastern corner of what is
still the best street in the town (Rue Royale being mostly commercial).
It is close to the Place and the Archbishop's palace, which delighted
us, with small deer feeding about the dwarf lawn.

Presently Mr. Clough ran away, leaving his sister to follow as best she
could, and we were transferred to the care of Mr. John Gilchrist, a
Scotch pedagogue of the old brutal school, who took an especial delight
in caning the boys, especially with a rattan or ferula across the palm
of the hand; but we were not long in discovering a remedy, by splitting
the end of the cane and inserting a bit of hair. We took lessons in
drawing, dancing, French, and music, in which each child showed its
individuality. Maria loved all four; Edward took to French and music
and hated drawing; I took to French and drawing, and hated music and
dancing. My brother and I took to the study of Arms, by nature, as soon
as we could walk, at first with popguns and spring pistols and tin and
wooden sabres, and I can quite well remember longing to kill the porter
at five years old, because he laughed at our _sabres de bois_ and
_pistolets de paille_.

I was a boy of three ideas. Usually if a child is forbidden to eat
the sugar or to lap up the cream he simply either obeys or does the
contrary; but I used to place myself before the sugar and cream and
carefully study the question, "Have I the courage not to touch them?"
When I was quite sure of myself that I had the courage I instantly
rewarded resolution by emptying one or both. Moreover, like most
boys of strong imagination and acute feeling, I was a resolute and
unblushing liar; I used to ridicule the idea of my honour being any
way attached to telling the truth, I considered it an impertinence the
being questioned, I never could understand what moral turpitude there
could be in a lie, _unless it was told for fear of the consequences_ of
telling the truth, or one that would attach blame to another person.
That feeling continued for many a year, and at last, as very often
happens, as soon as I realized that a lie was contemptible, it ran into
quite the other extreme, a disagreeable habit of scrupulously telling
the truth whether it was timely or not.[1]

The school was mostly manned by English boys, sprinkled with French,
and the mixture of the two formed an ungodly article, and the Italian
proverb--

    "Un Inglese Italianato
    È un Diavolo incarnato"

may be applied with quite as much truth to English boys brought up
in France. To succeed in English life, boys must be brought up in a
particular groove. First the preparatory school, then Eton and Oxford,
with an occasional excursion to France, Italy, and Germany, to learn
languages, not of Stratford-atte-Bowe, and to find out that England is
not the whole world. I never met any of my Tours schoolfellows save
one--Blayden Edward Hawke, who became a Commander in the Navy, and died
in 1877.

We boys became perfect devilets, and played every kind of trick despite
the rattan. Fighting the French gutter-boys with sticks and stones,
fists, and snowballs was a favourite amusement, and many a donkey-lad
went home with ensanguined nose, whilst occasionally we got the worst
of it from some big brother. The next favourite game was playing
truant, passing the day in utter happiness, fancying ourselves Robinson
Crusoes, and wandering about the strip of wood (long since doomed to
fuel) at the top of the Tranchée. Our father and mother went much into
the society of the place, which was gay and pleasant, and we children
were left more or less to the servants. We boys beat all our bonnes,
generally by running at their petticoats and upsetting them. There was
one particular case when a new nurse arrived, a huge Norman girl, who
at first imposed upon this turbulent nursery by her breadth of shoulder
and the general rigour of her presence. One unlucky day we walked to
the Faubourg at the south-east of the town, the only part of old Tours
now remaining; the old women sat spinning and knitting at their cottage
doors, and remarked loud enough for us boys to hear, "Ah ça! ces
petits gamins! Voilà une honnête bonne qui ne leur laissera pas faire
des farces!" Whereupon Euphrosyne became as proud as a peacock, and
insisted upon a stricter discipline than we were used to. That forest
walk ended badly. A jerk of the arm on her part brought on a general
attack from the brood; the poor bonne measured her length upon the
ground, and we jumped upon her. The party returned, she with red eyes,
torn cap, and downcast looks, and we hooting and jeering loudly, and
calling the old women "Les Mères Pomponnes," who screamed predictions
that we should come to the guillotine.

Our father and mother had not much idea of managing their children; it
was like the old tale of the hen who hatched ducklings. By way of a
wholesome and moral lesson of self-command and self-denial, our mother
took us past Madame Fisterre's windows, and bade us look at all the
good things in the window, during which we fixed our ardent affections
upon a tray of apple-puffs; then she said, "Now, my dears, let us go
away; it is so good for little children to restrain themselves." Upon
this we three devilets turned flashing eyes and burning cheeks upon our
moralizing mother, broke the windows with our fists, clawed out the
tray of apple-puffs, and bolted, leaving poor mother a sadder and a
wiser woman, to pay the damages of her lawless brood's proceedings.

Talking of the guillotine, the schoolmaster unwisely allowed the boys,
by way of a school-treat, to see the execution of a woman who killed
her small family by poisoning, on condition that they would look away
when the knife descended; but of course that was just the time (with
such an injunction) when every small neck was craned and eyes strained
to look, and the result was that the whole school played at guillotine
for a week, happily without serious accidents.[2]

[Sidenote: _Trips._]

The residence at Tours was interrupted by occasional trips, summering
in other places, especially at St. Malo. The seaport then thoroughly
deserved the slighting notice, to which it was subjected by Captain
Marryat, and the house in the Faubourg was long remembered from its
tall avenue of old yew trees, which afforded abundant bird's-nesting.
At Dieppe the gallops on the sands were very much enjoyed, for we were
put on horseback as soon as we could straddle. Many a fall was of
course the result, and not a few broken heads, whilst the rival French
boys were painfully impressed by the dignity of spurs and horsewhips.

[Sidenote: _Grandmamma Baker._]

At times relations came over to visit us, especially Grandmamma Baker
(Grandmamma Baker was a very peculiar character). Her arrival was a
signal for presents and used to be greeted with tremendous shouts of
delight, but the end of a week always brought on a quarrel. Our mother
was rather thin and delicate, but our grandmother was a thorough old
Macgregor, of the Helen or the Rob Roy type, and was as quick to resent
an affront as any of her clan. Her miniature shows that she was an
extremely handsome woman, who retained her good looks to the last. When
her stepson, Richard Baker, jun., inherited his money, £80,000, he went
to Paris and fell into the hands of the celebrated Baron de Thierry.
This French friend persuaded him to embark in the pleasant little
speculation of building a bazaar. By the time the walls began to grow
above ground the Englishman had finished £60,000, and, seeing that a
million would hardly finish the work, he sold off his four greys and
fled Paris post-haste in a post-chaise. The Baron Thierry followed him
to London, and, bold as brass, presented himself as an injured creditor
at grandmamma's pretty little house in Park Lane. The old lady replied
by summoning her servants and having him literally kicked downstairs in
true Highland fashion. That Baron's end is well known in history. He
made himself king of one of the Cannibal Islands in the South Sea, and
ended by being eaten by his ungrateful subjects.

Grandmamma Baker was determined to learn French, and, accordingly,
secured a professor. The children's great delight was to ambuscade
themselves, and to listen with joy to the lessons. "What is the sun?"
"Le soleil, madame!" "La solelle." "Non, madame. Le so--leil." "Oh,
pooh! La solelle." After about six repetitions of the same, roars
of laughter issued from the curtains--we of course speaking French
like English, upon which the old lady would jump up and catch hold of
the nearest delinquent and administer condign punishment. She had a
peculiar knack of starting the offender, compelling him to describe a
circle of which she was the centre, whilst, holding with the left hand,
she administered smacks and cuffs with the right; but, as every mode
of attack has its own defence, it was soon found out that the proper
corrective was to throw one's self on one's back, and give vigorous
kicks with both legs. It need hardly be said that Grandmamma predicted
that Jack Ketch would make acquaintance with the younger scions of her
race, and that she never arrived at speaking French like a Parisian.

[Sidenote: _Grandmamma Burton._]

Grandmamma Burton was also peculiar in her way. Her portrait shows the
regular Bourbon traits, the pear-shaped face and head which culminates
in Louis Philippe's. Although the wife of a country clergyman, she
never seemed to have attained the meekness of feeling associated with
that peaceful calling. The same thing is told of her as was told
of the Edgeworth family. On one occasion during the absence of her
husband, the house at Tuam was broken into by thieves, probably some
of her petted tenantry. She lit a candle and went upstairs to fetch
some gunpowder, loaded her pistols, and ran down to the hall, when
the robbers decamped. She asked the raw Irish servant girl who had
accompanied her what had become of the light, and the answer was that
it was standing on the barrel of "black salt" upstairs; thereupon
Grandmamma Burton had the pluck to walk up to the garret and expose
herself to the risk of being blown to smithereens. When my father
returned from service in Sicily, at the end of the year, he found the
estate in a terrible condition, and obtained his mother's leave to take
the matter in hand. He invited all the tenants to dinner, and when
speech time came on, after being duly blarneyed by all present, he made
a little address, dwelling with some vigour upon the necessity of being
for the future more regular with the "rint." Faces fell, and the only
result was, that when the rent came to be collected, he was fired at
so frequently (showing that this state of things had been going on for
some sixty or seventy years), that, not wishing to lead the life of the
"Galway woodcock," he gave up the game, and allowed matters to take
their own course.

[Sidenote: _Aunt G._]

Another frequent visitor was popularly known as "Aunt G."--Georgina
Baker, the younger of the three sisters, who was then in the heyday
of youth and high spirits. An extremely handsome girl, with blue eyes
and dark hair and fine tall figure, she was the life of the house as
long as her visits lasted. Her share of the property being £30,000, she
had of course a number of offers from English as well as foreigners.
On the latter she soon learned to look shy, having heard that one of
her rejected suitors had exclaimed to his friend, "Quelle dommage,
avec cette petite ferme à vendre," the wished-for farm, adjoining his
property, happening then to be in the market. Heiresses are not always
fortunate, and she went on refusing suitor after suitor, till ripe
middle age, when she married Robert Bagshaw, Esq., M.P. for Harwich.
She wanted to adopt me, intending to accompany me to Oxford and leave
me her property, but this project had no stay in it. At the time she
was at Tours, Aunt G. had a kind of "fad" that she would marry one
of her brother-in-law Burton's brothers. Her eldest sister Sarah had
married my uncle Burton, elder brother of my father, who, sorely
against his wish, which pointed to the Church, had been compelled by
the failure of the "rint" to become an army surgeon--the same who had
the disappointment at St. Helena.

At last it became apparent that Tours was no longer a place for us
who were approaching the ticklish time of teens. All Anglo-French
boys generally were remarkable young ruffians, who, at ten years of
age, cocked their hats and loved the ladies. Instead of fighting and
fagging, they broke the fine old worked glass church windows, purloined
their fathers' guns to shoot at the monuments in the churchyards, and
even the shops and bazaars were not safe from their impudent raids.
The ringleader of the gang was a certain Alek G----, the son of a
Scotchmen of good family, who was afterwards connected with or was the
leading spirit of a transaction, which gave a tablet and an inscription
to Printing House Square. Alek was very handsome, and his two sisters
were as good looking as himself. He died sadly enough at a hospital
in Paris. Political matters, too, began to look queer. The revolution
which hurled Charles X. from the throne, produced no outrages in quiet
Tours, beyond large gatherings of the people with an immense amount
of noise, especially of "_Vive la Chatte!_" (for La Charte), the good
_commères_ turning round and asking one another whom the Cat might be
that the people wished it so long a life; but when Casimir Périer had
passed through the town, and "the three glorious days of July" had
excited the multitude, things began to look black, and cries of "_À
bas les Anglais!_" were not uncommon. An Englishmen was threatened
with prison because the horse he was driving accidentally knocked
down an old woman, and a French officer of the line, who was fond of
associating with English girls, was grossly insulted and killed in a
dastardly duel by a pastrycook.

[Sidenote: _They leave Tours._]

At last, after a long deliberation, the family resolved to leave Tours.
Travelling in those days, especially for a large family, was a severe
infliction. The old travelling carriages, which had grown shabby in
the coach-house, had to be taken out and furbished up, and all the
queer receptacles, imperial, boot, sword-case, and plate-chest, to be
stuffed with miscellaneous luggage. After the usual sale by auction, my
father took his departure, perhaps mostly regretted by a little knot
of Italian exiles, whom he liked on account of his young years spent
in Sicily, and whose society not improbably suggested his ultimate
return to Italy. Then began the journey along the interminable avenues
of the old French roads, lined with parallel rows of poplars, which
met at a vanishing point of the far distance. I found exactly the same
thing, when travelling through Lower Canada in 1860. Mighty dull work
it was, whilst the French postilion in his seven-league boots jogged
along with his horses at the rate of five miles an hour, never dreaming
of increasing the rate, till he approached some horridly paved town,
when he cracked his whip, like a succession of pistol shots, to the awe
and delight of all the sabots. Very slow hours they were, especially as
the night wore on, and the road, gleaming white between its two dark
edges, looked of endless length. And when at last the inn was reached,
it proved very unlike the inn of the present day. A hard bargain had
to be driven with a rapacious landlady, who, if you objected to her
charges, openly roared at you with arms akimbo, "that if you were not
rich enough to travel, you ought to stay at home." Then the beds had to
be inspected, the damp sheets to be aired, and the warming-pans to be
ordered, and, as dinner had always to be prepared after arrival, it was
not unusual to sit hungry for a couple of hours.

The fatigues of the journey seriously affected my mother's health,
and she lost no time in falling very ill at Chartres. Then Grandmamma
Baker was sent for to act _garde-malade_, and to awe the children, who
were wild with delight at escaping school and masters, with the weight
of her sturdy Scotch arm. The family passed through Paris, where the
signs of fighting, bullets in the walls, and burnt houses, had not been
wholly obliterated, and were fortunate enough to escape the cholera,
which then for the first time attacked Europe in its very worst form.
Grandmamma Baker was very nearly as bad, for she almost poisoned her
beloved grandchildren, by stuffing our noses and mouths full of the
strongest camphor whenever we happened to pass through a town. The
cold plunge into English life was broken by loitering on the sands of
Dieppe. A wonderful old ramshackle place it was in those days, holding
a kind of intermediate place between the dulness of Calais and the
liveliness of "Boolone," as the denizens called it. It wanted the fine
hotels and the _Établissement_, which grew up under the Second Empire,
but there was during the summer a pleasant, natural kind of life,
living almost exclusively upon the sands and dipping in the water,
galloping about on little ponies, and watching the queer costumes of
the bathers, and discussing the new-comers. Though railways were not
dreamt of, many Parisians used to affect the place, and part of the
French nature seems to be, to rush into the sea as soon as they see it.

[1] N.B.--From that he became a man wholly truthful, wholly
incorruptible, who never lost his "dignity," a man whose honour and
integrity from the cradle to the grave was unimpeachable.--I. B.

[2] N.B.--This kind of _indulgence_ should never be allowed by parents
or tutors. During our eighteen years in Austria, there were some
parents up the Slav district who allowed their two eldest children, boy
and girl, six and seven, to see the pigs killed for a treat. They saw
everything, to the hanging up of the pigs ready for buying. Next day
the mother went down to the Trieste market, father to work, and the
children were left in charge of the cottage. When the parents got near
the cottage in late afternoon, the two children ran out and said, "We
have had such fun, mamma; we have played all day at killing pigs, and
we have done baby beautifully, and he squealed at first just like a
real pig." The horrified parents rushed in, and found truly that baby
was beautifully done, hanging up by the legs, his poor little stomach
kept open by a bit of wood just like a real pig, and had been dead for
hours.--I. B.




CHAPTER III.

THE CHILDREN ARE BROUGHT TO ENGLAND.


Landing in England was dolorous. Grandmamma Baker inflated her
nostrils, and, delighted at escaping from those _crapauds_ and their
kickshaws, quoted with effusion her favourite Cowper, "England, with
all thy faults, I love thee still." The children scoffed. The air
of Brighton, full of smoke and blacks, appeared to them unfit for
breathing. The cold grey seas made them shudder. In the town everything
appeared so small, so prim, so mean, the little one-familied houses
contrasting in such a melancholy way with the big buildings of Tours
and Paris. We revolted against the coarse and half-cooked food, and,
accustomed to the excellent Bordeaux of France, we found port, sherry,
and beer like strong medicine; the bread, all crumb and no crust,
appeared to be half baked, and milk meant chalk and water. The large
joints of meat made us think of Robinson Crusoe, and the vegetables
_cuite à l'eau_, especially the potatoes, which had never heard of
_"Maître d'hôtel"_ suggested the roots of primitive man. Moreover,
the national temper, fierce and surly, was a curious contrast to the
light-hearted French of middle France. A continental lady of those
days cautioned her son, who was about to travel, against ridicule in
France and the _canaille_ in England. The little children punched one
another's heads on the sands, the boys punched one another's heads
in the streets, and in those days a stand-up fight between men was
not uncommon. Even the women punched their children, and the whole
lower-class society seemed to be governed by the fist.

[Sidenote: _School at Richmond._]

My father had determined to send his boys to Eton to prepare for
Oxford and Cambridge. In the mean time some blundering friend had
recommended him a preparatory school. This was kept by the Rev.
Charles Delafosse, who rejoiced in the title of Chaplain to the Duke
of Cumberland, a scion of royalty, who had, apparently, very little
to do with the Church. Accordingly, the family went to Richmond, the
only excitement of the journey being the rage of the post-boys, when we
boys on the box furtively poked their horses with long sticks. After
sundry attempts at housing themselves in the tiny doll-rooms in the
stuffy village, they at last found a house, so called by courtesy,
in "Maids of Honour Row," between the river and the Green, a house
with a strip of garden fronting it, which a sparrow could hop across
in thirty seconds. Opening upon the same Green, stood that horror of
horrors, the school, or the "Establishment," as it would _now_ be
called. It consisted of a large block of buildings (detached), lying
between the Green and the Old Town, which has long been converted into
dwelling-houses. In those days it had a kind of paling round a paddock,
forming a long parallelogram, which enclosed some fine old elm trees.
One side was occupied by the house, and the other by the school-room.
In the upper stories of the former, were the dormitories with their
small white beds, giving the idea of the Lilliput Hospital; a kind of
outhouse attached to the dwelling was the place where the boys fed
at two long tables stretching the whole length of the room. The only
decoration of the palings were names cut all over their inner surfaces
and rectangular nails at the top, acting as _chevaux de frise_. The
school-room was the usual scene of hacked and well-used benches and
ink-stained desks, everything looking as mean and uncomfortable as
possible.

This was the kind of Dotheboys Hall, to which, in those days, gentlemen
were contented to send their sons, paying a hundred a year, besides
"perquisites" (plunder): on the Continent the same treatment would be
had for £20.

The Rev. Charles was a bluff and portly man, with dark hair and short
whiskers, whose grand aquiline nose took a prodigious deal of snuff,
and was not over active with the rod; but he was no more fit to be a
schoolmaster than the Grand Cham of Tartary. He was, however, rather a
favourite with the boys, and it was shrewdly whispered, that at times
he returned from dining abroad half-seas over. His thin-lipped wife
took charge of the _ménage_, and looked severely after the provisions,
and swayed with an iron sceptre the maid-servants, who had charge of
the smaller boys. The ushers were the usual consequential lot of those
days. There was the handsome and dressy usher, a general favourite with
the fair; the shabby and mild usher, despised by even the smallest boy;
and the unfortunate French usher, whose life was a fair foretaste of
Purgatory.

Instead of learning anything at this school, my brother and I lost much
of what we knew, especially in French, and the principal acquisitions
were, a certain facility of using our fists, and a general development
of ruffianism. I was in one perpetual scene of fights; at one time I
had thirty-two affairs of honour to settle, the place of meeting being
the school-room, with the elder boys sitting in judgment. On the first
occasion I received a blow in the eye, which I thought most unfair, and
having got my opponent down I proceeded to hammer his head against the
ground, using his ears by way of handles. My indignation knew no bounds
when I was pulled off by the bystanders, and told to let my enemy stand
up again. "Stand up!" I cried, "after all the trouble I've had to get
the fellow down." At last the fighting went on to such an extent, that
I was beaten as thin as a shotten herring, and the very servant-maids,
when washing me on Saturday night, used to say, "Drat the child! what
has he been doing? he's all black and blue." Edward fought just as well
as I did, but he was younger and more peaceable. Maria says that I was
a thin, dark little boy, with small features and large black eyes, and
was extremely proud, sensitive, shy, nervous, and of a melancholy,
affectionate disposition. Such is the effect of a boys' school after a
few months' trial, when the boys learn to despise mother and sisters,
and to affect the rough as much as possible, and this is not only in
England, but everywhere where the boy first escapes from petticoat
government. He does not know what to do to show his manliness. There is
no stronger argument in favour of mixed schools, up to a _certain age_,
of boys and girls together.

At the little Richmond theatre we were taken to see Edmund Kean, who
lived in a cottage on the Green. He had gentle blood in his veins,
grandson (illegitimate) of George Savile, Marquis of Halifax, and
that accounted for his Italian, or rather un-John-Bull appearance,
and for his fiery power. I saw him in his famous Richard III. _rôle_,
and remember only what old Colley Grattan described, "Looks bloated
with brandy, nose red, cheeks blotched, and eyes blood-shot." He was
drinking himself to death. His audience appeared not a little afraid of
him; perhaps they had heard of the Guernsey scene, where he stood at
the footlights and flashed out, "Unmannered dogs! stand ye where _I_
command."

Our parents very unwisely determined to correct all personal vanity
in their offspring by always dwelling upon our ugliness. My nose was
called cocked; it was a Cross which I had to carry, and was a perpetual
plague to me; and I was assured that the only decent feature in my face
was my teeth. Maria, on account of her fresh complexion, was called
Blousabella; and even Edward, whose features were perfect, and whom
Frenchmen used to stop and stare at in the streets, and call him "Le
petit Napoleon," was told to nauseousness that "handsome is as handsome
does." In later life we were dressed in a marvellous fashion; a piece
of yellow nankin would be bought to dress the whole family, like three
sticks of barley sugar. Such was the discipline of the day, and nothing
could be more ill-judged; it inflicted an amount of torment upon
sensitive children which certainly was not intended, but which had the
very worst effect.

If we children quarrelled, and turned up our noses at the food in
English hotels, what must have been our surprise at the food of an
English school? Breakfast at 8 a.m., consisting of very blue milk and
water, in chipped and broken-handled mugs of the same colour. The
boys were allowed tea from home, but it was a perpetual battle to get
a single drink of it. The substantials were a wedge of bread with a
glazing of butter. The epicures used to collect the glazing to the end
of the slice in order to convert it into a final _bonne bouche_. The
dinner at one o'clock began with stickjaw (pudding) and ended with
meat, as at all second-rate schools. The latter was as badly cooked as
possible, black out and blue inside, gristly and sinewy. The vegetables
were potatoes, which could serve for grapeshot, and the hateful carrot.
Supper was a repetition of breakfast, and, at an age when boys were
making bone and muscle, they went hungry to bed.

Occasionally the pocket-money and tips were clubbed, and a "room"
would go in for a midnight feed of a quartern loaf, ham, polony, and
saveloys, with a quantity of beer and wine, which generally led to
half a dozen fights. Saturday was a day to be feared on account of its
peculiar pie, which contained all the waifs and strays of the week.
On the Sunday there was an attempt at plum-pudding of a peculiarly
pale and leaden hue, as if it had been unjustly defrauded of its
due allowance of plums. And this dull routine lasted throughout the
scholastic year. School hours were from seven till nine, and ten to
one, and three to five, without other changes, save at the approach
of the holidays, when a general burst of singing, locally called
"challenging," took place. Very few were the schoolfellows we met in
after life. The ragged exceptions were Guildford Onslow, the Claimant's
friend. Tuckey Baines, as he was called on account of his exploits
on Saturday pie, went into the Bombay army, and was as disagreeable
and ill-conditioned as when he was a bully at school. He was locally
celebrated for hanging the wrong Mahommad, and for his cure for Sindee
litigiousness, by making complainant and defendant flog each other in
turn. The only schoolboy who did anything worthy, was Bobby Delafosse
(who was appointed to the 26th Regiment, N.I.), who showed immense
pluck, and died fighting bravely in the Indian Mutiny. I met him in
Bombay shortly before I went off to the North-West Provinces, but my
remembrances of the school were so painful, that I could not bear to
recognize him. In fact, that part of life, which most boys dwell upon
with the greatest pleasure, and concerning which, most autobiographers
tell the longest stories--school and college--was ever a nightmare to
us. It was like the "Blacking-shop" of Charles Dickens.

[Sidenote: _Measles disperse the School._]

Before the year concluded, an attack of measles broke out in the
school, several of the boys died, and it was found necessary to
disperse the survivors. We were not hard-hearted, but we were delighted
to get home. We worked successfully on the fears of Aunt G., which was
assisted by my cadaverous appearance, and it was resolved to move us
from school, to our infinite joy. My father had also been thoroughly
sick of "Maids of Honour Row" and "Richmond Green." He was sighing for
shooting and boar-hunting in the French forests, and he felt that he
had done quite enough for the education of the boys, which was turning
out so badly. He resolved to bring us up abroad, and picked up the
necessary assistance for educating us by tutor and governess. Miss
Ruxton, a stout red-faced girl, was thoroughly up in the three R's, and
was intended to direct Maria's education. Mr. Du Pré, an undergraduate
at Exeter College, Oxford, son of the Rector of Berkhampstead, wanted
to see life on the Continent, and was not unwilling to see it with a
salary. He was an awkward-looking John Bull article, with a narrow
forehead, eyes close together, and thick lips, which secured him a
perpetual course of caricaturing. He used to hit out hard whenever he
found the caricatures, but only added bitterness to them. Before he had
been in the family a week, I obliged him with a sketch of his tomb and
the following inscription:--

    "Stand, passenger! hang down thy head and weep,
    A young man from Exeter here doth sleep;
    If any one ask who that young man be,
    'Tis the Devil's dear friend and companion--Du Pré"--

which was merely an echo of Shakespeare and John à Combe, but it showed
a fine sense of independence.

I really caught the measles at school, and was nursed by Grandmamma
Baker in Park Street. It was the only infantine malady that I ever
had. The hooping-cough only attacked me on my return from Harar, when
staying with my friend Dr. Steinhaüser at Aden, in 1853. As soon as
I was well enough to travel, the family embarked at the Tower Wharf
for Boulogne. We boys scandalized every one on board. We shrieked,
we whooped, we danced for joy. We shook our fists at the white
cliffs, and loudly hoped we should never see them again. We hurrah'd
for France, and hooted for England, "The Land on which the Sun ne'er
sets--nor rises," till the sailor who was hoisting the Jack, looked
upon us as a pair of little monsters. In our delight at getting away
from school and the stuffy little island, we had no idea of the
disadvantages which the new kind of life would inflict on our future
careers. We were too young to know. A man who brings up his family
abroad, and who lives there for years, must expect to lose all the
friends who could be useful to him when he wishes to start them in
life. The conditions of society in England are so complicated, and
so artificial, that those who would make their way in the world,
especially in public careers, must be broken to it from their earliest
day. The future soldiers and statesmen must be prepared by Eton and
Cambridge. The more English they are, even to the cut of their hair,
the better. In consequence of being brought up abroad, we never
thoroughly understood English society, nor did society understand us.
And, lastly, it is a _real_ advantage to belong to some parish. It is a
great thing, when you have won a battle, or explored Central Africa, to
be welcomed home by some little corner of the Great World, which takes
a pride in your exploits, because they reflect honour upon itself. In
the contrary condition you are a waif, a stray; you are a blaze of
light, without a focus. Nobody outside your own fireside cares.

No man ever gets on in the world, or rises to the head of affairs,
unless he is a representative of his nation. Taking the marking
characters of the last few years--Palmerston, Thiers, Cavour, and
Bismarck--what were they but simply the types of their various
nationalities? In point of intellect Cavour was a first-rate man,
Thiers second-rate, Palmerston third-rate, whilst Bismarck was
strength, Von Moltke brain. Their success in life was solely owing to
their representing the failings, as well as the merits of their several
nationalities. Thiers, for instance, was the most thoroughbred possible
_épicier_, and yet look at his success. And his death was mourned even
in England, and yet he was the bitterest enemy that England ever had.
His Chauvinism did more than the Crimean War to abolish the prestige
of England. Unhappily for his Chauvinism, it also thoroughly abolished
France.

Mr. Du Pré, the tutor, and Miss Ruxton, the governess, had their work
cut out for them. They attempted to commence with a strict discipline;
for instance, the family passing through Paris lodged at the Hôtel
Windsor, and they determined to walk the youngsters out school fashion.
The consequence was that when the walk extended to the boulevards, the
young ones, on agreement, knowing Paris well, suddenly ran away, and
were home long before the unfortunate strangers could find their way,
and reported that their unlucky tutor and governess had been run over
by an omnibus. There was immense excitement till the supposed victims
walked in immensely tired, having wandered over half Paris, not being
able to find their way. A scene followed, but the adversaries respected
each other more after that day.

The difficulty was now where to colonize. One of the peculiarities of
the little English colonies was the unwillingness of their denizens to
return to them when once they had left them. My father had been very
happy at Tours, and yet he religiously avoided it. He passed through
Orleans--a horrid hole, with as many smells as Cologne--and tried to
find a suitable country house near it, but in vain; everything seemed
to smell of goose and gutter. Then he drifted on to Blois, in those
days a kind of home of the British stranger, and there he thought
proper to call a halt. At last a house was found on the high ground
beyond the city, which, like Tours, lies mainly on the left bank of
the river, and where most of the English colonists dwelt. There is no
necessity of describing this little bit of England in France, which
was very like Tours. When one describes one colony, one describes them
all. The notables were Sir Joseph Leeds, Colonel Burnes, and a sister
of Sir Stamford Raffles, who lived in the next-door villa, if such a
term may be applied to a country house in France in 1831. The only
difference from Tours was, there was no celebrated physician, no pack
of hounds, and no parson. Consequently service on Sundays had to be
read at home by the tutor, and the evening was distinguished by one of
Blair's sermons. This was read out by us children, each taking a turn.
The discourse was from one of Blair's old three volumes, which appeared
to have a soporific effect upon the audience. Soft music was gradually
heard proceeding from the nasal organs of father and mother, tutor and
governess; and then we children, preserving the same tone of voice,
entered into a conversation, and discussed matters, until the time came
to a close.

[Sidenote: _Education at Blois._]

At Blois we were now entering upon our teens; our education was
beginning in real earnest. Poor Miss Ruxton soon found her task
absolutely impossible, and threw up the service. A schoolroom
was instituted, where time was wasted upon Latin and Greek for
six or seven hours a day, besides which there was a French
master--one of those obsolete little old men, who called themselves
_Professeurs-ès-lettres_, and the great triumph of whose life was that
he had read Herodotus in the original. The dancing-master was a large
and pompous oldster, of course an _ancien militaire_, whose kit and
whose capers were by contrast peculiarly ridiculous, and who quoted at
least once every visit, "Oh, Richard! oh, mon roi!" He taught, besides
country dances, square and round, the Minuet de la Cour, the Gavotte
de Vestris, and a Danse Chinoise, which consisted mainly in turning
up thumbs and toes. The only favourite amongst all those professors
was the fencing-master, also an old soldier, who had lost the thumb
of his right hand in the wars, which of course made him a _gauché_ in
loose fencing. We boys gave ourselves up with ardour to this study,
and passed most of our leisure hours in exchanging thrusts. We soon
learned not to neglect the mask: I passed my foil down Edward's throat,
and nearly destroyed his uvula, which caused me a good deal of sorrow.
The amusements consisted chiefly of dancing at evening parties, we
boys choosing the tallest girls, especially a very tall Miss Donovan.
A little fishing was to be had, my father being a great amateur. There
were long daily walks, swimming in summer, and brass cannons, bought in
the toy shops, were loaded to bursting.

The swimming was very easily taught; in the present day boys and
girls go to school and learn it like dancing. In our case Mr. Du Pré
supported us by a hand under the stomach, taught us how to use our arms
and legs, and to manage our breath, after which he withdrew his hand
and left us to float as we best could.

This life lasted for a year, till all were thoroughly tired of it.
Our father and mother were imperceptibly lapsing into the category
of professed invalids, like people who have no other business in
life, except to be sick. This was a class exceptionally common in the
unoccupied little English colonies that studded the country. It was
a far robuster institution than the Parisian invalid, whose object
in life was to appear _maladive et souffrante_. The British _malade_
consumed a considerable quantity of butcher's meat, but although he
or she always saw death in the pot, they had not the moral courage to
refuse what disagreed with them. They tried every kind of drug and
nostrum known, and answered every advertisement, whether it agreed
with their complaint or not. Their _table de nuit_ was covered with
bottles and gallipots. They dressed themselves three or four times a
day for the change of climate, and insensibly acquired a horror of
dining out, or passing the evening away from home. They had a kind
of rivalry with other invalids; nothing offended them more than to
tell them that they were in strong health, and that if they had been
hard-worked professionals in England, they would have been ill once a
year, instead of once a month. Homœopathy was a great boon to them, and
so was hydropathy. So was the grape-cure and all the humbug invented
by non-professionals, such as hunger-cure and all that nonsense.

Our parents suffered from asthma, an honest and respectable kind of
complaint, which if left to itself, allows you, like gout, to last till
your eightieth year, but treated systematically, and with the aid of
the doctor, is apt to wear you out. Grandmamma Baker, who came over to
Blois, compared them in her homely Scotch fashion to two buckets in a
well. She was very wroth with my father, when, remembering the days of
his youth, he began to hug the idea of returning to Italy and seeing
the sun, and the general conclusion of her philippics ("You'll kill
your wife, sir") did not change his resolution. She even insinuated
that in the olden day there had been a Sicilian young woman who
received the Englishman's pay, and so distributed it as to keep off
claims. So Grandmamma Baker was sent off to her beloved England, "whose
faults she still loved."

[Sidenote: _They leave Blois for Italy._]

The old yellow chariot was brought out of the dusty coach-house once
more, and furbished up, and, after farewell dinners and parties all
round, the family turned their back on Blois. The journey was long,
being broken by sundry attacks of asthma, and the posting and style
of travel were full of the usual discomforts. In crossing over the
Tarare a drunken postilion nearly threw one of the carriages over the
precipice, and in shooting the Pont de St. Esprit the steamer nearly
came to grief under one of the arches. We stayed a short time in Lyons,
in those days a perfect den of thieves. From Avignon my tutor and I
were driven to the Fountain of Vaucluse, the charming blue well in
the stony mountain, and the memories of Petrarch and Laura were long
remembered. The driver insisted upon a full gallop, and the protests of
the unfortunate Englishman, who declared every quarter of an hour that
he was the father of a large family, were utterly disregarded.

The first view of Provence was something entirely new, and the escape
was hailed from the flat fields and the long poplar avenues of Central
France. Everything, even the most squalid villages, seemed to fall
into a picture. It was something like a sun that burst upon the rocks.
The olive trees laden with purple fruit were a delight after the
apples and pears, and the contrast between the brown rock and the blue
Mediterranean, was quite a new sensation. At Marseilles we embarked
for Leghorn, which was then, in Italy, very much what Lyons was in
France. It was the head-quarters of brigands. Indeed it was reported
that a society existed, whose members were pledged to stab their
fellow-creatures, whenever they could do it safely. And it was brought
to light by the remorse of a son, who had killed his father by mistake.
The Grand Duke of Tuscany, with his weak benevolence, was averse to
shedding blood, and the worst that these wretches expected was to be
dressed in the red or the yellow of the Galeotti, and to sweep the
streets and to bully the passenger for _bakshish_. Another unpleasant
development was the quantity of vermin,--even the washerwoman's head
appeared to be walking off her shoulders. Still there was a touch of
Italian art about the place, in the days before politics and polemics
had made Italian art, with the sole exception of sculpture, the basest
thing on the Continent: the rooms were large, high, and airy, the
frescoes on the ceiling were good, and the pictures had not been sold
to Englishmen, and replaced by badly coloured daubs, and cheap prints
of the illustrated paper type.

[Sidenote: _Pisa._]

After a few days, finding Leghorn utterly unfit to inhabit, my father
determined to transfer himself to Pisa. There, after the usual delay,
he found a lodging on the wrong side of the Arno--that is to say, the
side which does not catch the winter sun--in a huge block of buildings
opposite the then highest bridge. Dante's old "Vituperio delle gante"
was then the dullest abode known to man, except perhaps his sepulchre.
The climate was detestable (Iceland on the non-sunny, Madeira on the
sunny side of the river), but the doctors thought it good enough
for their patients; consequently it was the hospital of a few sick
Britishers upon a large scale. These unfortunates had much better
have been left at home instead of being sent to die of discomfort in
Tuscany, but there they would have died upon the doctor's hands. The
dullness of the place was something preternatural.

The Italians had their own amusements. The principal one was the opera,
a perfect den of impurity, where you were choked by the effluvia of
_pastrane_ or the brigands' cloaks, which descended from grandfather to
grandson. The singing, instrumentation, and acting were equally vile,
but the Pisani had not the critical ferocity of the Livornesi, who
were used to visit the smallest defect with "Torni in iscena, bestia!"
The other form of amusement was the conversazione. Here you entered
about six o'clock, and found an enormous room, with a dwarf sofa and an
avenue of two lines of chairs projecting from it perpendicularly. You
were expected to walk through the latter, which were occupied by the
young women, to the former, upon which sat the dowagers, and after the
three _saluts d'usage_ and the compliments of the season, you backed
out by the way you came in, and then passed the evening leaning over
the back of the chair of the fair dame whose _cavaliere servente_ you
were supposed to be. Refreshments were an occasional glass of cold
water; in luxurious houses there were water ices and sugared wafers.
They complain that we English are not happy in society without eating,
and I confess that I prefer a good beefsteak to cold water and water
ices.

There was no bad feeling between the Italians and English; they simply
ignored one another. Nothing could be shadier than the English colony
at Pisa. As they had left England, the farther they were the more
wretched they became, till they reached the climax at Naples. They
had no club, as at Tours, and they met to read their _Gagliani_ at a
grocer's shop on the Lung' Arno. They had their parson and doctor and
their tea-caddies, but the inhospitable nature of the country--and
certainly Italy is the least given to the savage virtue--seemed to have
affected the strangers. Equally unknown were the dinner-parties of
Tours and the hops of Blois. No one shot and no one fished. A madman
used to plunge through the ice on the Lung' Arno in midwinter, but most
of them contented themselves with promenading the Quai and basking in
its wintry sun till they returned to their stuffy rooms. A good many of
them were half-pay officers. Others were Jamaican planters, men who had
made their fortunes in trade; the rest were nondescripts whom nobody
knew. At times some frightful scandal broke out in consequence of some
gentleman who had left his country for his country's good.

The discomforts of Pisa were considerable. The only fireplace in
those days was a kind of brazier, put in the middle of the room. The
servants were perfect savages, who had to be taught the very elements
of service, and often at the end of the third day a great burly peasant
would take leave, saying, "Non mi basta l'anima!" My father started a
fearful equipage in the shape of a four-wheeled trap, buying for the
same a hammer-headed brute of a horse which at once obtained the name
of "Dobbin." Dobbin was a perfect demon steed, and caused incalculable
misery, as every person was supposed to steal his oats. One of us
boys was sent down to superintend his breakfast, dinner, and supper.
On journeys it was the same, and we would have been delighted to see
Dobbin hanged, drawn, and quartered. We tried riding him in private,
but the brute used to plant his forelegs and kick up and down like a
rocking-horse. The trap was another subject of intense misery. The
wheels were always supposed to be wanting greasing, and as the natives
would steal the grease, it was necessary that one of us should always
superintend the greasing. There is no greater mistake than that of
trying to make boys useful by making them do servant's work.

The work of education went on nimbly, if not merrily. To former
masters was added an Italian master, who was at once dubbed "Signor
No," on account of the energy of his negation. The French master
unfortunately discovered that his three pupils had poetic talents; the
consequence was that we were set to write versical descriptions, which
we hated worse than Telemachus and the _Spectator_.

And a new horror appeared in the shape of a violin master. Edward took
kindly to the infliction, worked very hard, and became an amateur
almost equal to a professional; was offered fair pay as member of an
orchestra in Italy, and kept it up after going into the Army, till
the calls of the Mess made it such a nuisance that he gave it up; but
took to it again later in life _con amore_. I always hated my fiddle,
and after six months it got me into a terrible scrape, and brought the
study to an untimely end. Our professor was a thing like Paganini,
length without breadth, nerves without flesh, hung on wires, all hair
and no brain, except for fiddling. The creature, tortured to madness
by a number of false notes, presently addressed his pupil in his
grandiloquent Tuscan manner, "Gli altri scolari sono bestie, ma voi
siete un Arci-bestia." The "Arci" offended me horribly, and, in a fury
of rage, I broke my violin upon my master's head; and then my father
made the discovery that his eldest son had no talent for music, and I
was not allowed to learn any more.

Amongst the English at Pisa we met with some Irish cousins, whose
names had been Conyngham, but they had, for a fortune, very sensibly
added "Jones" to it, and who, very foolishly, were ashamed of it
ever after. There was a boy, whose face looked as if badly cut out
of a half-boiled potato, dotted with freckles so as to resemble a
goose's egg. There was a very pretty girl, who afterwards became
Mrs. Seaton. The mother was an exceedingly handsome woman of the
Spanish type, and it was grand to see her administering correction to
"bouldness." They seemed principally to travel in Italy for the purpose
of wearing out old clothes, and afterwards delighted in telling how
many churches and palaces they had "done" in Rome per diem. The cute
Yankee always travels, when he is quite unknown, in his best bib and
tucker, reserving his old clothes for his friends who appreciate him.
Altogether the C.J.'s were as fair specimens of Northern barbarians
invading the South, as have been seen since the days of Brennus.

[Sidenote: _Siena._]

The summer of '32 was passed at Siena, where a large rambling old house
was found inside the walls. The venerable town, whose hospitality was
confined to an inscription over the city gate, was perhaps one of
the dullest places under heaven. No country in the world shows less
hospitality--even Italians amongst themselves--than Italy, and in the
case of strangers they have perhaps many reasons to justify their
churlishness.

Almost all the English at Siena were fugitives from justice, social
or criminal. One man walked off with his friend's wife, another with
his purse. There was only one old English lady in the place who
was honourable, and that was a Mrs. Russell, who afterwards killed
herself with mineral waters. She lived in a pretty little _quinta_
outside the town, where moonlight nights were delightful, and where
the nightingales were louder than usual. Beyond this amusement we had
little to do, except at times to peep at the gate of Palone, to study
very hard, and to hide from the world our suits of nankin. The weary
summer drew to a close. The long-surviving chariot was brought out, and
then Dobbin, with the "cruelty van," was made ready for the march.

[Sidenote: _Vetturino-Travelling._]

Travelling in _vetturino_ was not without its charm. It much resembled
marching in India during the slow old days. It is true you seldom
progressed along more than five miles an hour, and uphill at three.
Moreover, the harness was perpetually breaking, and at times a horse
fell lame; but you saw the country thoroughly, the _vetturino_ knew
the name of every house, and you went slowly enough to impress
everything upon your memory. The living now was none of the best; food
seemed to consist mostly of omelettes and pigeons. The pigeons, it is
said, used to desert the dove-cotes every time they saw an English
travelling-carriage approaching. And the omelettes showed more hair in
them than eggs usually produce. The bread and wine, however, were good,
and adulteration was then unknown. The lodging was on a par with the
food, and insect powder was not invented or known. Still, taking all in
all, it is to be doubted whether we are more comfortable in the Grand
Hotel in these days when every hotel is grand, when all mutton is _pré
salé_, when all the beer is bitter, when all the sherry is dry.

It was now resolved to pass the Holy Week at Rome, and the only events
of the journey, which went on as usual, were the breaking down of
Dobbin's "cruelty van" in a village near Perugia, where the tutor and
boys were left behind to look after repairs. We long remembered the
peculiar evening which we passed there. The head ostler had informed
us that there was an opera, and that he was the _primo violino_. We
went to the big barn, that formed the theatre. A kind of "Passion
play" was being performed, with lengthy intervals of music, and all
the mysteries of the faith were submitted to the eyes of the faithful.
The only disenchanting detail was, that a dove not being procurable,
its place was supplied by a turkey-cock, and the awful gabbling of the
ill-behaved volatile caused much more merriment than was decorous.

We, who had already examined Voltaire with great interest, were
delighted with the old Etruscan city of Perugia, and were allowed a
couple of hours' "leave" to visit Pietro di Aretino's tomb, and we
loitered by the Lake Thrasimene.

[Sidenote: _Florence._]

The march was short, and the family took a house on the north side of
the Arno, near the Boboli Gardens, in Florence. The City of Flowers
has always had a reputation beyond what it deserved. Though too fair
to be looked upon except upon holidays, it has discomforts of its
own. The cold, especially during the _Tramontana_ blowing from the
Apennines, is that of Scotland. The heat during the dog-days, when the
stone pavements seem to be fit for baking, reminds one of Cairo during
a _Khamsin_, and the rains are at times as heavy and persistent as
in Central Africa. The Italians and the English, even in those days,
despite all the efforts of the amiable Grand Duke, did not mix well.

Colonies go on as they begin, and the Anglo-Florentine flock certainly
has contained, contains, and ever will contain some very black sheep.
They were always being divided into cliques. They were perpetually
quarrelling. The parson had a terrible life. One of the churchwardens
was sure to be some bilious old Indian, and a common character was to
be a half-pay Indian officer who had given laws, he said, to millions,
who supported himself by gambling, and induced all his cronies to drink
hard, the whispered excuse being, that he had shot a man in a duel
somewhere. The old ladies were very scandalous. There were perpetual
little troubles, like a rich and aged widow being robbed and deserted
by her Italian spouse, and resident old gentlemen, when worsted at
cards, used to quarrel and call one another liars. Amongst the number
was a certain old Dr. Harding who had a large family. His son was sent
into the army, and was dreadfully wounded under Sir Charles Napier in
Sind. He lived to be Major-General Francis Pim Harding, C.B., and died
in 1875.

Another remarkable family was that of old Colonel de Courcy. He had
some charming daughters, and I met his son John when he was in the
Turkish Contingent and I was Chief of the Staff of Irregular Cavalry in
the Crimea.

Still Florence was always Florence. The climate, when it was fine, was
magnificent. The views were grand, and the most charming excursions
lay within a few hours' walk or drive. The English were well treated,
perhaps too well, by the local Government, and the opportunities of
studying Art were first-rate. Those wonderful Loggie and the Pitti
Palace contained more high Art than is to be found in all London,
Paris, Berlin, and Vienna put together, and we soon managed to become
walking catalogues. A heavy storm, however, presently broke the
serenity of the domestic atmosphere at Siena.

[Sidenote: _Shooting._]

We boys had been allowed to begin regular shooting with an old
single-barrelled Manton, a hard-hitter which had been changed from
flint to percussion. We practised gunnery in secret every moment we
could, and presently gave our tutor a specimen of our proficiency. He
had been instituting odious comparisons between Edward's length and
that of his gun, and went so far as to say that for sixpence he would
allow a shot at fifty yards. On this being accepted with the firm
determination of peppering him, he thought it better to substitute his
hat, and he got away just in time to see it riddled like a sieve. We
then began to despise shooting with small shot.

Our parents made a grand mistake about the shooting excursions,
especially the mother, who, frightened lest anything should occur, used
to get up quarrels to have an excuse to forbid the shooting parties, as
punishment. It was soon found out and resented accordingly.

We hoarded the weekly francs which each received, we borrowed Maria's
savings, _i.e._ the poor girl was never allowed to keep it for a
day, and invested in what was then known as a "case of pistols."
My father--who, when in Sicily with his regiment, had winged a
brother-officer, an Irishman, for saying something unpleasant, had
carefully and fondly nursed him, and shot him again as soon as ever
he recovered, crippling him for life--saw the turn that matters were
taking, and ordered the "saw-handles" to be ignominiously returned
to the shop. The shock was severe to the _pun d'onor_ of we two Don
Quixotes.

I have a most pleasant remembrance of Maria Garcia, a charming young
girl, before she became wife and "divine devil" to the old French
merchant Morbihan. Both she and her sister (afterwards Madame Viardot)
were going through severe training under the old Tartar of a father
Garcia, who was, however, a splendid musician and determined to see his
girls succeed. They tell me she had spites and rages and that manner of
thing in after life, but I can only remember her as worthy of Alfred de
Musset's charming stanza.

[Sidenote: _Rome in Holy Week._]

After a slow but most interesting drive we reached the Eternal City,
and, like all the world, were immensely impressed by the entrance at
the Porto del Popolo. The family secured apartments in the Piazza di
Spagna, which was then, as it is now, the capital of English Rome.
Everything in it was English, the librarian, the grocer, and all the
other little shops, and mighty little it has changed during the third
of a century. In 1873, when my wife and I stayed there, the only points
of difference observed were the presence of Americans and the large
gilded advertisements of the photographers. The sleepy atmosphere was
the same, and the same was the drowsy old fountain.

At Rome sight-seeing was carried on with peculiar ardour. With "Mrs.
Starke" under the arm, for "Murray" and "Baedeker" were not invented in
those days, we young ones went from Vatican to the Capitol, from church
to palazzo, from ruin to ruin. We managed to get introductions to the
best studios, and made acquaintance with all the shops which contained
the best collections of coins, of cameos, of model temples, in
rosso-antico, and giallo-antico, and of all the treasures of Roman Art,
ancient and modern. We passed our days in running about the town, and
whenever we found an opportunity, we made excursions into the country,
even ascending Mount Soracte. In those days Rome was not what it is
now. It was the ghost of the Imperial City, the mere shadow of the
Mistress of the world. The great Forum was a level expanse of ground,
out of which the half-buried ruins rose. The Coliseum had not changed
for a century. The Palatine hill had never dreamt of excavation. The
greater part of the space within the old walls, that represents the
ancient City, was a waste, what would in Africa be called bush, and it
was believed that turning up the ground caused fatal fevers. It had
no pretensions to be a Capital. It wanted fortifications; the walls
could be breached with six-pounders. The Tiber was not regulated, and
periodically flooded the lower town. The Ghetto was a disgrace. Nothing
could be fouler than the Trastevere: and the Leonine City, with the
exception of St. Peter's and the Vatican, was a piggery.

At Rome there was then very little society. People met when doing the
curiosities, and the principal amusements were conversaziones, when the
only conspicuous object was some old Cardinal sitting in red, enthroned
upon a sofa. Good old Gregory XVI. did not dislike foreigners, and
was even intimate with a certain number of heretics, but _that_ could
not disperse the sleepy atmosphere of the place, whilst the classes
of society were what the satirical French duchesse called, 'une
noblesse de Sacrament'--and yet it was the season of the year. Then,
as now, the wandering world pressed to Rome to see ceremonies of the
Holy Week, to hear the music of the Sistine Chapel, to assist at the
annual conversion of a Jew at St. John of Lateran, to walk gaping
about at the interior of St. Peter's, and to enjoy the magnificent
illuminations, which were spoiled by a high wind, and a flood of rain.
Nothing could be more curious than the contrast between the sons of
the Holy City and the barbarians from the North, and the far West,
when the Pope stood in the balcony delivering his benediction _urbi et
orbi_; the English and Irish Catholics seemed to be overwhelmed with
awe whilst the Romans delivered themselves of small jokes, very audible
withal, upon the mien and the demeanor of the Vecchierello. Inside the
great cathedral the crowd used to be of the most pushing kind, and
young priests attempted to scale one's shoulders. Protestant ladies
consumed furtive sandwiches, and here and there an aged sightseer was
thrown down and severely trampled upon. In fact, there was a perfect
opposition between the occasion of the ceremony and the way it was
carried out.

It was necessary to leave Rome in time to reach Naples before the hot
season began, and return to summer quarters. In those days the crossing
of the Pontine Marshes was considered not a little dangerous. Heavy
breakfasts were eaten to avoid the possible effect of malaria upon an
empty stomach, and the condemned pistols were ostentatiously loaded to
terrify the banditti, who were mostly the servants and hangers-on of
the foul little inns.

At Terracina we found an Englishman temporarily under arrest. This
was Mr. St. John, who had just shot in a duel Count Controfiani. The
history of the latter was not a little curious. He was a red-haired
Neapolitan, extremely plain in appearance, and awkward in manner, but
touchy and sensitive in the extreme. His friends and his acquaintances
chose to make a butt of him, little fancying how things were going to
end. One day he took leave of them all, saying that he was going to
travel for some years. He disguised himself with a wig, and hid in
the suburbs, practising pistol-shooting, foil, and broadsword. When
satisfied with his own progress, he reappeared suddenly in society,
and was received with a shout of ironical welcome, "Ecco il nostro bel
Controfiani." He slapped the face of the ringleader, and in the duel
which followed cut him almost to pieces. After two or three affairs
of the kind, his reputation was thoroughly made, even in a City where
duelling was so common as Naples. At last, by some mischance, he met
St. John at Rome, and the two became intimate. They used to practise
pistol-shooting together, and popular report declares that both
concealed their game. At last a quarrel arose about some young person,
and Controfiani was compelled to fight at the pleasure of a member of
the Royal family of Naples, of whose suite he was. The duel was to be
_à la barrière_, first shot at twenty-five paces, and leave to advance
twelve, after standing the fire. The delay was so great that the
seconds began to show signs of impatience, when St. John levelled his
pistol, and hit his adversary in the flank, above the hip. Controfiani
had the courage to plug his wound with the forefinger of his left hand,
and had the folly to attempt advancing, mortally wounded as he was. The
movement shook him, his hand was unsteady; his bullet whizzed past St.
John's head, and he was dead a few hours later.

The family halted a short while at Capua, then a quiet little country
town, equally thoughtless of the honours of the past, or the fierce
scenes that waited it in the future; many years afterwards my friend
Blakeley of the Guns, and I, offered the Government of King Francis, to
go out to rifle the cannon, which was to defend them against Garibaldi
and his banditti. Unfortunately the offer came too late, It would have
been curious had a couple of Englishmen managed, by shooting Garibaldi,
to baffle the plans which Lord Pam. had laid with so much astuteness
and perseverance.

[Sidenote: _Sorrento._]

At Naples a house was found upon the Chiaja, and after trying it for
a fortnight, and finding it perfectly satisfactory and agreeing to
take it for the next season, the family went over to Sorrento. This,
in those days, was one of the most pleasant _villegiature_ in Italy.
The three little villages that studded the long tongue of rock and
fertile soil, were separated from one another by long tracts of orchard
and olive ground, instead of being huddled together, as they are now.
They preserved all their rural simplicity, baited buffalo-calves in
the main squares, and had songs and sayings in order to enrage one
another. The villas scattered about the villages were large rambling
old shells of houses, and Aunt G. could not open her eyes sufficiently
wide when she saw what an Italian villa really was. The bathing was
delightful; break-neck paths led down the rocks to little sheltered
bays with the yellowest of sands, and the bluest of waters, and old
smugglers' caves, which gave the coolest shelter after long dips in
the tepid seas. There was an immense variety of excursion. At the
root of the tongue arose the Mountain of St. Angelo, where the snow
harvest, lasting during summer, was one perpetual merry-making. There
were boating trips to Ischia, to Procida, to romantic Capri, with its
blue grotto and purple figs, to decayed Salerno, the splendid ruin,
and to the temples of Pæstum, more splendid still. The shooting was
excellent during the quail season; tall poles and immense nets formed
a _chevaux de frise_ on the hilltops, but the boys went to windwards,
and shot the birds before they were trapped in the nets, in the usual
ignoble way. In fact, nothing could be more pleasant than Sorrento in
its old and uncivilized days. Amongst the amusements at Sorrento, we
indulged ourselves with creeping over the Natural Arch, simply because
the Italians said, "Ma non è possibile, Signorini." It was a dangerous
proceeding, as the crumbling stone was ready at every moment to give
way.

[Sidenote: _Classical Games._]

Amongst other classical fads, we boys determined to imitate Anacreon
and Horace. We crowned ourselves with myrtle and roses, chose the
prettiest part of the garden, and caroused upon the best wine we could
afford, out of cups, disdaining to use glasses. Our father, aware of
this proceeding, gave us three bottles of sherry, upon the principle
that the grocer opens to the young shopboy his drawers of figs and
raisins. But we easily guessed the meaning of the kind present, and
contented ourselves with drinking each half a bottle a day, as long
as it lasted, and then asked for more, to the great disgust of the
donor. We diligently practised pistol-shooting, and delighted in
cock-fighting, at which the tutor duly attended. Of course the birds
fought without steel, but it was a fine game-breed, probably introduced
of old by the Spaniards. It not a little resembles the Derby game-cock,
which has spread itself half over South America.

[Sidenote: _Chess._]

There was naturally little variety in amusements. The few English
families lived in scattered villas. Old Mrs. Starke, Queen of Sorrento,
as she loved to be called, and the authoress of the guide book, was the
local "lion," and she was sketched and caricatured in every possible
way in her old Meg Merrilies' cloak. Game to the last, she died on the
road travelling. An Englishman, named Sparkes, threw himself into one
of the jagged volcanic ravines that seam the tongue of Sorrento; but
there is hardly a place in Italy, high or low, where some Englishman
has not suicided himself. A painter, a Mr. Inskip, brought over an
introduction, and was very tipsy before dinner was half over. The
Marsala wine supplied by Iggulden & Co. would have floored Polyphemus.
The want of excitement out of doors, produced a correspondent increase
of it inside. We were getting too old to be manageable, and Mr. Du
Pré taking high grounds on one occasion, very nearly received a good
thrashing. My father being a man of active mind, and having nothing in
the world to do, began to be unpleasantly chemical; he bought Parke's
"Catechism;" filled the house with abominations of all kinds, made
a hideous substance that he called soap, and prepared a quantity of
filth that he called citric acid, for which he spoiled thousands of
lemons. When his fit passed over it was succeeded by one of chess, and
the whole family were bitten by it. Every spare hour, especially in
the evening, was given to check and checkmating, and I soon learned
to play one, and then two games, with my eyes blindfolded. I had the
sense, however, to give it up completely, for my days were full of
Philidor, and my dreams were of gambits all night.

The dull life was interrupted by a visit from Aunt G. She brought
with her a Miss Morgan, who had been governess to the three sisters,
and still remained their friend. She was a woman of good family in
Cornwall, but was compelled, through loss of fortune, to take service.

Miss Morgan was very proud of her nephew, the Rev. Morgan Cowie, who
was senior Wrangler at Cambridge. He had had the advantage of studying
mathematics in Belgium, where in those days the entering examination of
a College was almost as severe as the passing examination of an English
College. She was also very well read, and she did not a little good in
the house. She was the only one who ever spoke to us children as if we
were reasonable beings, instead of scolding and threatening with the
usual parental brutality of _those days_. That unwise saying of the
wise man, "Spare the rod and spoil the child," has probably done more
harm to the junior world than any other axiom of the same size, and
it is only of late years that people have begun to "spoil the rod and
spare the child." So Miss Morgan could do with the juniors what all the
rest of the house completely failed in doing. The only thing that was
puzzling about her was, that she could not play at Chess. Aunt G. waxed
warm in defence of her friend, and assured the scoffers that "Morgan,
with her fine mind, would easily learn to beat the whole party." "Fine
mind!" said the scoffers. "Why, we would give her a Queen."

[Sidenote: _Naples._]

Naples after Sorrento was a Paris. In those days it was an exceedingly
pleasant City, famous as it always has been for some of the best cooks
in Italy. The houses were good, and the servants and the provisions
were moderate. The Court was exceedingly gay, and my father found a
cousin there, old Colonel Burke, who was so intimate with the King,
known as "Old Bomba," as to be admitted to his bedroom. There was also
another Irish cousin, a certain Mrs. Phayre, who for many years had
acted duenna to the Miss Smiths (Penelope and Gertrude). Penelope had
always distinguished herself in Paris by mounting wild horses in the
Bois de Boulogne, which ran away with her, and shook her magnificent
hair loose. She became a favourite at the Court of Naples, and amused
the dull royalties with her wild Irish tricks. It is said that, on
one occasion, she came up with a lift instead of the expected _vol au
vent_, or pudding. She ended by marrying the Prince of Capua, greatly
to the delight of the King, who found an opportunity of getting rid
of his brother, and put an end to certain scandals. It was said that
the amiable young Prince once shot an old man, whom he found gathering
sticks in his grounds, and on another occasion that he was soundly
thrashed by a party of English grooms, whom he had insulted in his
cups. The happy pair had just run away and concluded the "triple
alliance," as it was called (this is a marriage in three different
ways, in order to make sure of it; Protestant, Catholic, and Civil),
when our family settled in Naples, and they found Mrs. Phayre and
Gertrude Smith, the other sister, in uncomfortable State, banished
by the Court, and harassed by the police. All their letters had been
stopped at the post-office, and they had had no news from home for
months. My father saw them carefully off to England, where Gertrude,
who had a very plain face and a very handsome figure, presently married
the rich old Lord Dinorben. Poor Miss Morgan also suffered considerably
at Naples from the stoppage of all her letters; she being supposed
at least to be a sister of Lady Morgan, the "wild Irish girl," whose
writings at that time had considerably offended the Italian Court.

Naples was perhaps the least strict of all the Italian cities, and
consequently it contained a colony, presided over by the Hon. Mrs.
Temple, Lady Eleanor Butler, Lady Strachan, and Berkeley Craven, who
would somewhat have startled the proprieties of another place. The
good-natured Minister was the Hon. Mr. Temple, Lord Palmerston's
brother, who cared nothing for a man's catechism provided he kept
decently clear of scandal. The Secretary of Legation was a Mr.
Kennedy, who married a Miss Briggs, and died early. These were great
friends of the family. On the other hand, the Consul, Captain Galway,
R.N., was anything but pleasant. He was in a perpetual state of rile
because his Consular service prevented his being received at Court;
moreover, he heard (possibly correctly) that Mrs. Phayre and her two
_protégées_ were trying to put Colonel Burton in his place. He was also
much troubled by his family, and one of them (the parson) especially
troubled him. This gentleman having neglected to provide for a young
Galway whose mamma he had neglected to marry, the maternal parent took
a position outside the church, and as the congregation streamed out,
cried in a loud voice, pointing to the curate, "Him the father of my
child." Another element of confusion at Naples was poor Charley Savile,
Lord Mexborough's son, who had quarrelled himself out of the Persian
Legation. He was a good hand with his sword, always ready to fight, and
equally ready to write. He always denied that he had written and sent
about some verses which all Naples attributed to him, and they were
certainly most scandalous. Of one lady he wrote--

    "Society courts her, wicked old sinner,
    Yet what won't man do for the sake of a dinner?"

Of another he wrote--

             "You look so demure, ma'am,
             So pious, so calm,
             Always chanting a hymn,
             Or singing a psalm.
    Yet your thoughts are on virtue and heav'n no more
    Than the man in the moon--you dreadful young bore."

This pasquinade led to some half-dozen challenges and duels. It was
severe, but not worse than society deserved. Naples has never been
strict; and about the forties it was, perhaps, the most dissolute City
on the Continent. The natives were bad, but the English visitors were
worse. In fact, in some cases their morals were unspeakable.

There was a charming family of the name of Oldham. The father, when
an English officer serving in Sicily, had married one of the beauties
of the island, a woman of high family and graceful as a Spaniard. The
children followed suit. The girls were beautiful, and the two sons
were upwards of six feet in height, and were as handsome men as could
well be seen. They both entered the army. One, in the 2nd Queen's, was
tortured to death by the Kaffirs when his cowardly soldiers ran away,
and left him wounded. The other, after serving in the 86th in India,
was killed in the light cavalry charge of Balakalava. The families
became great friends, and I met them both in India.

Naples was a great place for excursions. To the north you had Ischia
and the Solfatara, a miniature bit of Vulcanism somewhat like the
Geyser ground in Iceland, where ignoramuses thought themselves in the
midst of untold volcanic grandeur. Nothing could be more snobbish than
the visit to the Grotto del Cane, where a wretched dog was kept for
the purpose of being suffocated half a dozen times a day. There I was
determined to act dog, and was pulled up only in time to prevent being
thoroughly asphyxiated. The Baths of Nero are about equal to an average
Turkish _Hammám_, but nothing more. To the south the excursions were
far more interesting.

Beyond Herculaneum, dark and dingy, lay Pompeii, in those days very
different from the tame Crystal Palace affair that it is now. You
engaged a cicerone as best you could; you had nothing to pay because
there were no gates; you picked up what you liked, in shapes of bits
of mosaic, and, if you were a swell, a house or a street was opened
up in your honour. And overlaying Pompeii stood Vesuvius, which was
considered prime fun. The walking up the ash cone amongst a lot of
seniors, old men dragged up by _lazzaroni_, and old women carried up
in baskets upon _lazzaroni's_ backs, was funny enough, but the descent
was glorious. What took you twenty minutes to go up took four minutes
to go down. Imagine a dustbin magnified to ten thousand, and tilted up
at an angle of thirty-five degrees; in the descent you plunged with
the legs to the knees, you could not manage to fall unless you hit a
stone, and, arrived at the bottom, you could only feel incredulous that
it was possible to run at such a rate. We caused no end of trouble,
and I was found privily attempting to climb down the crater, because
I had heard that an Englishman had been let down in a basket. Many of
these ascents were made; on one occasion during an eruption, when the
lava flowed down to the sea, and the Neapolitans with long pincers were
snatching pieces out of it to stamp and sell, we boys, to the horror of
all around, jumped on the top of the blackening fire stream, burnt our
boots, and vilely abused all those who would not join us.

At Naples more was added to the work of education. Caraccioli, the
celebrated marine painter, was engaged to teach oil-painting; but he
was a funny fellow, and the hours which should have been spent in
exhausting palettes passed in pencil-caricaturing of every possible
friend and acquaintance. The celebrated Cavalli was the fencing-master;
and in those days the Neapolitan school, which has now almost died out,
was in its last bloom. It was a thoroughly business-like affair, and
rejected all the elegances of the French school; and whenever there was
a duel between a Neapolitan and a Frenchman, the former was sure to
win. We boys worked at it heart and soul, and generally managed to give
four hours a day to it. I determined, even at that time, to produce
a combination between the Neapolitan and the French school, so as to
supplement the defects of the one by the merits of the other. A life of
very hard work did not allow me any leisure to carry out my plan; but
the man of perseverance stores up his resolve, and waits for any number
of years till he sees the time to carry it out. The plan was made in
1836, and was completed in 1880 (forty-four years).[1]

My father spared no pains or expense in educating his children. He
had entered the army at a very early age. Volunteers were called for
in Ireland, and those who brought a certain number into the field
received commissions gratis. The old Grandmamma Burton's tenants'
sons volunteered by the dozen. They formed a very fair company, and
accompanied the young master to the wars; and when the young master got
his commission, they all, with the exception of one or two, levanted,
bolted, and deserted. Thus my father found himself an officer at the
age of seventeen, when he ought to have been at school; and recognizing
the deficiencies of his own education, he was determined that his
children should complain of nothing of the kind. He was equally
determined they none of them should enter the army; the consequence
being that both the sons became soldiers, and the only daughter married
a soldier. Some evil spirit, probably Mr. Du Pré, whispered that the
best plan for the boys would be to send them to Oxford, in order that
they might rise by literature, an idea which they both thoroughly
detested. However, in order to crush their pride, they were told that
they should enter "Oxford College as sizars, poor gentlemen who are
supported by the alms of the others." Our feelings may be imagined.
We determined to enlist, or go before the mast, or to turn Turks,
banditti, or pirates, rather than undergo such an indignity.

Parthenope was very beautiful; but so true is English blood, that
the most remarkable part of it was "Pickwick," who happened to make
his way there at the time of the sojourn of our family. We read with
delight the description of the English home. We passed our nights, as
well as our days, devouring the book, and even "Ettore Fieramosca" and
the other triumphs of Massimo d'Azelio were mere outsiders compared
with it; but how different the effect of the two books--"Pickwick,"
the good-humoured caricature of a boy full of liquor and good spirits,
and the "Disfida di Barletta," one of the foundation-stones of Italian
independence.

At last the house on the Chiaja was given up, and the family took a
house inside the City for a short time. The father was getting tired
and thinking of starting northwards. The change was afflicting. The
loss of the view of the Bay was a misfortune. The only amusement was
prospecting the streets, where the most extraordinary scenes took
place. It was impossible to forget a beastly Englishman, as he stood
eating a squirting orange surrounded by a string of gutter-boys. The
dexterity of the pickpockets, too, gave scenes as amusing as a theatre.
It was related of one of the Coryphæi that he had betted with a friend
that he would take the pocket-handkerchief of an Englishman, who had
also betted that no man born in Naples could pick his pocket. A pal
walked up to the man as he was promenading the streets, flower in
button-hole, solemnly spat on his cravat, and ran away. The principal,
with thorough Italian politeness, walked up to the outraged foreigner,
drew his pocket-handkerchief and proceeded to remove the stain,
exhorted the outraged one to keep the fugitive in sight, and in far
less time than it takes to tell, transferred the handkerchief to his
own pocket, and set out in pursuit of the _barbaro_.

[Sidenote: _Cholera._]

The _lazzaroni_, too, were a perpetual amusement. We learned to eat
maccaroni like them, and so far mastered their dialect, that we could
exchange chaff by the hour. In 1869 I found them all at Monte Video
and Buenos Ayres, dressed in _cacciatore_ and swearing "M'nnaccia
l'anima tua;" they were impressed with a conviction that I was myself a
_lazzarone_ in luck. The shady side of the picture was the cholera. It
caused a fearful destruction, and the newspapers owned to 1300 a day,
which meant say 2300. The much-abused King behaved like a gentleman.
The people had determined that the cholera was poison, and doubtless
many made use of the opportunity to get rid of husbands and wives and
other inconvenient relationships; but when the mob proceeded to murder
the doctors, and to gather in the market square with drawn knives,
declaring that the Government had poisoned the provisions, the King
himself drove up in a phaeton and jumped out of it entirely alone, told
them to put up their ridiculous weapons, and to show him where the
poisoned provisions were, and, seating himself upon a bench, ate as
much as his stomach would contain. Even the _lazzarone_ were not proof
against this heroism, and viva'd and cheered him to his heart's content.

My brother and I had seen too much of cholera to be afraid of it. We
had passed through it in France, it had followed us to Siena and Rome,
and at Naples it only excited our curiosity. We persuaded the Italian
man-servant to assist us in a grand escapade. He had procured us the
necessary dress, and when the dead-carts passed round in the dead of
the night, we went the rounds with them as some of the _croquemorts_.
The visits to the pauper houses, where the silence lay in the rooms,
were anything but pleasant, and still less the final disposal of the
bodies. Outside Naples was a large plain, pierced with pits, like the
silos or underground granaries of Algeria and North Africa. They were
lined with stone, and the mouths were covered with one big slab, just
large enough to allow a corpse to pass. Into these flesh-pots[2] were
thrown the unfortunate bodies of the poor, after being stripped of the
rags which acted as their winding-sheets. Black and rigid, they were
thrown down the apertures like so much rubbish, into the festering heap
below, and the decay caused a kind of lambent blue flame about the
sides of the pit, which lit up a mass of human corruption, worthy to
be described by Dante.

Our escapades, which were frequent, were wild for strictly brought up
Protestant English boys--they would be nothing now, when boys do so
much worse--but there were others that were less excusable. Behind the
Chiaja dwelt a multitude of syrens, who were naturally looked upon as
the most beautiful of their sex. One lady in particular responded to
the various telegraphic signs made to her from the flat terrace of the
house, and we boys determined to pay her a visit. Arming ourselves with
carving-knives, which we stuffed behind our girdles, we made our way
jauntily into the house, introduced ourselves, and being abundant in
pocket-money, offered to stand treat, as the phrase is, for the whole
neighbourhood. The orgie was tremendous, and we were only too lucky
to get home unhurt, before morning, when the Italian servant let us
in. The result was a correspondence, consisting in equal parts of pure
love on our side and extreme debauchery on the syrens'. These letters,
unfortunately, were found by our mother during one of her Sunday
visitations to our chambers. A tremendous commotion was the result. Our
father and his dog, Mr. Du Pré, proceeded to condign punishment with
the horsewhip; but we climbed up to the tops of the chimneys, where the
seniors could not follow us, and refused to come down till the crime
was condoned.

This little business disgusted our father of Naples, and he resolved to
repair to a pure moral air. Naples is a very different place now; so
is all the Italy frequented by travellers, and spoiled by railways and
officialdom.

In 1881 a distinguished officer, and a gentleman allied to Royalty,
wrote as follows: "You threw some doubts on the efficiency of the
Italian posts, and I believe you; I don't think I was ever so glad
to get home. At Malta it looks so clean after the filth of Naples. I
think Italy, the Italians, their manners, customs, and institutions,
more damnable every time I see them, and feel sure you will meet with
less annoyance during your travels on the Gold Coast, than I met with
coming through Italy. Trains crowded, unpunctual; starvation, filth,
incivility, and extortion at every step; and, were it not that there
are so many works of art and of interest to see, I doubt if any one
would care to visit the country a second time."

(Here is an account of a purchase made to transfer home.) "A small
table was packed in a little case, and firmly nailed down. At the
station they refused to let it go in the luggage van, unless it were
corded, _lest it might be opened en route_. The officials offered to
cord it for _bakshish_, which was paid, but the cord not put on. They
cut open my leather bag, and tried to open my portmanteau, but when I
called this fact to the notice of the station-master at Rome, he simply
turned on his heel and declined to answer. At Naples they opened the
little case, because furniture was subject to octroi; and, on leaving,
the case was again inspected, lest it might contain a picture (they
were not allowed to leave the country)." It is no longer the classical
Italy of Landor, nor the romantic Italy of Leigh Hunt, nor the ideal
Italy of the Brownings, nor the spiritualized Italy of George Eliot,
nor the everyday Italy of Charles Lever. They thought they were
going to be everything when they changed Masters, but they have only
succeeded in making it a noisy, vulgar, quarrelsome and contentious,
arrogant, money-grasping Italy, and the sooner it receives a sound
drubbing from France or Austria the better for it. It will then reform
itself.

[Sidenote: _Marseille._]

The family left Naples in the spring of 1836. The usual mountain of
baggage was packed in the enormous boxes of the period, and the Custom
House officers never even opened them, relying, as they said--and did
in those good old days--upon the word of an Englishman, that they
contained nothing contraband. How different from the United Italy,
where even the dressing-bag is rummaged to find a few cigars, or an
ounce of coffee. The voyage was full of discomforts. My mother, after
a campaign of two or three years, had been persuaded to part with her
French maid Eulalie, an old and attached servant, who made our hours
bitter, and our faces yellow. The steamer of the day was by no means
a floating palace, especially the English coasting steamers, which
infested the Mediterranean. The machinery was noisy and offensive.
The cabins were dog-holes, with a pestiferous atmosphere, and the
food consisted of greasy butter, bread which might be called dough,
eggs with a perfume, rusty bacon, milkless tea and coffee, that might
be mistaken for each other, waxy potatoes, graveolent greens _cuite
à l'eau_, stickjaw pudding, and cannibal haunches of meat, charred
without, and blue within.

The only advantage was that the vessels were manned by English crews,
and in those days the British sailor was not a tailor, and he showed
his value when danger was greatest.

We steamed northwards in a good old way, puffing and panting, pitching
and rolling, and in due time made Marseille.

The town of the Canebière was far from being the splendid City that
it is now, but it always had one great advantage, that of being in
Provence. I always had a particular propensity for this bit of Africa
in Europe, and in after life in India for years, my greatest friend,
Dr. Steinhaüser, and myself indulged in visions of a country cottage,
where we would pass our days in hammocks, and our nights in bed, and
never admit books or papers, pens or ink, letters or telegrams. This
retreat was intended to be a rest for middle age, in order to prepare
for senility and second childhood. But this vision passed into the
limbo of things imagined (in fact, the vision of two hard-working and
overworked men), and I little thought that at fifty-five I should be a
married man, still in service, still knocking about the world, working
hard with my wife, and poor Steinhaüser dead fifteen years ago.

To return. However agreeable Provence was, the change from Italians
to French was not pleasant. The subjects of Louis Philippe, the
Citizen-King, were rancorous against Englishmen, and whenever a
fellow wanted to get up a row he had only to cry out, "These are the
_misérables_ who poisoned Napoleon at St. Helena." This pleasant little
scene occurred on board a coasting steamer, between Marseille and
Cette, when remonstrance was made with the cheating steward, backed
by the rascally captain. Cette was beginning to be famous for the
imitation wines composed by the ingenuity of Monsieur Guizot, brother
of the _austère intrigant_. He could turn out any wine, from the
cheapest Marsala to the choicest Madeiran Bual.

But he did his counterfeiting honestly, as a little "G" was always
branded on the bottom of the cork, and Cette gave a good lesson about
ordering wines at hotels. The sensible traveller, when in a strange
place, always calls for the _carte_, and chooses the cheapest; he knows
by sad experience, by cramp and acidity of stomach, that the dearest
wines are often worse than the cheapest, and at best that they are
the same with different labels. The proprietor of the hotel at Cette,
had charged his _dame de comptoir_ with robbing the till. She could
not deny it, but she replied with a _tu quoque_: "If I robbed you I
only returned tit for tat. You have been robbing the public for the
last quarter of a century, and only the other day you brought a bottle
of ordinaire and _escamoté'd_ it into sixteen kinds of _vins fin_."
The landlord thought it better to drop the proceedings. From Cette we
travelled in hired carriages (as Dobbin and the carriages had been
sold at Naples) to Toulouse. We stayed at Toulouse for a week, and I
was so delighted with student life there, that I asked my father's
leave to join them. But he was always determined on the Fellowship at
Oxford. Our parents periodically fell ill with asthma, and we young
ones availed ourselves of the occasion, by wandering far and wide over
the country. We delighted in these journeys, for though the tutor was
there, the books were in the boxes. My chief remembrances of Toulouse
were, finding the mistress of the hotel correcting her teeth with
_table d'hôte_ forks, and being placed opposite the model Englishman
of Alexandre Dumas and Eugène Sue. The man's face never faded from my
memory. Carroty hair, white and very smooth forehead, green eyes, a
purple-reddish lower face, whiskers that had a kind of crimson tinge,
and an enormous mouth worn open, so as to show the protruding teeth.

[Sidenote: _Pau--Bagnières de Bigorres._]

In due time we reached Pau in the Pyrenees, the capital of the Basses
Pyrénées, and the old Bearnais. The little town on the Gave de Pau was
no summer place. The heats are intense, and all who can, rush off to
the Pyrénées, which are in sight, and distant only forty miles. Our
family followed suit, and went off to Bagnières de Bigorres, where we
hired a nice house in the main Square. There were few foreigners in
the Bagnières de Bigorres; it was at that time a thoroughly French
watering-place. It was invaded by a mob of Parisians of both sexes, the
men dressed in fancy costumes intended to be "truly rural," and capped
with Basque bonnets, white or red. The women were more wonderful still,
especially when on horseback; somehow or other the Française never
dons a riding-habit without some solecism. Picnics were the order of
the day, and they were organized on a large scale, looking more like a
squadron of cavalry going out for exercise than a party of pleasure.
We boys obtained permission to accompany one of those caravans to the
Brêche de Roland, a nick in the mountain top clearly visible from the
plains, and supposed to have been cut by the good sword "Joyeuse."

[Sidenote: _Contrabandistas._]

Here we boys were mightily taken with, and tempted to accept the offer
made to us by, a merry party of _contrabandistas_, who were smuggling
to and fro chocolate, tobacco, and _aguardienta_ (spirits). Nothing
could be jollier than such a life as these people lead. They travelled
_au clair de la lune_, armed to the teeth; when they arrived at the
hotels the mules were unloaded and turned out to grass, the guitar,
played _à la Figaro_, began to tinkle, and all the young women, like
"the Buffalo girls," came out to dance. Wine and spirits flowed freely,
the greatest good humour prevailed, and the festivities were broken
only sometimes by "knifing or shooting."

We also visited Tarbes, which even in those days was beginning to
acquire a reputation for "le shport;" it presently became one of the
centres of racing and hunting in France, for which the excellent
climate and the fine rolling country admirably adapted it. It was no
wonder that the young French horse beat the English at the same age.
In the Basque Pyrénées a colt two years old is as well grown as a
Newmarket weed at two and a half.

When the great heat was over, the family returned to Pau, where they
found a good house over the arcade in the Place Gramont. Pau boasts of
being the birthplace of Henry IV., Gaston de Foix, and Bernadotte.
Strangers go through the usual routine of visiting the Castle, called
after the Protestant-Catholic King, Henry IV.; driving to Ortez, where
Marshal Soult fought unjustifiably the last action of the Peninsular
War; and of wandering about the flat, moor-like _landes_, which not
a little resemble those about Bordeaux. The society at Pau was an
improvement upon that of Naples. The most remarkable person was Captain
(R.N.) Lord William Paget, who was living with his mother-in-law
(Baroness de Rothenberg), and his wife and children, and enjoying
himself as usual. Though even impecunious, he was the best of boon
companions, and a man generally loved. But he could also make himself
feared, and, as the phrase is, would stand no nonsense. He had a
little affair with a man whom we will call Robinson, and as they were
going to the meeting-place he said to his second, "What's the fellow's
pet pursuit?" "Well!" answered the other, "I don't know--but, let me
see--ah, I remember, a capital hand at waltzing." "Waltzing!" said
Lord William, and hit him accurately on the hip-bone, which spoilt his
saltations for many a long month. Years and years after, when both were
middle-aged men, I met at Shepherd's Hotel, Cairo, his son, the boy
whom I remembered straddling across a diminutive donkey--General Billy
Paget. He had also entered the Anglo-Indian army, and amongst other
things had distinguished himself by getting the better (in an official
correspondence) of General John Jacob, the most obstinate and rancorous
of men. "Billy" had come out to Egypt with the intention of returning
to India, but the Red Sea looked so sweltering hot and its shores so
disgustingly barren, that he wrote to Aden to recall his luggage, which
had been sent forward, then and there retired from the service, married
a charming woman, and gave his old friends a very excellent dinner in
London.

There were also some very nice L'Estranges, one of the daughters a very
handsome woman, some pretty Foxes, an old Captain Sheridan, with two
good-looking daughters, and the Ruxtons, whom we afterwards met at Pisa
and the Baths of Lucca. Certain elderly maidens of the name of Shannon
lived in a house almost overhanging the Gave de Pau. Upon this subject
O'Connell, the Agitator, produced a _bon mot_, which is, however, not
fit for the drawing-room. Pau was still a kind of invalid colony for
consumptives, although the native proverb about its climate is, "that
it has eight months winter, and four of the Inferno." Dr. Diaforus acts
upon the very intelligible system of self-interest. He does not wish
his patients to die upon his hands, and consequently he sends them
to die abroad. In the latter part of the last century he sent his
moribunds to Lisbon and to Montpellier, where the _vent de bise_ is as
terrible as a black east wind is in Harwich.

Then he packed them off to Pisa, where the tropics and Norway meet, and
to damp, muggy, reeking Madeira, where patients have lived a quarter
of a century with half a lung, but where their sound companions and
nurses suffer from every description of evil which attend biliousness.
They then found out that the dry heat of Teneriffe allowed invalids to
be out after sunset, and, lastly, they discovered that the dry cold
of Canada and Iceland, charged with ozone, offers the best chance
of a complete cure. I proposed to utilize the regions about the
beautiful Dead Sea, about thirteen hundred feet below the level of
the Mediterranean, where oxygen accumulates, and where, run as hard
as you like, you can never be out of breath. This will be the great
Consumptive Hospital of the future.

[Sidenote: _Pau Education._]

At Pau the education went on merrily. I was provided with a French
master of mathematics, whose greasy hair swept the collar of the
_redingote_ buttoned up to the chin. He was a type of his order. He
introduced mathematics everywhere. He was a red republican of the
reddest, hating rank and wealth, and he held that _Le Bon Dieu_ was not
proven, because he could not express Him by a mathematical formula, and
he called his fellow-men _Bon-Dieusistes_. We were now grown to lads,
and began seriously to prepare for thrashing our tutor, and diligently
took lessons in boxing from the Irish groom of a Captain Hutchinson,
R.N. Whenever we could escape from study we passed our hours in the
barracks, fencing with the soldiers, and delighting every _piou-piou_
(recruit) by our powers of consuming the country spirit (the white and
unadulterated cognac). We also took seriously to smoking, although, as
usual with beginners in those days, we suffered in the flesh. In the
later generation, you find young children, even girls, who, although
their parents have never smoked, can finish off a cigarette without the
slightest inconvenience, even for the first time.

Smoking and drinking led us, as it naturally does, into trouble. There
was a Jamaica Irishman with a very dark skin and a very loud brogue,
called Thomas, who was passing the winter for the benefit of his chest
at Pau. He delighted in encouraging us for mischief sake. One raw snowy
day he gave us his strongest cigars, and brewed us a bowl of potent
steaming punch, which was soon followed by another. Edward, not being
very well, was unusually temperate, and so I, not liking to waste it,
drank for two. A walk was then maliciously proposed, and the cold air
acted as usual as stimulant to stimulant. Thomas began laughing aloud,
Edward plodded gloomily along, and I got into half a dozen scrimmages
with the country people. At last matters began to look serious, and
the too hospitable host took his two guests back to their home. I
managed to stagger upstairs; I was deadly pale, with staring eyes, and
compelled to use the depressed walk of a monkey, when I met my mother.
She was startled at my appearance, and as I pleaded very sick she put
me to bed. But other symptoms puzzled her. She fetched my father, who
came to the bedside, looked carefully for a minute at his son and heir,
and turned upon his heel, exclaiming, "The beast's in liquor." The
mother burst into a flood of tears, and next morning presented me with
a five-franc piece, making me promise to be good for the future, and
not to read Lord Chesterfield's "Letters to his Son," of which she had
a dreadful horror. It need hardly be said that the five francs soon
melted away in laying in a stock of what is popularly called "a hair of
the dog that bit."

What we learnt last at Pau was the Bearnais dialect. It is a charmingly
naïve dialect, mixture of French, Spanish, and Provençale, and
containing a quantity of pretty, pleasant songs. The country folk were
delighted when addressed in their own lingo. It considerably assisted
me in learning Provençale, the language of Le Geysaber; and I found
it useful in the most out-of-the-way corners of the world, even in
Brazil. Nothing goes home to the heart of a man so much as to speak to
him in his own _patois_. Even a Lancashire lad can scarcely resist the
language of "Tummas and Mary."

[Sidenote: _Argélés._]

At length the wheezy, windy, rainy, foggy, sleety, snowy winter passed
away, and the approach of the warm four months, warned strangers to
betake themselves to the hills. This time the chosen place was Argélés.
In those days it was a little village, composed mainly of one street,
not unlike mining Arrayal in Brazil, or a negro village on the banks
of the Gaboon. But the scenery around it was beautiful. It lay upon a
brawling stream, and the contrast of the horizontal meadow-lands around
it, with the backing of almost vertical hills and peaks, thoroughly
satisfied the eye. It had cruel weather in winter time, and a sad
accident had just happened. A discharged soldier had reached it in
midwinter, when the snow lay deep and the wolves were out, and the
villagers strongly dissuaded him from trying to reach his father's
home in the hills. He was armed with his little _briquet_, the little
curved sword then carried by the French infantry soldiers, and he
laughed all caution to scorn. It was towards nightfall; he had hardly
walked a mile, before a pack came down upon him, raging and ravening
with hunger. He put his back to a tree, and defended himself manfully,
killing several wolves, and escaped whilst the carcases were being
devoured by their companions; but he sheathed his sword without taking
the precaution to wipe it, and when he was attacked again it was glued
to the scabbard. The wolves paid dearly for their meal, for the enraged
villagers organized a battue, and killed about a score of them as an
expiatory sacrifice for the poor soldier.

We two brothers, abetted by our tutor, had fallen into the detestable
practice of keeping our hands in by shooting swifts and swallows, of
which barbarity we were afterwards heartily ashamed. Our first lesson
was from the peasants. On one occasion, having shot a harmless bird
that fell among the reapers, the latter charged us in a body, and being
armed with scythes and sickles, caused a precipitous retreat. In those
days the swallow seemed to be a kind of holy bird in the Bearnais,
somewhat like the pigeons of Mecca and Venice. I can only remember that
this was the case with old Assyrians and Aramæans, who called the swift
or devilling the destiny, or foretelling bird, because it heralded the
spring.

[Sidenote: _The Boys fall in Love._]

There was a small society at Argélés, consisting chiefly of English and
Spaniards. The latter were mostly refugees, driven away from home by
political changes. They were not overburdened with money, and of course
looked for cheap quarters. They seemed chiefly to live upon chocolate,
which they made in their own way, in tiny cups so thick and gruelly,
that sponge-cake stood upright in it. They smoked cigarettes with
maize-leaf for paper, as only a Spaniard can. The little cylinder hangs
down as if it were glued to the smoker's lower lip. He goes on talking
and laughing, and then, by some curious movement of a muscle developed
in no other race, he raises the weed to the horizontal and puffs out
a cloud of smoke. They passed their spare time in playing the guitar
and singing party songs, and were very much disgusted when asked to
indulge the company with Riego el Cid. There was a marriage at Argélés,
when a Scotch maiden of mature age married M. Le Maire, an old French
_mousquetaire_, a man of birth, of courtly manners, and who was the
delight of the young ones, but his _plaisanteries_ are utterly unfit
for the drawing-room. There was also a Baron de Meydell, his wife, her
sister, and two very handsome daughters. The eldest was engaged to a
rich young planter in the Isle of Bourbon. We two lads of course fell
desperately in love with them, and the old father, who had served in
the Hessian Brigade in the English army, only roared with laughter when
he saw and heard our _polissoneries_. The old man liked us both, and
delighted in nothing more than to see us working upon each other with
foil and sabre. The parting of the four lovers was something very sad,
and three of us at least shed tears. The eldest girl was beyond such
childishness.

As the mountain fog began to roll down upon the valley, our father
found that his poor chest required a warmer climate. This time we
travelled down the Grand Canal du Midi in a big public barge, which
resembled a Dutch _trekschuyt_. At first, passing through the locks was
a perpetual excitement, but this very soon palled. The L'Estranges were
also on board, and the French part of the company were not particularly
pleasant. They were mostly tourists returning home, mixed with a fair
proportion of _commis-voyageurs_, a class that corresponds with, but
does not resemble, our commercial traveller. The French species seems
to have but two objects in social life: first, to glorify himself, and
secondly, to glorify Paris.

Monsieur Victor Hugo has carried the latter mania to the very verge of
madness, and left to his countrymen an example almost as bad as bad can
be. The peculiarity of the _commis-voyageur_ in those days, was the
queer thin varnish of politeness, which he thought it due to himself
to assume. He would help himself at breakfast or dinner to the leg,
wing, and part of the breast, and pass the dish to his neighbour when
it contained only a neck and a drumstick, with a pleased smile and a
ready bow, anxiously asking "Madame, veut elle de la volaille?" and he
was frightfully unprogressive. He wished to "let sleeping dogs lie,"
and hated to move quiet things. It almost gave him an indigestion to
speak of railways. He found the diligence and the canal boat quite fast
enough for his purpose. And in this to a certain extent he represented
the Genius of the Nation.

With the excellent example of the Grand Canal du Midi before them, the
French have allowed half a century to pass before they even realized
the fact that their rivers give them most admirable opportunities for
inland navigation, and that by energy in spending money they could have
a water line leading up from Manches to Paris, and down from Paris
to the Mediterranean. In these days of piercing isthmuses, they seem
hardly to have thought of a canal that would save the time and expense
of running round Spain and Portugal, when it would be so easy to cut
the neck that connects their country with the Peninsula. The rest of
the journey was eventless as usual. The family took the steamer at
Marseille, steamed down to Leghorn, and drove up to Pisa. There they
found a house on the south side of the Lung' Arno, belonging to a widow
of the name of Pini. It was a dull and melancholy place enough, but it
had the advantage of a large garden that grew chiefly cabbages. It was
something like a return home; a number of old acquaintances were met,
and few new ones were made.

[Sidenote: _Drawing._]

The studies were kept up with unremitting attention. I kept up drawing,
painting, and classics, and it was lucky for me that I did. I have
been able to make my own drawings, and to illustrate my own books.
It is only in this way that a correct idea of unfamiliar scenes can
be given. Travellers who bring home a few scrawls and put them into
the hands of a professional illustrator, have the pleasure of seeing
the illustrated paper style applied to the scenery and the people of
Central Africa and Central Asia and Europe. Even when the drawings
are carefully done by the traveller-artist, it is hard to persuade
the professional to preserve their peculiarities. For instance, a
sketch from Hyderabad, the inland capital of Sind, showed a number of
mast-like poles which induced the English artist to write out and ask
if there ought not to be yards and sails. In sending a sketch home of a
pilgrim in his proper costume, the portable Korán worn under the left
arm narrowly escaped becoming a revolver. On the chocolate-coloured
cover of a book on Zanzibar, stands a negro in gold, straddling like
the Colossus of Rhodes. He was propped crane-like upon one leg,
supporting himself with his spear, and applying, African fashion, the
sole of the other foot to the perpendicular calf.

[Sidenote: _Music._]

But music did not get on so well. We all three had good speaking
voices, but we sang with a "_voce di gola_," a throaty tone which
was terrible to hear. It is only in England that people sing without
voices. This may do very well when chirping a comic song, or
half-speaking a ballad, but in nothing higher. I longed to sing, began
singing with all my might at Pau in the Pyrenees, and I kept it up at
Pisa, where Signor Romani (Mario's old master) rather encouraged me,
instead of peremptorily or pathetically bidding me to hold my tongue.
I wasted time and money, and presently found out my mistake and threw
up music altogether. At stray times I took up the flageolet, and other
simple instruments, as though I had a kind of instinctive feeling how
useful music would be to me in later life. And I never ceased to regret
that I had not practised sufficiently, to be able to write down music
at hearing. Had I been able to do so, I might have collected some two
thousand motives from Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, and have
produced a musical note-book which would have been useful to a Bellini,
or Donizetti, or a Boito.

We had now put away childish things; that is to say, we no longer broke
the windows across the river with slings, or engaged in free fights
with our coevals. But the climate of Italy is precocious, so, as the
Vicar of Wakefield has it, "we cocked our hats and loved the ladies."
And our poor father was once appalled by strange heads being put out of
the windows, in an unaccustomed street, and with the words, "Oh! S'or
Riccardo, Oh! S'or Edoardo."

Madame P----, the landlady, had three children. Sandro, the son, was a
tall, gawky youth, who wore a _cacciatore_ or Italian shooting-jacket
of cotton-leather, not unlike the English one made loose, with the
tails cut off. The two daughters were extremely handsome girls, in
very different styles. Signorina Caterina, the elder, was tall, slim,
and dark, with the palest possible complexion and regular features.
Signorina Antonia, the younger, could not boast of the same classical
lines, but the light brown hair, and the pink and white complexion,
made one forgive and forget every irregularity. Consequently I fell in
love with the elder, and Edward with the latter. Proposals of marriage
were made and accepted. The girls had heard that, in her younger days,
mamma had had half a dozen strings to her bow at the same time, and
they were perfectly ready to follow parental example. But a serious
obstacle occurred in the difficulty of getting the ceremony performed.
As in England there was a popular but mistaken idea that a man could
put a rope round his wife's neck, take her to market, and sell her like
a quadruped, so there was, and perhaps there is still, in Italy, a
legend that any affianced couple standing up together in front of the
congregation during the elevation of the Host, and declaring themselves
man and wife, are very much married. Many inquiries were made about
this procedure, and at one time it was seriously intended. But the
result of questioning was, that _promessi sposi_ so acting, are at once
imprisoned and punished by being kept in separate cells, and therefore
it became evident, that the game was not worth the candle. This is
like a Scotch marriage, however--with the Italian would be binding in
religion, and the Scotch in law.

Edward and I made acquaintance with a lot of Italian medical students,
compared with whom, English men of the same category were as babes,
and they did us no particular good. At last the winter at Pisa ended,
badly--very badly. The hard studies of the classics during the day,
occasionally concluded with a revel at night. On one hopeless occasion
a bottle of Jamaica gin happened to fall into the wrong hands. The
revellers rose at midnight, boiled water, procured sugar and lemons,
and sat down to a steaming soup tureen full of punch. Possibly it was
followed by a second, but the result was that they sallied out into the
streets, determined upon what is _called_ a "spree." Knockers did not
exist, and Charleys did not confine themselves to their sentry-boxes,
and it was vain to ring at bells, when every one was sound asleep.
Evidently the choice of amusements was limited, and mostly confined to
hustling inoffensive passers-by. But as one of these feats had been
performed, and cries for assistance had been uttered, up came the watch
at the double, and the revellers had nothing to do but to make tracks.
My legs were the longest, and I escaped; Edward was seized and led
off, despite his fists and heels, ignobly to the local _violon_, or
guard-house. One may imagine my father's disgust next morning, when he
was courteously informed by the prison authorities that a _giovinotto_
bearing his name, had been lodged during the night at the public
expense. The father went off in a state of the stoniest severity to the
guard-house, and found the graceless one treating his companions in
misfortune, thieves and ruffians of every kind, to the contents of a
pocket-flask with which he had provided himself in case of need. This
was the last straw; our father determined to transfer his head-quarters
to the Baths of Lucca, and then to prepare for breaking up the family.
The adieux of Caterina and Antonia were heartrending, and it was agreed
to correspond every week. The journey occupied a short time, and a
house was soon found in the upper village of Lucca.

[Sidenote: _The Baths of Lucca._]

In those days, the Lucchese baths were the only place in Italy that
could boast of a tolerably cool summer climate, and a few of the
comforts of life. Sorrento, Montenero, near Leghorn, and the hills
about Rome, were frequented by very few; they came under the category
of "cheap and nasty." Hence the Bagni collected what was considered to
be the distinguished society. It had its parson from Pisa, even in the
days before the travelling continental clergyman was known, and this
one migrated every year to the hills, like the flight of swallows, and
the beggars who desert the hot plains and the stifling climate of the
lowlands. There was generally at least one English doctor who practised
by the kindly sufferance of the _then_ Italian Government. The Duke
of Lucca at times attended the balls; he was married, but his gallant
presence and knightly manner committed terrible ravages in the hearts
of susceptible English girls.

The queen in ordinary was a Mrs. Colonel Stisted, as she called
herself, the "same Miss Clotilda Clotworthy Crawley who was" so rudely
treated by the wild Irish girl, Lady Morgan. I was also obliged to
settle an old score with her in after years in "Sinde, or the Unhappy
Valley." And so I wrote, "She indeed had left her mark in literature,
not by her maudlin volume, 'The Byeways of Italy,' but by the abuse of
her fellow authors." She was "the sea goddess with tin ringlets and
venerable limbs" of the irrepressible Mrs. Trollope. She also supplied
Lever with one of the characters which he etched in with his most
corrosive acid. In one season the Baths collected Lady Blessington,
Count D'Orsay, the charming Lady Walpole, Mrs. Elizabeth Barrett
Browning, the poetess, whose tight _sacque_ of black silk gave us
youngsters a series of caricatures. There, too, was old Lady Osborne,
full of Greek and Latin, who married her daughter to Captain Bernal,
afterwards Bernal Osborne. Amongst the number was Mrs. Young, whose
daughter became Madame Matteucci, wife of the celebrated scientist and
electrician of Tuscany. She managed, curiously to say, to hold her
own in her new position. Finally, I remember Miss Virginia Gabriell,
daughter of old General Gabriell, commonly called the "Archangel
Gabriel." Virginia Gabriell, "all white and fresh, and virginally
plain," afterwards made a name in the musical world, composed beautiful
ballads, published many pieces, and married, and died in St. George's
Hospital by being thrown from a carriage, August 7, 1877. She showed
her _savoir faire_ at the earliest age. At a ball given to the Prince,
all appeared in their finest dresses and richest jewellery. Miss
Virginia was in white, with a single necklace of pink coral. They
danced till daylight; and when the sun arose, Miss Virginia was like a
rose amongst faded dahlias and sunflowers.

There was a very nice fellow of the name of Wood, who had just married
a Miss Stisted, one of the nieces of the "Queen of the Baths," with
whom all the "baths" were in love. Another marking young person was
Miss Helen Crowley, a girl of the order "dashing," whose hair was the
brightest auburn, and complexion the purest white and red. Her father
was the Rev. Dr. Crowley, whose Jewish novel "Salathiel" made a small
noise in the world; but either he or his wife disliked children, so
Miss Helen had been turned over to the charge of aunts. These were
two elderly maiden ladies, whose agnosticism was of the severest
description. "Sister, what is that noise?" "The howling of hymns,
sister." "The beastly creatures," cried she, as "Come across hill and
dale" reached her most irreverent ears. I met both of these ladies
in later life, and it was enough to say that all three had terribly
changed.

Amongst the remarkable people we knew were the Desanges family, who
had a phenomenon in the house. A voice seemed to come out of it of
the very richest volume, and every one thought it was a woman's. It
really belonged to Master Louis, who afterwards made for himself so
great a name for battle-scenes (The Desanges' Crimea and Victoria Cross
Gallery) and also for portraits.[3] The voice did not recover itself
thoroughly after breaking, but sufficient remained for admirable comic
songs, and no man who ever heard them came away from "Le Lor Maire" and
"Vilikens et sa Dinah" without aching sides. There was another learned
widow of the name of Graves, whose husband had been a kinsman of my
father. Her daughter prided herself upon the breadth of her forehead
and general intellectuality. She ended by marrying the celebrated
historian Von Ranke. Intellectual Englishwomen used to expect a kind
of intellectual paradise in marrying German professors. They were to
share their labours, assist in their discoveries, and wear a kind of
reflected halo or gloria, as the moon receives light from the sun; but
they were perfectly shocked when they were ordered to the kitchen, and
were addressed with perhaps "Donner--Wetter--Sacrament" if the dinner
was not properly cooked.

These little colonies like the "Baths of Lucca" began to decline
about 1850, and came to their Nadir in 1870. Then they had a kind
of resurrection. The gambling in shares and stocks and loans lost
England an immense sum of money, and the losses were most felt by that
well-to-do part of the public that had a fixed income and no chance
of ever increasing it. The loss of some five hundred millions of
pounds sterling, rendered England too expensive for a large class, and
presently drove it abroad. It gained numbers in 1881, when the Irish
Land Bill, soon to be followed by a corresponding English Land Bill,
exiled a multitude of landowners. So the little English colonies, which
had dwindled to the lowest expression, gradually grew and grew, and
became stronger than they ever did.

[Sidenote: _The Boys get too Old for Home._]

It was evident that the Burton family was ripe for a break up. Our
father, like an Irishman, was perfectly happy as long as he was the
only man in the house, but the presence of younger males irritated him.
His temper became permanently soured. He could no longer use the rod,
but he could make himself very unpleasant with his tongue. "Senti come
me li rimangia quei poveri ragazzi!" (Hear how he is chawing-up those
poor lads!) said the old Pisan-Italian lady's-maid, and I do think
now that we were not pleasant inmates of a household. We were in the
"Sturm und drang" of the teens. We had thoroughly mastered our tutor,
threw our books out of the window if he attempted to give a lesson in
Greek or Latin, and applied ourselves with ardour to Picault Le Brun,
and Paul de Kock, the "Promessi Sposi," and the "Disfida di Barletta."
Instead of taking country walks, we jodelled all about the hillsides
under the direction of a Swiss scamp. We shot pistols in every
direction, and whenever a stray fencing-master passed, we persuaded him
to give us a few hours of "point." We made experiments of everything
imaginable, including swallowing and smoking opium.

The break-up took place about the middle of summer. It was
comparatively tame. Italians marvelled at the Spartan nature of the
British mother, who, after the habits of fifteen years, can so easily
part with her children at the cost of a lachrymose last embrace, and
watering her prandial beefsteak with tears. Amongst Italian families,
nothing is more common than for all the brothers and sisters to swear
that they will not marry if they are to be separated from one another.
And even now, in these subversive and progressive days, what a curious
contrast is the English and the Italian household. Let me sketch one
of the latter, a family belonging to the old nobility, once lords of
the land, and now simple proprietors of a fair Estate. In a large
garden, and a larger orchard of vines and olives, stands a solid old
house, as roomy as a barrack, but without the slightest pretension of
comfort or luxury. The old Countess, a widow, has the whole of her
progeny around her--two or three stalwart sons, one married and the
others partially so, and a daughter who has not yet found a husband.
The servants are old family retainers. They consider themselves part
and parcel of the household; they are on the most familiar terms with
the family, although they would resent with the direst indignation the
slightest liberty on the part of outsiders. The day is one of extreme
simplicity, and some might even deem it monotonous. Each individual
leaves his bed at the hour he or she pleases, and finds coffee, milk,
and small rolls in the dining-room. Smoking and dawdling pass the hours
till almost mid-day, when _déjeuner à la fourchette_, or rather a young
dinner, leads very naturally up to a siesta. In the afternoon there is
a little walking or driving, and even shooting in the case of the most
energetic. There is a supper after nightfall, and after that dominoes
or cards, or music, or conversazione, keep them awake for half the
night. The even tenor of their days is broken only by a festival or a
ball in the nearest town, or some pseudo Scientific Congress in a City
not wholly out of reach; and so things go on from year to year, and all
are happy because they look to nothing else.

[Sidenote: _Schinznach and England._]

Our journey began in the early summer of 1840. My mother and sister
were left at the Baths of Lucca, and my father, with Mr. Du Pré, and
Edward and I, set out for Switzerland. We again travelled _vetturino_,
and we lads cast longing eyes at the charming country which we were
destined not to see again for another ten years. How melancholy we
felt when on our way to the chill and dolorous North! At Schinznach I
was left in charge of Mr. Du Pré, while my father and brother set out
for England direct. These Hapsburg baths in the Aargau had been chosen
because the abominable sulphur water, as odorous as that of Harrogate,
was held as sovereign in skin complaints, and I was suffering from
exanthémata, an eruption brought on by a sudden check of perspiration.
These eruptions are very hard to cure, and they often embitter a man's
life. The village consisted of a single Establishment, in which all
nationalities met. Amongst them was an unfortunate Frenchman, who had
been attacked at Calcutta with what appeared to be a leprous taint. He
had tried half a dozen places to no purpose, and he had determined to
blow his brains out if Schinznach failed him. The only advantage of the
place was, its being within easy distance of Schaffhausen and the falls
of the Rhine.

When the six weeks' cure was over, I was hurried by my guardian across
France, and Southern England, to the rendezvous. The Grandmother and
the two aunts, finding Great Cumberland Place too hot, had taken
country quarters at Hampstead. Grandmamma Baker received us lads with
something like disappointment. She would have been better contented had
we been six feet high, bony as Highland cattle, with freckled faces,
and cheek-bones like horns. Aunt Georgina Baker embraced and kissed her
nephews with effusion. She had not been long parted from us. Mrs. Frank
Burton, the other aunt, had not seen us for ten years, and of course
could not recognize us.

We found two very nice little girl-cousins, who assisted us to pass
the time. But the old dislike to our surroundings, returned with
redoubled violence. Everything appeared to us so small, so mean, so
ugly. The faces of the women were the only exception to the general
rule of hideousness. The houses were so unlike houses, and more like
the Nuremberg toys magnified. The outsides were so prim, so priggish,
so utterly unartistic. The little bits of garden were mere slices, as
if they had been sold by the inch. The interiors were cut up into such
wretched little rooms, more like ship-cabins than what was called rooms
in Italy. The drawing-rooms were crowded with hideous little tables,
that made it dangerous to pass from one side to the other. The tables
were heaped with nick-nacks, that served neither for use or show. And
there was a desperate neatness and cleanness about everything that
made us remember the old story of the Stoic who spat in the face of
the master of the house because it was the most untidy place in the
dwelling.

[Sidenote: _The Family break up._]

Then came a second parting. Edward was to be placed under the charge
of the Rev. Mr. Havergal, rector of some country parish. Later on, he
wrote to say that "Richard must not correspond with his brother, as
he had turned his name into a peculiar form of ridicule." He was in
the musical line, and delighted in organ-playing. But Edward seemed to
consider the whole affair a bore, and was only too happy when he could
escape from the harmonious parsonage.

In the mean time I had been tried and found wanting. One of my father's
sisters (Mrs. General D'Aguilar, as she called herself) had returned
from India, after an uninterrupted residence of a score of years, with
a large supply of children of both sexes. She had settled herself
temporarily at Cambridge, to superintend the education of her eldest
son, John Burton D'Aguilar, who was intended for the Church, and who
afterwards became a chaplain in the Bengal Establishment. Amongst her
many acquaintances was a certain Professor Sholefield, a well-known
Grecian. My father had rather suspected that very little had been
done in the house, in the way of classical study, during the last two
years. The Professor put me through my paces in Virgil and Homer, and
found me lamentably deficient. I did not even know who Isis was! worse
still, it was found out that I, who spoke French and Italian and their
dialects like a native, who had a considerable smattering of Bearnais,
Spanish, and Provençale, barely knew the Lord's Prayer, broke down in
the Apostles' Creed, and had never heard of the Thirty-nine Articles--a
terrible revelation!

[1] "The Sword," in three large works nobly planned out, when after the
first part was brought out, death frustrated the other two.--I. B.

[2] There are three hundred and sixty-five of these pits, one for every
day in the year.--I. B.

[3] In 1861 he painted Richard's and my portraits as a wedding
gift.--I. B.




CHAPTER IV.

OXFORD.


As it was Long Vacation at Oxford, and I could not take rooms at
once in Trinity College, where my name had been put down, it was
necessary to place me somewhere out of mischief. At the intervention
of friends, a certain Doctor Greenhill agreed to lodge and coach me
till the opening term. The said doctor had just married a relation of
Dr. Arnold, of Rugby, and he had taken his bride to Paris, in order
to show her the world and to indulge himself in a little dissecting.
Meanwhile I was placed _pro tem._ with another medical don, Dr. Ogle,
and I enjoyed myself in that house. The father was a genial man, and he
had nice sons and pretty daughters. As soon as Dr. Greenhill returned
to his house in High Street, Oxford, I was taken up there by my father,
and was duly consigned to the new tutor. Mr. Du Pré vanished, and was
never seen again.

The first sight of Oxford struck me with a sense of appal. "O Domus
antiqua et religiosa," cried Queen Elizabeth, in 1664, standing
opposite Pembroke College, which the Dons desecrated in 1875. I could
not imagine how such fine massive and picturesque old buildings as the
colleges could be mixed up with the mean little houses that clustered
around them, looking as if they were built of cardboard. In after days,
I remembered the feeling, when looking at the Temple of the Sun in
Palmyra, surrounded by its Arab huts, like swallows' nests planted upon
a palace wall. And everything, _except_ the colleges, looked so mean.

The good old Mitre was, if not the only, at least the chief hostelry of
the place, and it had the outward and visible presence of a pot-house.
The river with the classical name of Isis, was a mere moat, and its
influent, the Cherwell, was a ditch. The country around, especially
just after Switzerland, looked flat and monotonous in the extreme. The
skies were brown-grey, and, to an Italian nose, the smell of the coal
smoke was a perpetual abomination. Queer beings walked the streets,
dressed in aprons that hung behind, from their shoulders, and caps
consisting of a square, like that of a lancer's helmet, planted upon
a semi-oval to contain the head. These queer creatures were carefully
shaved, except, perhaps, a diminutive mutton-cutlet on each side of
their face, and the most serious sort were invariably dressed _in
vestibus nigris aut sub fuscis_.

Moreover, an indescribable appearance of donnishness or incipient
donnishness pervaded the whole lot. The juniors looked like schoolboys
who aspired to be schoolmasters, and the seniors as if their
aspirations had been successful. I asked after the famous Grove of
Trinity, where Charles I. used to walk when tired of Christ Church
meadows, and which the wits called Daphne. It had long been felled, and
the ground was covered with buildings.

At last term opened, and I transferred myself from Dr. Greenhill to
Trinity College.

Then my University life began, and readers must be prepared not to be
shocked at the recital of my college failures, which only proves the
truth of what I said before, that if a father means his boy to succeed
in an English career, he must put him to a preparatory school, Eton or
Oxford, educate him for his coming profession, and not drag his family
about the Continent, under governesses and tutors, to learn fencing,
languages, and become wild, and to belong to nowhere in particular as
to parish or county.

In the autumn term of 1840, at nineteen and a half, I began residence
in Trinity College, where my quarters were a pair of dog-holes, called
rooms, overlooking the garden of the Master of Balliol. My reception
at College was not pleasant. I had grown a splendid moustache, which
was the envy of all the boys abroad, and which all the advice of Drs.
Ogle and Greenhill failed to make me remove. I declined to be shaved
until formal orders were issued to the authorities of the college.
For I had already formed strong ideas upon the Shaven age of England,
when her history, with some brilliant exceptions, such as Marlborough,
Wellington, or Nelson, was at its meanest.

[Sidenote: _Practical Jokes._]

As I passed through the entrance of the College, a couple of brother
collegians met me, and the taller one laughed in my face. Accustomed
to continental decorum, I handed him my card and called him out. But
the college lad, termed by courtesy an Oxford man, had possibly read
of duels, had probably never touched a weapon, sword or pistol, and
his astonishment at the invitation exceeded all bounds. Explanations
succeeded, and I went my way sadly, and felt as if I had fallen amongst
_épiciers_. The college porter had kindly warned me against tricks
played by the older hands, upon "fresh young gentlemen," and strongly
advised me to "sport my oak," or, in other words, to bar and lock my
outer door. With dignity deeply hurt, I left the entrance wide open,
and thrust a poker into the fire, determined to give all intruders the
warmest possible reception. This was part and parcel of that unhappy
education abroad. In English public schools, boys learn first "to
take," and then "to give." They begin by being tossed, and then by
tossing others in the blanket. Those were days when practical jokes
were in full force. Happily it is now extinct. Every greenhorn coming
to college or joining a regiment, was liable to the roughest possible
treatment, and it was only by submitting with the utmost good humour,
that he won the affection of his comrades, and was looked upon as a
gentleman. But the practice also had its darker phase. It ruined many a
prospect, and it lost many a life. The most amusing specimen that _I_
ever saw was that of a charming youngster, who died soon after joining
his Sepoy regiment. The oldsters tried to drink him under the table at
mess, and had notably failed. About midnight, when he was enjoying his
first sleep, he suddenly awoke and found a ring of spectral figures
dancing round between his bed and the tent-walls. After a minute's
reflection, he jumped up, seized a sheet, threw it over his shoulders,
and joined the dancers, saying, "If this is the fashion I suppose I
must do it also." The jokers, baffled a second time, could do nothing
but knock him down and run away.

The example of the larky Marquis of Waterford, seemed to authorize all
kinds of fantastic tricks. The legend was still fresh, that he had
painted the Dean of Christ Church's door red, because that formidable
dignitary had objected to his wearing "pink" in High Street. Another,
and far more inexcusable prank, was his sending all the accoucheurs in
the town, to the house of a middle-aged maiden lady, whose father, a
don, had offended him. In the colleges they did not fly at such high
game, but they cruelly worried everything in the shape of a freshman.
One unfortunate youth, a fellow who had brought with him a dozen of
home-made wine, elder and cowslip, was made shockingly tight by brandy
being mixed with his port, and was put to bed with all his bottles
disposed on different parts of his person. Another, of æsthetic tastes,
prided himself upon his china, and found it next morning all strewed in
pieces about his bed. A third, with carroty whiskers, had them daubed
with mustard, also while in a state of insensibility, and had to have
them fall, yellow, next morning under a barber's hands.

I caused myself to be let down by a rope into the Master of Balliol's
garden, plucked up some of the finest flowers by the roots, and
planted in their place great staring marigolds. The study of the old
gentleman's countenance when he saw them next morning was a joy for
ever. Another prank was to shoot with an air-cane, an article strictly
forbidden in college, at a brand-new watering-pot, upon which the old
gentleman greatly prided himself, and the way which the water spirted
over his reverend gaiters, gave an ineffable delight to the knot of
mischievous undergraduates who were prospecting him from behind the
curtain. I, however, always had considerable respect for the sturdy
common sense of old Dr. Jenkins, and I made a kind of amends to him in
"Vikram and the Vampire," where he is the only Pundit who objected to
the tiger being resurrectioned. Another neat use of the air-cane, was
to shoot the unhappy rooks, over the heads of the dons, as they played
at bowls; the grave and reverend signiors would take up the body, and
gravely debate what had caused the sudden death, when a warm stream of
blood, trickling into their shirts, explained it only too clearly. No
undergraduate in college could safely read his classics out loud after
ten o'clock p.m., or his "oak" was broken with dumb-bells, and the
dirty oil lamp, that half lit the stairs, was thrown over him and his
books.

[Sidenote: _Friends._]

I made amends to a certain extent for my mischief by putting my
fellow-collegians to bed, and I always maintain that the Welshmen were
those who gave me the most trouble.

The Oxford day, considered with relation to the acquisition of
knowledge, was a "fast" pure and simple--it began in the morning
with Chapel, during which time most men got up their logic. We then
breakfasted either in our rooms, or in large parties, where we consumed
an immense quantity of ham, bacon, eggs, mutton chops, and indigestible
muffins. We then attended a couple of lectures, and this was Time
completely thrown away. We were then free for the day, and every man
passed his time as he best pleased. I could not afford to keep horses,
and always hated the idea of riding hired hacks. My only amusements
therefore were walking, rowing, and the school-at-arms. My walks
somehow or other always ended at Bagley Wood, where a pretty gypsy girl
(Selina), dressed in silks and satins, sat in state to receive the
shillings and the homage of the undergraduates. I worked hard, under
a coach, at sculling and rowing; I was one of the oars in the College
Torpid, and a friend and I challenged the River in a two-oar, but
unfortunately both of us were rusticated before the race came off.

My friend in misfortune belonged to an eminent ecclesiastical family,
and distinguished himself accordingly. Returning from Australia,
he landed at Mauritius without a farthing. Most men under the
circumstances would have gone to the Governor, told their names, and
obtained a passage to England. But the individual in question had far
too much individuality to take so commonplace a step. He wrote home to
his family for money, and meanwhile took off his coat, tucked up his
sleeves, and worked like a coolie on the wharf. When the cheque for
his passage was sent, he invited all his brother coolies to a spread
of turtle, champagne, and all the luxuries of the season, at the swell
hotel of the place, and left amidst the blessings of Shem and the curse
of Japhet. Another of my college companions--the son of a bishop,
by-the-by--made a cavalry regiment too hot to hold him, and took his
passage to the Cape of Good Hope in an emigrant ship. On the third day
he brought out a portable roulette table, which the captain sternly
ordered off the deck. But the ship was a slow sailer, she fell in with
calms about the Line, and the official rigour was relaxed. First one
began to play, and then another, and at last the ship became a perfect
"hell." After a hundred narrow escapes, and all manner of risks by
fire and water, and the fists and clubs of the enraged losers, the
distinguished youth landed at Cape Town with almost £5000 in his pocket.

[Sidenote: _Fencing-rooms._]

The great solace of _my_ life was the fencing-room. When I first
entered Oxford, its only _salle d'armes_ was kept by old Angelo, the
grandson of the gallant old Italian, mentioned by Edgeworth, but who
knew about as much of fencing as a French collegian after six months
of _salle d'armes_. He was a priggish old party too, celebrated for
walking up to his pupils and for whispering stagely, after a salute
with the foil, "This, sir, is not so much a School of Arms as a
_School of Politeness_." Presently a rival appeared in the person of
Archibald Maclaren, who soon managed to make his mark. He established
an excellent saloon, and he gradually superseded all the wretched
gymnastic yard, which lay some half a mile out of the town. He was
determined to make his way; he went over to Paris, when he could,
to work with the best masters, published his systems of fencing and
gymnastics, and he actually wrote a little book of poetry, which he
called "Songs of the Sword." He and I became great friends, which
friendship lasted for life. The only question that ever arose between
us was touching the advisability or non-advisability of eating sweet
buns and drinking strong ale at the same time. At the fencing-rooms I
made acquaintance, which afterwards became a life-long friendship, with
Alfred Bates Richards. He was a tall man, upwards of six feet high,
broad in proportion, and very muscular. I found it unadvisable to box
with him, but could easily master him with foil and broadsword. He was
one of the few who would take the trouble to learn. Mostly Englishmen
go to a fencing school, and, after six weeks' lessons, clamour to be
allowed to fence loose, and very loose fencing it is, and is fated
always to be. In the same way, almost before they can fix their
colours they want to paint _tableaux de genre_, and they have hardly
learnt their scales, when they want to attempt _bravura_ pieces. On
the Continent men work for months, and even years, before they think
themselves in sight of their journey's end. A. B. Richards and I often
met in after life and became intimates.[1] His erratic career is well
known, and he died at a comparatively early age, editor of the _Morning
Advertiser_. He had raised the tone of the Licensed Victuallers' organ
to such a high pitch that even Lord Beaconsfield congratulated him upon
it.

A. B. Richards was furious to see the treatment my services received;
he always stood up bravely for me--his fellow-collegian, both with word
and pen--in leaders too.

[Sidenote: _Manners and Customs--Food and Smoking._]

The time for "Hall," that is to say for college dinner, was five p.m.,
and the scene was calculated to astonish a youngster brought up on the
Continent. The only respectable part of it was the place itself, not
a bad imitation of some old convent refectory. The details were mean
in the extreme, and made me long for the meanest _table d'hôte_. Along
the bottom of the Hall, raised upon a dwarf dais, ran the high table,
intended for the use of fellows and fellow-commoners. The other tables
ran along the sides. Wine was forbidden, malt liquor being the only
drink. The food certainly suited the heavy strong beers and ales brewed
in the college. It consisted chiefly of hunches of meat, cooked after
Homeric or Central African fashion, and very filling at the price. The
vegetables, as usual, were plain boiled, without the slightest aid to
digestion. Yet the college cooks were great swells. They were paid
as much as an average clergyman, and put most of their sons into the
Church. In fact, the stomach had to do the whole work, whereas a good
French or Italian cook does half the work for it in his saucepans. This
cannibal meal was succeeded by stodgy pudding, and concluded with some
form of cheese, Cheshire or double Gloucester, which painfully reminded
one of bees'-wax, and this was called dinner. Very soon my foreign
stomach began to revolt at such treatment, and I found out a place in
the town, where, when I could escape Hall, I could make something of a
dinner.

The moral of the scene offended all my prepossessions. The
fellow-commoners were simply men, who by paying double what the
commoners paid, secured double privileges. This distinction of castes
is odious, except in the case of a man of certain age, who would not
like to be placed in the society of young lads. But worse still was
the gold tuft, who walked the streets with a silk gown, and a gorgeous
tassel on his college cap. These were noblemen, the offensive English
equivalent for men of title. _Generosus nascitur nobilis fit._ The
Grandfathers of these noblemen may have been pitmen or grocers, but
the simple fact of _having_ titles, entitled them to most absurd
distinctions. For instance, with a smattering of letters, enough to
enable a commoner to squeeze through an ordinary examination, gold
tuft took a first class, and it was even asserted that many took their
degrees by merely sending up their books. They were allowed to live
in London as much as they liked, and to condescend to college at the
rare times they pleased. Some Heads of Colleges would not stoop to this
degradation, especially Dean Gaisford of Christ Church, who compelled
Lord W---- to leave it and betake himself to Trinity; but the place
was, with notable exceptions, a hotbed of toadyism and flunkeyism.
When Mr. (now Sir Robert) Peel first appeared in the High Street, man,
woman, and child stood to look at him because he was the son of the
Prime Minister.

After dinner it was the custom to go to wine. These desserts were
another abomination. The table was spread with a vast variety of fruits
and sweetmeats, supplied at the very highest prices, and often on
tick, by the Oxford tradesmen,--model sharks. Some men got their wine
from London, others bought theirs in the town. Claret was then hardly
known, and port, sherry, and Madeira, all of the strong military ditto
type, were the only drinks. These wines were given in turn by the
undergraduates, and the meal upon meal would have injured the digestion
of a young shark. At last, about this time, some unknown fellow, whose
name deserved to be immortalized, drew out a cigar and insisted on
smoking it, despite the disgust and uproar that the novelty created.
But the fashion made its way, and the effects were admirable. The
cigar, and afterwards the pipe, soon abolished the cloying dessert, and
reduced the consumption of the loaded wines to a minimum.

But the English were very peculiar about smoking. In the days of
Queen Anne it was so universal that dissident jurymen were locked up
without meat, drink, or tobacco. During the continental wars it became
un-English to smoke, and consequently men, and even women, took snuff.
And for years it was considered as disgraceful to smoke a cigar out
of doors as to have one's boots blacked, or to eat an orange at Hyde
Park Corner. "Good gracious! you don't mean to say that you smoke in
the streets?" said an East Indian Director in after years, when he met
me in Pall Mall with a cigar in my mouth. Admiral Henry Murray, too,
vainly endeavoured to break through the prohibition by leading a little
squad of smoking friends through Kensington Gardens. Polite ladies
turned away their faces, and unpolite ladies muttered something about
"snobs." At last the Duke of Argyll spread his plaid under a tree in
Hyde Park, lighted a cutty pipe, and beckoned his friends to join him.
Within a month every one in London had a cigar in his mouth. A pretty
lesson to inculcate respect for popular prejudice!

After the dessert was finished, not a few men called for cognac,
whisky, and gin, and made merry for the rest of the evening. But
what else was there for them to do? Unlike a foreign University, the
theatre was discouraged; it was the meanest possible little house,
decent actors were ashamed to show themselves in it, and an actress of
the calibre of Mrs. Nesbitt appeared only every few years. Opera, of
course, there was none, and if there had been, not one in a thousand
would have understood the language, and not one in a hundred would
have appreciated the music. Occasionally there was a concert given by
some wandering artists, with the special permission of the college
authorities, and a dreary two hours' work it was. Balls were unknown,
whereby the marriageable demoiselles of Oxford lost many an uncommon
good chance. A mesmeric lecturer occasionally came down there and
caused some fun. He called for subjects, and amongst the half-dozen
that presented themselves was one young gentleman who had far more
sense of humour than discretion. When thrown into a deep slumber, he
arose, with his eyes apparently fast closed, and, passing into the
circle of astonished spectators, began to distribute kisses right and
left. Some of these salutations fell upon the sacred cheeks of the
daughters of the Heads of Houses, and the tableau may be imagined.

[Sidenote: _Drs. Newman and Pusey._]

This dull, monotonous life was varied in my case by an occasional
dinner with families whose acquaintance I had made in the town. At Dr.
Greenhill's I once met at dinner Dr. (afterwards Cardinal) Newman and
Dr. Arnold. I expected great things from their conversation, but it was
mostly confined to discussing the size of the Apostles in the Cathedral
of St. Peter's in Rome, and both these eminent men showed a very dim
recollection of the subject. I took a great fancy to Dr. Newman, and
used to listen to his sermons, when I would never give half an hour to
any other preacher. There was a peculiar gentleness in his manner, and
the matter was always suggestive. Dr. Newman was Vicar of St. Mary's,
at Oxford, and used to preach, at times, University sermons; there
was a stamp and seal upon him, a solemn music and sweetness in his
tone and manner, which made him singularly attractive, yet there was
no change of inflexion in his voice; action he had none; his sermons
were always read, and his eyes were ever upon his book; his figure was
lean and stooping, and the _tout ensemble_ was anything but dignified
or commanding, yet the delivery suited the matter of his speech, and
the combination suggested complete candour and honesty; he said only
what he believed, and he induced others to believe with him.[2] On the
other hand, Dr. Pusey's University sermons used to last for an hour
and a half; they were filled with Latin and Greek, dealt with abstruse
subjects, and were delivered in the dullest possible way, and seemed to
me like a _mauvais rêve_ or nightmare.

[Sidenote: _Began Arabic._]

At Dr. Greenhill's, too, I met Don Pascual de Gayangos, the Spanish
Arabist. Already wearying of Greek and Latin, I had attacked Arabic,
and soon was well on in Erpinius's Grammar; but there was no one to
teach me, so I began to teach myself, and to write the Arabic letters
from left to right, instead of from right to left, _i.e._ the wrong
way. Gayangos, when witnessing this proceeding, burst out laughing,
and showed me how to copy the alphabet. In those days, learning Arabic
at Oxford was not easy. There was a Regius Professor, but he had
other occupations than to profess. If an unhappy undergraduate went
up to him, and wanted to learn, he was assured that it was the duty
of a professor to teach a class, and not an individual. All this was
presently changed, but not before it was high time. The Sundays used
generally to be passed in "outings." It was a pleasure to get away from
Oxford, and to breathe the air which was not at least half smoke.

Another disagreeable of Oxford was, the continuous noise of bells. You
could not make sure of five minutes without one giving tongue, and in
no part of the world, perhaps, is there a place where there is such a
perpetual tinkling of metal. The maddening jangle of bells seems to
have been the survival of two centuries ago. In 1698 Paul Heutzner
wrote: "The English are vastly fond of great noises that fill the air,
such as the firing of cannon, drums, and the ringing of bells, so that
it is common for a number of them that have got a 'glass' in their
heads, to go up into some belfry, and ring the bells for hours together
for the sake of exercise."

A favourite Sunday trip used to be to Abingdon, which, by the wisdom of
the dons in those days, was the railway station of Oxford. Like most
men of conservative tendency, who disliked to move quiet things, who
cultivated the _status quo_, because they could hardly be better off,
and might be worse off, and who feared nothing more than innovations,
because these might force on enquiring into the disposal of the
revenues and other delicate monetary questions, they had fought against
the line with such good will, that they had left it nearly ten miles
distant from the town. Their conduct was by no means exceptional;
thousands did the same. For instance, Lord John Scott, determined to
prevent the surveyor passing through his estate, engaged a company of
"Nottingham Lambs," and literally strewed the floor of the porter's
lodge with broken surveying instruments. Mrs. Partington cannot keep
out the tide with her rake, and the consequence was that Oxford was
obliged to build a branch line, and soon had to lament that she had
lost the advantage of the main line.

The Rev. Thomas Short was at that time doing Sunday duty at Abingdon.
He was not distinguished for ability as a college tutor, but he was
a gentlemanly and kind-hearted man; he was careful not to be too
sharp-eyed when he met undergraduates at Abingdon. They generally
drove out in tandems, which the absurd regulations of the place kept
in fashion, by forbidding them. No one would have driven them had they
not possessed the merits of stolen fruit. I, having carefully practised
upon "Dobbin" in my earlier days, used thoroughly to enjoy driving. In
later years I met with my old tutor, the Rev. Thomas Short, who lived
to a great age, and died universally respected and regretted by all who
knew him.[3]

At last the lagging autumnal term passed away, and I went up to my
grandmother and aunts in Great Cumberland Place. It was not lively; a
household full of women only, rarely is.

The style of Society was very promiscuous. The Rev. Mr. Hutchins, the
clergyman under whom the family "sat" in the adjoining Quebec Chapel,
introduced me to the eccentric Duke of Brunswick, who used to laugh
consumedly at my sallies of high spirits. Lady Dinorben, with whom Mrs.
Phayre still lived, gave me an occasional invitation. The aunts' near
neighbours were old General Sutherland of the Madras Army, whose son
Alick I afterwards met in the Neilgherry Hills. Mr. Lawyer Dendy was
still alive, and one of his sons shortly after followed me to India
as a Bombay civilian. Another pleasant acquaintance was Mrs. White,
wife of the colonel of the 3rd Dragoons, whose three stalwart sons
were preparing for India, and gave me the first idea of going there.
A man who dances, who dresses decently, and who is tolerably well
introduced, rarely wants invitations to balls in London, and I found
some occupation for my evenings.

[Sidenote: _Play._]

But I sadly wanted a club, and in those days the institution was not as
common as it is now. At odd times I went to the theatres, and amused
myself with the humours of the little "Pic" and the old Cocoa-Nut
Tree. But hazard is a terrible game. It takes a man years to learn it
well, and by that time he has lost all the luck with which he begins.
I always disliked private play, although I played a tolerable hand at
whist, _écarté_, and piquet, but I found it almost as unpleasant to
win from my friends as to lose to my friends. On the other hand, I
was unusually lucky at public tables. I went upon a principle, not a
theory, which has ruined so many men. I noted as a rule that players
are brave enough when they lose, whereas they begin to fear when
they win. My plan, therefore, was to put a certain sum in my pocket
and resolve never to exceed it. If I lost it I stopped, one of the
advantages of public over private playing; but I did not lay down any
limits to winning when I was in luck; I boldly went ahead, and only
stopped when I found fortune turning the other way.

[Sidenote: _Town Life--College Friends._]

My grandmother's house was hardly pleasant to a devoted smoker; I was
put out on the leads, leading from the staircase, whenever I required
a weed. So I took lodgings in Maddox Street, and there became as it
were a "man about town." My brother Edward joined me, and we had, as
the Yankees say, "A high old time." It appeared only too short, and
presently came on the Spring Term, when I returned to my frouzy rooms
in Trinity College; and I had not formed many friendships in Trinity
itself. It had made a name for fastness amongst the last generation of
undergraduates, and now a reaction had set in. They laughed at me, at
my first lecture, because I spoke in Roman Latin--real Latin--I did not
know the English pronunciation, only known in England. The only men of
my own college I met in after life, were Father Coleridge, S.J., and
Edward A. Freeman, of Somerleaze, the historian.

Mrs. Grundy had then just begun to reign, inaugurated by Douglas
Jerrold with "What will Mrs. Grundy say?" This ancient _genitrix_
highly disapproved of my foreign ways, and my expressed dislike to
school and college, over which I ought to have waxed sentimental,
tender, and æsthetic; it appeared to her little short of blasphemy.
I had a few friends at "Exeter," including Richards, and three
at Brasenose, then famous for drinking heavy beers and ales as
Bonn or Heidelberg, especially on Shrove Tuesday, when certain
verses chaffingly called the "Carmen seculare" used to be sung.
But I delighted in "Oriel," which, both as regards fellows and
undergraduates, was certainly the nicest college of _my_ day. There I
spent the chief part of my time with Wilberforce, Foster, and a little
knot, amongst whom was Tom Hughes (afterwards Tom Brown). We boxed
regularly, and took lessons from Goodman, ex-pugilist and pedestrian,
and actual tailor, who came down to Oxford at times. We had great fun
with Burke--the fighting man--who on one occasion honoured Oxford with
his presence. The "Deaf 'un," as he was called, had a face that had
been hammered into the consistency of sole-leather, and one evening,
after being too copiously treated, he sat down in a heavy armchair, and
cried out, "Now, lads! half a crown a hit." We all tried our knuckles
upon his countenance, and only hurt our own knuckles.

Balliol (it was chiefly supplied from Rugby) then held her head
uncommonly high. As all know, Dr. Arnold had made the fortune of Rugby,
and caused it to be recognized among public schools. During his early
government the Rugbyites had sent a cricket challenge to Eton, and
the Etonians had replied "that they would be most happy to send their
scouts;" but as scholarship at Eton seemed to decline, so it rose
in Rugby and Oxford. Scholarship means £ _s. d._ At Balliol I made
acquaintance with a few men, whose names afterwards made a noise in the
world. They all belonged to a generation, collegically speaking, older
than myself. Coleridge (now Lord Coleridge) was still lingering there,
but he had taken his bachelor's degree, and his brother, afterwards
a Jesuit and author of many works, was a scholar at Trinity. Ward of
Balliol, who also became a Catholic, was chiefly remarkable for his
minute knowledge of the circulating library novels of the Laura-Matilda
type. He suffered from insomnia, and before he could sleep, he was
obliged to get through a few volumes every night. Lake of Balliol, then
a young don, afterwards turned out a complete man of the world; and
there is no need to speak of Jowett, who had then just passed as B.A.,
and was destined to be Master of Balliol.

[Sidenote: _Coaching and Languages._]

Oxford between 1840 and 1842 was entering upon great changes. The
old style of "fellow," a kind of survival of the Benedictine monks,
was rapidly becoming extinct, and only one or two remained. Men who
lived surrounded by their books on vertical stands, were capable of
asking you if "cats let loose in woods would turn to tigers," and
tried to keep pace with the age by reading up the _Times_ of eight
years past. But a great deal of reform was still wanted. Popular
idea about Oxford was, that the Classic groves of Isis were hotbeds
for classical _Scholasticism_, whilst Cambridge succeeded better in
Mathematics, but I soon found out that one would learn more Greek and
Latin in one year at Bonn and Heidelberg than in three at Oxford. The
college teaching, for which one was obliged to pay, was of the most
worthless description. Two hours a day were regularly wasted, and those
who read for honours were obliged to choose and to pay for a private
coach. Amongst the said coaches were some _drôles_, who taught in very
peculiar ways, by Rhymes, not always of the most delicate description.
One celebrated coach, after lecturing his blockheads upon the subject,
we will say, of Salmanizer, would say to them, "Now, you fellows,
you'll forget in a day everything that I've been teaching you for the
last hour. Whenever you hear this man's name, just repeat to yourselves
---- and you'll remember all about it."

The worst of such teaching was, that it had no order and no system.
Its philology was ridiculous, and it did nothing to work the reasoning
powers. Learning foreign languages, as a child learns its own, is
mostly a work of pure memory, which acquires, after childhood, every
artificial assistance possible. My system of learning a language in two
months was purely my own invention, and thoroughly suited myself. I got
a simple grammar and vocabulary, marked out the forms and words which
I knew were absolutely necessary, and learnt them by heart by carrying
them in my pocket and looking over them at spare moments during the
day. I never worked more than a quarter of an hour at a time, for after
that the brain lost its freshness. After learning some three hundred
words, easily done in a week, I stumbled through some easy book-work
(one of the Gospels is the most come-atable), and underlined every
word that I wished to recollect, in order to read over my pencillings
at least once a day. Having finished my volume, I then carefully
worked up the grammar minutiæ, and I then chose some other book whose
subject most interested me. The neck of the language was now broken,
and progress was rapid. If I came across a new sound like the Arabic
_Ghayn_, I trained my tongue to it by repeating it so many thousand
times a day. When I read, I invariably read out loud, so that the ear
might aid memory. I was delighted with the most difficult characters,
Chinese and Cuneiform, because I felt that they impressed themselves
more strongly upon the eye than the eternal Roman letters. This,
by-and-by, made me resolutely stand aloof from the hundred schemes for
transliterating Eastern languages, such as Arabic, Sanscrit, Hebrew,
and Syriac, into Latin letters, and whenever I conversed with anybody
in a language that I was learning, I took the trouble to repeat their
words inaudibly after them, and so to learn the trick of pronunciation
and emphasis.

The changes which followed 1840 made an important difference in the
value of fellowships. They were harder to get and harder to keep.
They were no longer what the parlous and supercilious youth defined
them, "An admirable provision for the indigent members of the middle
classes." The old half-monk disappeared, or rather he grew his
moustachios, and passed his vacations "sur le Continong." But something
still remains to be done. It is a scandal to meet abroad in diplomacy,
and other professions, a gentleman belonging to the _bene nati, bene
vestiti, modice docti_ of "All Souls'," drawing, moreover, his pay
for doing nothing. The richest University in the world is too poor to
afford the host of professors still required, and it is a disgrace that
an English University, whose name means the acquisition of universal
knowledge, should not be able to teach Cornish, Gaelic, Welsh, and
Irish, the original languages of the island. Again, the endowment of
research, a _sine quâ non_, is simply delayed because money is not
forthcoming. A little sensible economy would remedy this, and make
Oxford what she ought to be, a Seat of Learning--not, as the old
fellows of Christ Church define it, "A place to make rather ignorant
gentlemen." The competition fellowships at Oxford were started in 1854,
which changed the whole condition of things.

During this term I formally gave up my intention to read for a first
class. _Aut primus aut nullus_ was ever my motto, and though many
second-class men have turned out better than many first-class men, I
did not care to begin life with a failure. I soon ascertained the fact
that men who may rely upon first classes are bred to it from their
childhood, even as horses and dogs are trained. They must not waste
time and memory upon foreign tongues. They must not dissipate their
powers of brain upon anything like general education. They may know the
-isms, but they must be utterly ignorant of the -ologies; but, above
all things, they must not indulge themselves with what is popularly
called "_The World_." They must confine themselves to one straight
line, a college curriculum, and even then they can never be certain of
success. At the very moment of gaining the prize their health may break
down, and compel them to give up work. I surprised Dr. Greenhill by
my powers of memory when I learned Adam's "Antiquities" by heart. But
the doctor, who had not taken a class himself, threw cold water on my
ambition--perhaps the best thing he could do--and frankly told me that,
though I _could_ take a first class, he could by no means answer that I
_would_. The fellows of Trinity were nice gentlemanly men, but I by no
means wished to become one of the number. My father had set his heart
upon both sons being provided for by the Universities, and very often
"when fathers propose, sons dispose."

My disgust at the idea of University honours was perhaps not decreased
by my trying for the two scholarships, and failing to get them.

[Sidenote: _Latin--Greek._]

I attributed my non-success at University College (where I was beaten
by a man who turned a chorus of Æschylus into doggerel verse) chiefly
to my having stirred the bile of my examiners with my real (Roman)
Latin. At times, too, the devil palpably entered into me, and made me
speak Greek Romaically by accent, and not by quantity, even as they
did and still do at Athens. I had learnt this much from one of the
Rhodo-Kanakis Greek merchants at Marseille, so that I could converse in
Latin and Greek as spoken as well as ancient Latin and Greek.

The history of the English pronunciation of Latin is curious. In
Chaucer it was after the Roman fashion, in Spencer the English A
appears, and the change begins to make itself felt under the succession
of Queen Elizabeth. It is most probable that this was encouraged by
the leaders of education, in order more thoroughly to break with
Rome. The effect was, that after learning Greek and Latin for twenty
years, a lad could hardly speak a sentence, because he had never been
taught to converse in the absurdly _called_ Dead Languages, and if
he did speak, not a soul but an Englishman could understand him. The
English pronunciation of Latin vowels, happens to be the very worst
in the world, because we have an O and an A which belongs peculiarly
to English, and which destroys all the charms of those grand-sounding
vowels.

Years after I was laughed at at Oxford, public opinion took a turn,
and Roman pronunciation of Latin was adopted in many of the best
schools. I was anxious to see them drop their absurd mispronunciation
of Greek, but all the authorities whom I consulted on the subject,
declared to me that schoolmasters had quite enough to do with learning
Italianized Latin, and could not be expected to trouble themselves with
learning Athenianized Greek. I had another most quixotic idea, which
was truly breaking one's head against a windmill. I wanted the public
to pronounce Yob for Job, Yericho for Jericho, Yakoob for Jacob, and
Yerusalem for Jerusalem. The writers of the Anglican version, must
certainly have intended this, and it is inconceivable how the whole
English public dropped the cognate German pronunciation of J, and took
to that of France and Italy.

[Sidenote: _Holidays._]

At last the dreary time passed away, and a happy family meeting was
promised. My father brought my mother and sister from Pisa to Wiesbaden
in Germany, and we boys, as we were still called, were invited over
to spend the Long Vacation. We were also to escort Mrs. D'Aguilar,
who with two of her daughters were determined to see the Rhine. One of
the girls was Emily, who died soon. The other was Eliza, who married a
clergyman of the name of Pope, and whose son, Lieutenant Pope of the
24th Queen's, died gallantly at Isandula; though surrounded by numbers,
he kept firing his revolver and wounding his enemies, till he received
a mortal wound by an assegai in the breast. This was on January 22nd,
1879. In the end of 1875 he came to Folkestone, to take leave of my
wife and me, who were going out to India. We both liked him very much.

In those days travellers took the steamer from London Bridge, dropped
quietly down the Thames, and, gaining varied information about the
places on both sides of it, dined as usual on a boiled leg of mutton
and caper sauce, and roast ribs of beef with horse-radish, and slept
as best they could in the close boxes called berths or on deck; if the
steamer was in decent order, and there was not too much head wind, they
could be in the Scheldt next morning.

Our little party passed a day at Antwerp, which looked beautiful from
the river. The Cathedral tower and the tall roofs and tapering spires
of the churches around it made a matchless group. We visited the
fortifications, which have lately done such good work, and we had an
indigestion of Rubens, who appeared so gross and so fleshy after the
Italian school. Mrs. D'Aguilar was dreadfully scandalized, when, coming
suddenly into a room, she found her two nephews at romps with a pretty
little _soubrette_, whose short petticoats enabled her to deliver the
sharpest possible kicks, while she employed her hands in vigorously
defending her jolly red cheeks. The poor lady threw up her hands and
her eyes to heaven when she came suddenly upon this little scene, and
she was even more shocked when she found that her escort had passed the
Sunday evening in the theatre.

From Antwerp we travelled to Bruges, examined the belfry, heard the
chimes, and then went on to Cologne. A marvellous old picturesque place
it was, with its combination of old churches, crumbling walls, gabled
houses, and the narrowest and worst-paved streets we had ever seen.
The old Cathedral in those days was not finished, and threatened never
to be finished. Still there was the grand solitary tower, with the
mystical-looking old crane on the top, and a regular garden growing out
of the chinks and crannies of the stonework. Coleridge's saying about
Cologne, was still emphatically true in those days, and all travellers
had recourse to "Jean Marie Farina _Gegenüber_." What a change there is
now, with that hideous Gothic railway bridge, and its sham battlements,
and loopholes to defend nothing, with its hideous cast-iron turret
over the centre of the church, where the old architect had intended a
light stone lantern-tower, with the ridiculous terrace surrounding the
building, and with the hideous finials with which the modern German
architects have disfigured the grand old building!

[Sidenote: _The Rhine to Wiesbaden._]

At Cologne we took the steamer and ran up the river. A far more
sensible proceeding than that of these days, when tourists take the
railway, and consequently can see only one side of the view. The river
craft was comfortable, the meals were plentiful, the Piesporter was a
sound and unadulterated wine, and married remarkably well with Knaster
tobacco, smoked in long pipes with painted china bowls. The crowd, too,
was good-tempered, and seemed to enjoy its holiday. Bonn, somehow or
other, always managed to show at least one very pretty girl, with blue
porcelain eyes and gingerbread-coloured hair. Then came the Castle Crag
of Drachenfels and the charming Siebengebirge, which in those days were
not spoiled by factory chimneys. We landed at Mainz, and from there
drove over to the old Fontes Mattiace, called in modern day Wiesbaden.

It has been said that to enjoy the Rhine one must go to it _from_
England, not the other way from Switzerland; and travellers' opinions
are very much divided about it, some considering it extremely grand,
and others simply pretty. I was curious to see what its effect upon me
would be after visiting the four quarters of the globe; so, in May,
1872, I dropped down the river from Basle to the mouth. The southern
and the northern two-thirds were uninteresting, but I found the
middle as pretty as ever, and, in fact, I enjoyed the beautiful and
interesting river more than when I had seen it as a boy.

I found the middle, beginning at Bingen, charming. Bishop Hatto's
Tower had become a cockneyfied affair, and the castles, banks, and
islands were disagreeably suggestive of Richmond Hill. But Drachenfels,
Nonnenswerth, and Rolandseck, were charming, and I quite felt the
truth of the saying, that this is one of the paradises of Germany.
At Düsseldorf the river became old and ugly, and so continued till
Rotterdam.

Wiesbaden in those days was intensely "German and ordinary," as Horace
Walpole says. It was a kind of Teutonic Margate, with a _chic_ of its
own. In the days before railways, this was the case with all these
"Baths," where people either went to play, or to get rid of what the
Germans call _eine sehr schöne corpulenz_, a corporation acquired by
stuffing food of three kinds, salt, sour, or greasy, during nine or ten
months of the year. It was impossible to mistake princely Baden-Baden
and its glorious Black Forest, for invalid Kissingen or for Homberg,
which combined mineral waters and gambling tables. Wiesbaden was
so far interesting that it showed the pure and unadulterated summer
life of middle-class Germans. There you see in perfection the grave
blue-green German eye.

You are surprised at the frequency of the name of Johann. Johann was
a servant; Johannes, a professor; Schani, a swell; Jean, a kind of
_fréluqué_; Hans, a peasant; and Hansl, a village idiot. Albrecht,
with flat occiput, and bat-like ears, long straight hair and cap,
with unclean hands, and a huge signet ring on his forefinger, with a
pipe rivalling the size of a Turkish _chibouque_, took his regular
seat on one of the wooden benches of the promenade, with Frau Mutter
mending his stockings on one side, and Fraülein Gretchen knitting
mittens on the other. This kind of thing would continue perhaps for ten
seasons, but on the eleventh you met Albrecht, _au petit soins_, with
Mütze as his bride, and Gretchen being waited upon by her bridegroom
Fritz, and then everything went on as before. Amongst the women the
_kaffee-gesellschaft_ flourished, when coffee and scandal took the
place of scandal and tea, the beverage which I irreverently call
"chatter-water." The lady of the house invites two or three friends
to come and bring their work and drink a cup of coffee. Before the
hour arrives the invitations most likely number twenty. They dress in
afternoon promenade toilette, which was very unadorned at Wiesbaden,
and they drop in one by one--much kissing and shaking of hands and
uncloaking; then each one pulls out knitting, or various pieces of
work, which are mutually admired, and patterns borrowed, and then they
fall to upon children, servants, toilettes, domestic economy, and the
reputations of such of their friends as are not there. This goes on for
hours, only interrupted by the servant wheeling in a table covered with
coffee, cakes, sweetmeats, jam, and _kugelhupf_.

In the evening there was often a dance at the Kursaal--admirable
waltzing, and sometimes quadrilles with steps. Here the bald old
Englishman, who in France would collect around him all the old ladies
in the room to see him dance, was little noticed. The hearty and homely
Germans danced themselves, even when they had grey hair.

Our family found a comfortable house at Wiesbaden, and the German
servants received the "boys," as we were still called, with
exclamations of "Ach! die schöne schwarze kinder." We paid occasionally
furtive visits to the Kursaal, and lost a few sovereigns like men. But
our chief amusement was the fencing-room. Here we had found new style
of play, with the _schläger_, a pointless rapier with razor-like edges.
It was a favourite student's weapon, used to settle all their affairs
of honour, and they used it with the silly hanging guard. Some of them
gave half an hour every day to working at the post, a wooden pillar
stuck up in the middle of the room and bound with vertical ribbons of
iron.

When we were tired of Wiesbaden, we amused ourselves with wandering
about the country. We visited the nearer watering-places. The first was
Schwalbach, "the Swallows' Brook," where the rusty waters turned all
our hair red. We then went off to Schlangenbad, "the Snakes' Bath,"
whose Kalydor made the Frenchman fall in love with himself. These
waters had such a reputation, that one lady (of course she was called a
Russian Princess) used to have them sent half across Europe for daily
use.

In those days there were not many English in these out-of-the-way
places, and the greater number were Oxford and Cambridge men. They
were learning German and making the most extraordinary mistakes.
One gentleman said that the German particles were difficult, but he
made a great confusion of the matter. Amongst others, there were the
daughters of Archbishop Whately, at that time very nice girls. We
then returned to Wiesbaden, and went over to Heidelberg, which is so
charmingly picturesque. Here we found a little colony of English, and
all fraternized at once.

[Sidenote: _The Nassau Brigade._]

We "boys" wanted to enter one of the so-called brigades, and chose
the Nassau, which was the fightingest of all. An Irish student, who
was one of the champions of the corps, and who had distinguished
himself by slitting more than one nose, called upon us, and, over
sundry _schoppes_ of beer, declared that we could not be admitted
without putting in an appearance at the Hirschgasse. This was a little
pot-house at the other side of the river, with a large room where
monomachies were fought. The appearance of the combatants was very
ridiculous. They had thick felt caps over their heads, whose visors
defended their eyes. Their necks were swathed in enormous cravats, and
their arms were both padded, and so were their bodies from the waist
downwards. There was nothing to hit but the face and the chest. That,
however, did not prevent disagreeable accidents. Sometimes too heavy
a cut went into the lungs, and at other times took an effect upon
either eye. But the grand thing was to walk off with the tip of the
adversary's nose, by a dexterous upward snick from the hanging guard.
A terrible story was told of a duel between a handsome man and an ugly
man. Beauty had a lovely nose, and Beast so managed that presently it
was found on the ground. Beauty made a rush for it, but Beast stamped
it out of all shape. There was a very little retreating in these
affairs, for the lines were chalked upon the ground. The seconds stood
by, also armed with swords and protected with masks, to see that there
was nothing like a _sauhieb_ or unfair cut. A medical student was
always present, and when a cut went home, the affair was stopped to
sew it up. Sometimes, however, the artery shrank, and its patient was
marked with a cross, as it was necessary to open his cheek above and
below in order to tie it up.

A story is told of a doctor who attended a students' duel, when the
mask fell, and one of them lost his nose. The doctor flew at it and
picked it up, and put it in his mouth to keep it warm, whipped out his
instruments, needle and thread, and so skilfully stitched on the nose,
and stopped it with plaster, that the edges united, and in a few weeks
the nose was as handsome and useful as ever.

We boys did not see the fun of this kind of thing, and when our Irish
friend told us what the ordeal was, we said that we were perfectly
ready to turn out with foils or rapiers, but that we could not stand
the paddings. Duels with the broadsword, and without protection, were
never fought except on desperate occasions. Our friend promised to
report it to the brigade, and the result was that some time afterwards
we were introduced to a student, who said that he knew a little
fencing, and should like to try a _botte_ with us. We smelt a rat,
as the phrase is, and showed him only half of what we could do. But
apparently that was enough, for our conditions were not accepted, and
we were not admitted into the Nassau Brigade.

At Heidelberg I told my father that Oxford life did not in any way
suit me. I pleaded for permission to go into the Army, and, that
failing, to emigrate to Canada or Australia. He was inexorable. He
was always thinking of that fellowship. Edward, too, was deadly tired
of Dr. Havergal, and swore that he would rather be a "private" than
a fellow of Cambridge. However, he was sent _nolens volens_ to the
University on the Cam, and there he very speedily came to grief. It
was remarked of him, before the end of the first term, that he was
never seen at Chapel. His tutor sent for him, and permitted himself
strong language on this delinquency. "My dear sir," was the reply, "no
party of pleasure ever gets me out of bed before ten o'clock, and do
you _really, really_ think that I am going to be in Chapel at eight
o'clock?" "Are you joking, or is that your mature decision?" said the
tutor. "My very ripest decision," said Edward, and consequently he was
obliged to leave college without delay.

When the visit was over, and the autumnal term was beginning, I left
Germany and steamed down the Rhine. Everything that I saw made me less
likely to be pleased at the end of my journey. However, there was no
choice for it. I arrived in London, and found my grandmother and aunts
still at the seaside, in a house over the cliff at Ramsgate. Ramsgate
I rather liked. There were some very handsome girls there, the Ladies
P----t, and the place had a kind of distant resemblance to Boulogne.
The raffles at the libraries made it a caricature of a German Bath.
I wandered about the country; I visited Margate, where the tone of
society was perfectly marvellous, and ran about the small adjacent
bathing-places, like Broadstairs and Herne Bay. This brought on the
time when I was obliged to return to Oxford.

I went there with no good will, and as my father had refused to
withdraw me from the University, I resolved to withdraw myself.

[Sidenote: _The Straws that broke the Camel's Back._]

My course of action was one of boyish thoughtlessness. Reports of
wine-parties were spread everywhere, whispers concerning parodies on
venerable subjects, squibs appeared in the local papers--in those days
an unpardonable offence--caricatures of Heads of Houses were handed
about, and certain improvisations were passed from mouth to mouth. I
had a curious power of improvising any number of rhymes, without the
slightest forethought; but the power, such as it was, was perfectly
useless to me, as it was accompanied with occasional moments of
nervousness, when I despaired, without the slightest reason whatever,
of finding the easiest rhyme. Probably the professional Italian, who
declaims a poem or a tragedy, labours under the perfect conviction that
nothing in the world can stop him. And then it is so much easier to
rhyme in Italian than in English; so my efforts were mostly confined to
epigrams and epitaphs, at wines and supper-parties, and you may be sure
that these brilliant efforts did me no good.

This was the beginning of the end. My object was to be rusticated, not
to be expelled. The former may happen in consequence of the smallest
irregularity, the latter implies ungentlemanly conduct. I cast about
in all directions for the safest line, when fortune put the clue
into my hands. A celebrated steeplechaser, Oliver the Irishman, came
down to Oxford, and I was determined to see him ride. The collegiate
authorities, with questionable wisdom, forbad us all to be present at
the races, and especially at what they called "the disgraceful scenes
of 'race ordinaries.'" Moreover, in order to make matters sure, they
ordered all the undergraduates to be present at the college lecture, at
the hour when the race was to be run.

A number of high-spirited youngsters of the different colleges swore
that they would not stand this nonsense, that it was infringing the
liberty of the subject, and that it was treating them like little boys,
which they did not deserve. Here, doubtless, they were right. But, well
foreseeing what would be the result, they acted according to the common
saying, "In for a penny, in for a pound;" so the tandem was ordered to
wait behind Worcester College, and when they should have been attending
a musty lecture in the tutor's room, they were flicking across the
country at the rate of twelve miles an hour. The steeplechase was a
delight, and Oliver was very amusing at the race ordinary, although he
did not express much admiration for the riding of what he called "The
Oxford lads."

[Sidenote: _Rusticated._]

Next morning there was eating of humble-pie. The various culprits
were summoned to the Green Room and made conscious of the enormity
of the offence. I secured the respect of the little knot by arguing
the point with the college dignitaries. I boldly asserted that there
was no moral turpitude at being present at a race. I vindicated the
honour and dignity of collegiate men by asserting that they should not
be treated as children. I even dropped the general axiom "that trust
begets trust," and "they who trust us elevate us." Now, this was too
much of a good thing, to commit a crime, and to declare it a virtuous
action. Consequently, when all were rusticated, I was singled out
from the _Hoi polloi_, by an especial recommendation not to return to
Oxford from a Rus. Stung by a sense of injustice, I declared at once
that I would leave the college, and expressed a vicious hope, that
the caution-money deposited by my father would be honestly returned
to him. This was the climax. There was a general rise of dignitaries,
as if a violent expulsion from the room was intended. I made them my
lowest and most courtly bow, Austrian fashion, which bends the body
nearly double, wished them all happiness for the future, and retired
from the scene. I did not see Oxford again till 1850, when, like the
prodigal son, I returned to Alma Mater with a half-resolution to finish
my terms and take my bachelor degree.[4] But the idea came too late.
I had given myself up to Oriental studies, and I had begun to write
books. Yet I was always glad, during my occasional visits home, to call
at my old college, have a chat with the Reverend and Venerable Thomas
Short, and to breakfast and dine with the dons who had been bachelors
or undergraduates at the time of my departure.

The way in which I left Oxford was characteristic of the rest. One of
my rusticated friends, Anderson of Oriel, had proposed that we should
leave with a splurge--"go up from the land with a soar." There was now
no need for the furtive tandem behind Worcester College. It was driven
boldly up to the college doors. My bag and baggage were stowed away
in it, and with a cantering leader and a high-trotting shaft-horse,
which unfortunately went over the beds of the best flowers, we started
from the High Street by the Queen's Highway to London, I artistically
performing upon a yard of tin trumpet, waving adieu to my friends, and
kissing my hand to the pretty shop-girls. In my anger I thoroughly felt
the truth of the sentiment--

    "I leave thee, Oxford, and I loathe thee well,
    Thy saint, thy sinner, scholar, prig, and swell."

Alfred Bates Richards, Dick's college mate, wrote in after years: "It
is a curious reflection at school for any boy or any master, 'What
will become of the boy? Who will turn out well? who ill? Who will
distinguish himself? who will remain in obscurity? Who live? who die?'
I am sure, though Burton was brilliant, rather wild, and very popular,
none of us foresaw his future greatness, nor knew what a treasure we
had amongst us."

[1] He began and wrote the "Career of R. F. Burton," printed by
Waterlow, and brought it up to 1876. We deeply regretted him.--I. B.

[2] Richard always said that if _all_ Catholics were like Dr. Newman,
nearly every thinking person would become Catholic.--I. B.

[3] I can remember, in later years, Richard going to see him, and
when he was so old he had almost to be supported, gazing at him with
affection and moist eyes.--I. B.

[4] How often I have heard him regret that he did not do this, and I
can testify that at the bottom of his heart he loved Oxford, but he
could not obey his father, and also carry out the destiny for which he
was best fitted and obliged to follow.--I. B.




CHAPTER V.

GOING TO INDIA.


Arriving in London, I was received by the family harem with some
little astonishment, for they already knew enough of "terms" to
be aware that the last was unfinished. I was quite determined to
have two or three days in peace, so I thoroughly satisfied all the
exigencies of the position by declaring that I had been allowed an
extra vacation for taking a double-first with the very highest honours.
A grand dinner-party was given, quite the reverse of the fatted
calf. Unfortunately, amongst the guests was the Rev. Mr. Phillips, a
great friend of mine, who grinned at me, and indirectly ejaculated,
"Rusticated, eh?" The aunts said nothing at the time, but they made
inquiries, the result of which was a tableau.

This Phillips was the brother of Major-General Sir B. T. Phillips, who
served long and well in the Bengal army, was rather a noted figure as a
young-old man in London, and died in Paris in 1880.

You will say that these are wild oats with a vengeance, but most thus
sow them, and it is better that they should sow them in early youth.
Nothing is more melancholy than to see a man suddenly emancipated from
family rule, and playing tricks when the heyday is passed. Youth is
like new wine that must be allowed to ferment freely, or it will never
become clear, strong, and well flavoured.

[Sidenote: _He gets a Commission and begins Hindostani._]

I was asked what I intended to do, and I replied simply that I wished
to go into the Army, but that I preferred the Indian service, as it
would show me more of the world, and give me a better chance of active
service. There was no great difficulty in getting a commission. The
Directors were bound not to sell them, but every now and then they
would give a nomination to a friend, and my friend did not throw away
the chance. My conviction is that the commission cost £500.

It was arranged that I should sail in the spring, and meanwhile I
determined to have a jolly time. I made a number of new acquaintances,
including old Mr. Varley, the artist, of whom I was very fond. He had
just finished a curious book that he called "Zodiacal Physiognomy,"
in order to prove that every man resembled, after a fashion, the sign
under which he was born. Readers will kindly remember, that in the
old Zodiacs, all the figures were either human or bestial. Mr. Varley
was a great student of occult science, and perhaps his favourite was
astrology. It is curious how little London knows of what goes on in the
next-door house. A book on "Alchemy" was printed, and the curious fact
came out, that at least one hundred people in London were studying the
philosopher's stone.

Mr. Varley drew out my horoscope, and prognosticated that I was to
become a great astrologer; but the prophesy came to nothing, for,
although I had read Cornelius Agrippa and others of the same school at
Oxford, I found Zadkiel quite sufficient for me. Amongst the people
that I met was the Rev. Robert, popularly called Satan Montgomery,
who had come up from Scotland deadly tired of Glasgow punch, and was
making a preaching campaign. He had written a quantity of half-nonsense
verses, which were very much admired by his feminine devotees, and
which were most savagely mangled by Lord Macaulay in the _Quarterly_.
He was an effective figure in the pulpit; he had a very pale face, and
tolerably straight features, very black hair, and very white hands,
with a large diamond and a very white pocket-handkerchief.

He had, to a marvellous extent, what is vulgarly called the "gift of
the gab;" he spoke for an hour without a moment's hesitation. But there
was something solid below all this froth, and he had carefully read up
all the good old theological works. The women, including the aunts,
went literally mad; they crowded the little Gothic chapel, they mobbed
as he came in and went out, and they literally overwhelmed him with
slippers, chest-protectors, and portable articles to administer the
Sacrament. His reign was short; he married, came up to London, took
a chapel, subsided into the average popular preacher, and soon died.
Amongst others that I met was a certain Robert Bagshaw from Calcutta,
who was destined afterwards to marry my aunt Georgina Baker. I managed
to offend him very much. He was rather boasting of a new dress-coat,
when I delicately raised the tail, and said, "You don't mean to say
that you call _this_ a coat?"

With all this wasting of time, I kept my eye steadily fixed upon the
main chance. I gave up boxing at Owen Swift's, and fencing at Angelo's,
and spent all my spare time in learning Hindostani with old Duncan
Forbes. A very curious old Scotchman it was. He had spent a year or
so in Bombay, and upon the strength of it, he was perfect master of
Oriental languages. He had two passions: one was for smoking a huge
meerschaum, stuffed with the strongest possible tobacco, and the other
was for chess, concerning which he published some, at that time, very
interesting and novel studies.

Perhaps his third passion was not quite so harmless; it was simply
for not washing. He spoke all his Eastern languages with the broadest
possible Scotch accent; and he cared much more for telling anecdotes,
than for teaching. However, he laid a fair foundation, and my _then_
slight studies of Arabic, secured me the old man's regard. He published
a number of books, and he certainly had not the _suaviter in modo_. He
attacked Eastwick, the Orientalist, in the most ferocious style.

[Sidenote: _He goes to be sworn in at the India Office._]

Presently the day came when I was to be sworn in at the India House.
In those days the old building stood in Leadenhall Street, and gave
Thackeray a good opportunity of attacking it as the "Hall of Lead;" a
wonderful dull and smoky old place, it was, with its large and gorgeous
porter outside, and its gloomy, stuffy old rooms inside, an atmosphere
which had actually produced "The Essays of Elia." In those days it
kept up a certain amount of respect for itself. If an officer received
a gift of a sword, he was conducted by the tall porter to the general
meeting of the Directors, and duly spoken to and complimented in form;
but as times waxed harder, the poor twenty-four Kings of Leadenhall
Street declined from Princes into mere _Shayhks_. They actually sent
a Sword of Honour to one of their officers by a street messenger, and
the donee returned it, saying, he could, not understand the _manner_
of the gift; and so it went on gradually declining and falling, till
at last the old house was abandoned and let for offices. The shadowy
Directors flitted to the West End, into a brand-new India House, which
soon brought on their Euthanasia.

My bringing-up caused me to be much scandalized by the sight of my
future comrades and brother officers, which I will presently explain.
The Afghan disaster was still fresh in public memory. The aunts had
been patriotic enough to burst into tears when they heard of it; and
certainly it was an affecting picture, the idea of a single Englishman,
Dr. Brydone, riding into Jellalabad, the only one of thirteen thousand,
he and his horse so broken as almost to die at the gates.

Poor General Elphinstone, by-the-by, had been my father's best man at
his marriage, and was as little fitted for such field service, as Job
was at his worst. Alexander Burns was the only headpiece in the lot. He
had had the moral courage to report how critical the position was; but
he had not the moral courage to insist upon his advice being taken,
and, that failing, to return to his regiment as a Captain.

MacNaghten was a mere Indian civilian. Like too many of them, he had
fallen into the dodging ways of the natives, and he distinctly deserved
his death. The words used by Akbar Khan, by-the-by, when he shot him,
were, "Shumá mulk-e-má mí gírid" ("So you're the fellow who've come to
take our country").

But the result of the massacre was a demand for soldiers and officers,
especially Anglo-Indians. Some forty medical students were sent out,
and they naturally got the name of the "Forty Thieves." The excess of
demand explained the curious appearance of the embryo cadets when they
met to be sworn in at the India House. They looked like raw country
lads, mostly dressed in home-made clothes, and hair cut by the village
barber, country boots, and no gloves. So, my friend, Colonel White's
son, who was entering the service on the same day, and I looked at one
another in blank dismay. We had fallen amongst young Yahoos, and we
looked forward with terror to such society. I was originally intended
for Bengal, but, as has been seen, I had relations there. I was not
going to subject myself to surveillance by my uncle by marriage, an old
general of invalids. Moreover, one of my D'Aguilar cousins was married
to a judge in Calcutta. I was determined to have as much liberty as
possible, and therefore I chose Bombay. I was always of opinion that a
man proves his valour by doing what he likes; there is no merit in so
doing when you have a fair fortune and independent position, but for a
man bound by professional ties, and too often lacking means to carry
out his wishes, it is a great success to choose his own line and stick
to it.

The next thing to do was to obtain an outfit. This was another great
abuse in those days. As the friends of the Directors made money by
the cadets' commissions to the friends, the friends made money by
sending them to particular houses. The unfortunate cadets, or rather
their parents, were in fact plundered by everything that touched them.
The outfit, which was considered _de rigueur_, was absurdly profuse.
Dozens upon dozens of white jackets and trousers, only fit to give
rheumatism--even tobacco, niggerhead, and pigtail, as presents for the
sailors. Even the publishers so arranged that their dictionaries and
grammars of Hindostani should be forced upon the unhappy youths.[1] The
result was absolutely ridiculous. As a rule, the bullock trunks were
opened during the voyage, the kit was displayed, and on fast ships
it was put down as a stake at cards. Stories are told of sharp hands
landing in India after winning half a dozen outfits, which literally
glutted the market. Guns, pistols, and swords, and saddles were of the
most expensive and useless description, and were all to be bought much
better, at a quarter the price, in any Indian port.

The average of the voyage lasted four months. Two or three changes of
suits only, were necessary, and the £100 outfit was simply plunder to
the outfitter.

An unusual article of outfit was ordered by me, and that was a wig from
Winter in Oxford Street. In early life I found the advantage of shaving
my head, enabling me to keep it cool, when it was usually in the other
condition.

An old Joe Miller was told in Bombay about a certain Duncan Grey,
a Scotch doctor, who was famous for selling hog-mane ponies to
new-comers. He was in medical attendance upon the cadets, and took the
opportunity of pocketing his wig, and persuading them that shaved heads
were the official costume. He accompanied them for the first official
visit, and as they were taking off their caps he whipped on his wig,
and presented to the astonished Commanding Officer half a dozen utterly
bald pates, which looked as if they belonged to as many lunatics.

My only companion was a bull-terrier of the Oxford breed, more bull
than terrier. Its box-head and pink face had been scratched all over
during a succession of dog-fights and various tussles with rats. It was
beautifully built in the body, and the tail was as thin as a little
finger, showing all the vertebræ. The breed seems to have become almost
extinct, but I found it again at Oxford when I went there in 1850. The
little brute bore a fine litter of pups, and died in Gujarat, as usual
with every sign of old age, half-blind eyes, and staggering limbs. The
pups grew up magnificently. One, which rejoiced in the name of Bachhûn,
received the best of educations. He was entered necessarily on mice,
rats, and _Gilahris_, or native squirrels, which bite and scratch
like cats. He was so thoroughly game, that he would sally out alone
in the mornings, and kill a jackal single-handed. He was the pride of
the regiment, and came as usual to a bad end. On one of my journeys,
dressed as a native, I had to leave him behind in charge of my friend
Dr. Arnold, surgeon of the regiment. Dr. Arnold also, when absent,
confided him to the care of a brother-medico, Dr. Pitman, who had
strict opinions on the subject of drugs. The wretch actually allowed
the gallant little dog to die of some simple disease, because he would
not give him a dose of medicine belonging to the Company.

[1] Our boxes were stuffed with Wellington's despatches, Army
Regulations, Mill's ponderous "History of India," and whatever the
publisher chose to agree upon with the outfitter.




CHAPTER VI.

MY PUBLIC LIFE BEGINS.

      "Wanted: Men.
    Not systems fit and wise,
    Not faiths with rigid eyes,
    Not wealth in mountain piles,
    Not power with gracious smiles,
    Not even the potent pen;
      Wanted: Men.

      "Wanted: Deeds.
    Not words of winning note,
    Not thoughts from life remote,
    Not fond religious airs,
    Not sweetly languid prayers,
    Not love of scent and creeds;
      Wanted: Deeds.

      "Men and Deeds.
    Men that can dare and do;
    Not longing for the new,
    Not pratings of the old:
    Good life and action bold--
    These the occasion needs,
      Men and Deeds."
           ----DUNCAN MACGREGOR.


The next thing was to choose a ship, and the aunts were directed by
their friend of the commission, to the _John Knox_ (Captain Richard B.
Cleland), sailing barque, belonging to Messrs. Guy and Co. I was to
embark at Greenwich; the family harem went down with me. I was duly
wept over, and I dropped down the river with the scantiest regret
(except for my relatives) for leaving Europe, on June 18th, 1842.

My companions were Ensign Boileau, of the 22nd Regiment, Ensign
Thompson, of the Company (line), and Mr. Richmond, going out to a
commercial house in Bombay.[1]

There was an equal number of the other sex--a lady calling herself Mrs.
Lewis, and three sturdy wives of sergeants. Fortunately also, there
were three native servants who spoke Hindostani.

[Sidenote: _The Voyage and Arrival._]

The voyage began as usual by a straight run down the Channel, and a
June weather passage along the coasts of Europe and Africa. There were
delays in the Doldrums and calms near the Line. Neptune came on board
as usual, but there was very little fun, the numbers being too small.
At such times troubles are apt to break out on board. The captain,
Richard Cleland, was one of the best seamen that ever commanded a ship,
yet his career had been unlucky--as Vasco da Gama said to Don Manoel,
"Men who are unfortunate at sea should avoid the affairs of the sea."
He had already lost one ship, which was simply ill-fortune, for no
seaman could be more sober or more attentive to his duty. He managed,
however, to have a row on board, called upon the cadets to load their
pistols and accompany him to the forecastle, where he was about to make
a mutineer a prisoner. These were very disagreeable things to interfere
with, and the Supreme Court of Bombay always did its best to hang an
officer if a seaman was shot on these occasions; one man in particular
had a narrow escape.

The discipline on the ship was none of the best. Captain Cleland had
begun early, and determined to establish a raw, and invited me to put
on the gloves with him. The result was that the tall lanky Scotchman,
who was in particularly bad training, got knocked into a cocked hat.
Then arose the usual troubles amongst the passengers. Normally on
such voyages, all begin by talking together, and end by talking with
themselves. Of course there were love passages, and these only made
matters worse. The chief mate, a great hulking fellow, who ought to
have hit like Tom Spring, but whose mutton fist could not dent a pat
of butter, was solemnly knocked down on quarter-deck for putting in
his oar. Then followed a sham duel, the combatants being brought up at
midnight, and the pistols loaded with balls of blackened cork instead
of bullets. During the day there were bathings along the ship in a
sail, to keep out the sharks; catching of sharks and flying-fish, and
massacring of unhappy birds. I, however, utilized my time by making
the three native servants who were on board, talk with me, and by
reading Hindostani stories from old Shakespeare's text-book. I made a
final attempt to keep up musical notation, and used the flageolet to
the despair of all on board; but the chief part of my time was passed
in working at Hindostani, reading all the Eastern books on board,
gymnastics, and teaching my brother youngsters the sword. There was
also an immense waste of gunpowder, for were not all these young
gentlemen going out to be Commanders-in-Chief?

The good ship _John Knox_ ran past the Cape in winter, and a
magnificent scene it was. Waves measuring miles in length came up from
the South Pole, in lines as regular as those of soldiers marching
over a dead plain. Over them floated the sheep-like albatrosses, whom
the cadets soon tired of shooting, especially when they found that it
was almost impossible to stuff the bird. The little stormy petrels
were respected, but the Cape pigeons were drawn on board in numbers,
with a hook and a bit of bait. Nothing could be brighter than the
skies and seas, and the experience of what is called "a white gale"
gave universal satisfaction. It came down without any warning, except
ploughing up the waters, and had not Captain Cleland been on deck and
let go his gear, most of the muslin would have been on the broad bosom
of the Atlantic.

There was little interest in sailing up the eastern coast of South
Africa. We saw neither the coast nor Madagascar, but struck north-east
for the western coast of India. The usual tricks were played upon
new-comers. They had been made to see the Line by a thread stretched
over a spy-glass, and _now_ they were told to smell India after a
little oil of cloves had been rubbed upon the bulwarks!

When the winds fell, the cadets amused themselves with boarding the
_pattymars_, and other native craft, and went ferreting all about
the cabins and holes, to the great disgust of the owners. They gaped
at the snakes, which they saw swimming about, and were delighted
when the _John Knox_, one fine night, lumbered on her way through
nets and fishing stakes, whose owners set up a noise like a gigantic
frog concert. Next morning, October 28th, the Government pilot came
on board; excited questions were put to him, "What was doing in
Afghanistan? What of the war?" At his answer all hopes fell to zero.
Lord Ellenborough had succeeded Lord Auckland. The avenging army had
returned through the Khaybar Pass. The campaign was finished. Ghuzni
had fallen, the prisoners had been given up. Pollock, Sale, and Pratt
had been perfectly successful, and there was no chance of becoming
Commanders-in-Chief within the year.

I never expected to see another Afghan War, and yet I did so before
middle age was well over.

    "Thy towers, Bombay! gleam bright, they say,
    Against the dark blue sea,"

absurdly sings the poet. It was no picture like this we saw on the
morning of the 28th of October, 1842, when our long voyage ended. The
bay so celebrated appeared anything but beautiful. It was a great splay
thing, too long for its height, and it had not one of the beautiful
perpendiculars that distinguish Parthenope.

The high background is almost always hid by the reek that rises
during the day, and the sun seems to burn all the colour out of the
landscape. The rains had just ceased, yet the sky seemed never clear,
and the water wanted washing. After this preliminary glance, the
companions shook hands, and, not without something of soreness of
heart, separated, after having lived together nearly five months. I
went to the British Hotel in the Fort, then kept by an Englishman named
Blackwell, who delegated all his duty to a Parsee, and never troubled
himself about his guests. A Tontine Hotel had been long proposed,
but there is a long interval between sayings and doings in India.
The landing in a wretched shore-boat at the unclean Apollo Bunder,
an absurd classicism for Palawa Bunder, was a complete disenchanter.
Not less so to pass through the shabby doorway in the dingy old
fortifications, which the Portuguese had left behind them when the
island was ceded to Charles II. The bright Towers were nowhere, and
the tower of a cathedral that resembled a village church, seemed to be
splotched and corroded as if by gangrene.

Bombay was in those days the most cosmopolitan City in the East,
and the Bhendi Bazaar, the centre of the old town, was the most
characteristic part of all--perhaps more characteristic than were those
of Cairo or Damascus. It was marvellously picturesque with its crowds
of people from every part of the East, and its utter want of what is
called civilization, made it a great contrast to what it became a score
of years afterwards. Englishmen looked at it with a careless eye, as a
man scours his own property, but foreigners (Frenchmen like Jacquemont,
and Germans like Von Orlich) were delighted with its various humours,
and described them in their most picturesque style. Everything looked
upon a pauper scale.

The first sight of a Sepoy nearly drove me back to the _John Knox_. I
saw an imitation European article; I saw a shako, planted on the top
of a dingy face, and hair as greasy as a Chinese's. The coat of faded
scarlet seemed to contain a mummy with arms like drumsticks, and its
legs, clad in blue dungaree, seemed to fork from below its waist; and
yet this creature in his national dress, was uncommonly picturesque,
with his long back hair let down, his light jacket of white cotton, his
salmon-coloured waistcloth falling to his ankles, in graceful folds,
and his feet in slippers of bright cloth, somewhat like the _piéd
d'ours_ of the mediæval man-at-arms. The hotel was an abomination.
Its teas and its curries haunted the censorium of memory for the rest
of man's natural life. The rooms were loose boxes, and at night
intoxicated acquaintances stood upon chairs and amused themselves by
looking over the thin cloth walls. I stood this for a few days till
I felt sick with rage. I then applied to the garrison surgeon, in
those days Dr. J. W. Ryan, popularly known as Paddy Ryan.[2] He was a
good-natured man; he enquired copiously about my Irish relations and
connections, knew something of Lord Trimleston, and removed me from the
foul hotel, to what in those days was called the Sanitarium.

[Sidenote: _The Sanitarium._]

The Sanitarium was a pompous name for a very poor establishment. About
half a dozen bungalows of the semi-detached kind, each with its bit of
compound or yard, fronted in a military line Back Bay, so famous for
wrecks. The quarters consisted of a butt and ben, an outer room and an
inner room, with unattached quarters for servants. They were places in
which an Englishman tolerably well off would hardly kennel his dogs,
and the usual attendants were lizards and bandicoot rats. As each
tenant went away he carried off his furniture, so it was necessary to
procure bed, table, and chairs. That, however, was easily done by means
of a little Parsee broker, who went by the name of "The General," and
who had plundered generations after generations of cadets. He could
supply everything from a needle to a buggy, or ten thousand rupees
on interest, and those who once drank his wine never forgot it. He
was shockingly scandalized at the sight of my wig. Parsees must touch
nothing that come from the human body.

[Sidenote: _His Moonshee._]

He recommended as _moonshee_, or language-master, a venerable old
Parsee priest, in white hat and beard, named Dosabhai Sohrabji, at that
time the best-known coach in Bombay. Through his hands also generations
of griffins have passed. With him, as with all other Parsees, Gujarati
was the mother tongue, but he also taught Hindostani and Persian, the
latter the usual vile Indian article. He had a great reputation as a
teacher, and he managed to ruin it by publishing a book of dialogues
in English and these three languages, wherein he showed his perfect
unfitness. He was _very_ good, however, when he had no pretensions, and
in his hands I soon got through the Akhlak-i-Hindi and the Tota-Kaháni.
I remained friends with the old man till the end of his days, and the
master always used to quote his pupil, as a man who could learn a
language running.

The Sanitarium was not pleasantly placed. In latter days the foreshore
was regulated, and a railroad ran along the sea. But in 1842 the
façade was a place of abominations, and amongst them, not the least,
was the _Smashán_, or Hindú burning-ground. The fire-birth was
conducted with very little decency; the pyres were built up on the
sands, and heads and limbs were allowed to tumble off, and when the
wind set in the right quarter, the smell of roast Hindú was most
unpleasant. The occupants of the Sanitarium were supposed to be
invalids, but they led the most roystering and rackety life. Mostly
they slept in the open, under mosquito-curtains, with a calico ceiling,
and a bottle of cognac under the bed. One of these, who shall be
nameless, married shortly after, and was sturdily forbidden by his wife
to indulge in night draughts when he happened to awake. He succumbed,
but pleaded permission to have an earthen gugglet of pure water. The
spouse awoke one night in a state of thirst, which she proceeded to
quench, and was nearly choked by a draught of gin-and-water compounded
in what are called nor'-wester proportions, three of spirit to one
of water. One of the invalids led me into all kinds of mischief,
introducing me to native society of which the less said the better.

The Governor of Bombay at the time was Colonel Sir George Arthur, Bart,
K.C.H., who appears in "Jack Hinton, the Guardsman." He was supposed
to be connected with the Royal Family through George IV., and had
some curious ideas about his visitors "backing" from the "Presence."
The Commander-in-Chief was old Sir Thomas Macmahon, popularly called
"Tommy." He was one of the old soldiers who had served under the Duke
of Wellington, who had the merit of looking after his friends, as well
as looking up his enemies; but he was utterly unfit for any command,
except that of a brigade. It would be impossible to tell one tithe
of the stories current about him. One of his pet abominations was
a certain Lieutenant Pilfold, of the 2nd Queen's, whose commanding
officer, Major Brough, was perpetually court-martialling. Pilfold
belonged to that order of soldiers which is popularly called "the
lawyer," and invariably argued himself out of every difficulty. Pilfold
was first court-martialled in 1840, then 1841, and 1844, when, after
being nearly cashiered, he changed into a regiment in Australia, and
died. At last he revenged himself upon the Commander-in-Chief by
declaring that "as hares go mad in March, so Major-Generals go mad in
May"--the day when "Tommy" confirmed one of the court-martials, that
was quashed from home.

[Sidenote: _Indian Navy._]

The Bombay Marine, or, as the officers preferred it to be called,
"The Indian Navy," had come to grief. Their excellent superintendent,
Admiral Sir Charles Malcolm, was a devoted geographer; in fact, he was
the man who provoked the saying, "Capable of speaking evil, even of
the Equator." Under his rule, when there was peace at sea, the officers
were allowed ample leave to travel and explore in the most dangerous
countries, and they did brilliant service. Their names are too well
known to require quotation. But Sir Charles was succeeded by a certain
Captain Oliver, R.N., a sailor of the Commodore Trunnion type, and a
martinet of the first water. He made them stick to their monotonous and
wearisome duties in the Persian Gulf, and in other places, popularly
said to be separated by a sheet of brown paper. He was as vindictive as
he was one-ideaed, and the service will never forget the way in which
he broke the heart of an unfortunate Lieutenant Bird.

[Sidenote: _English Bigotry._]

Captain Cleland, of the _John Knox_, had introduced me to his sister,
Mrs. Woodburn, who was married to an adjutant of the 25th Regiment
of Sepoys, and she kindly introduced me to Bombay society. I stood
perfectly aghast in its presence. The rank climate of India, which
produces such a marvellous development of vegetation, seems to have
a similar effect upon the Anglo-Indian individuality. It shot up,
as if suddenly relieved of the weight with which society controls
it in England. The irreligious were marvellously irreligious, and
the religious no less marvellously religious. The latter showed the
narrowest, most fanatic, and the most intolerant spirit; no hard-grit
Baptist could compare with them. They looked upon the heathen around
them (very often far better than themselves) as faggots ready for
burning.[3] They believed that the Parsees adored the sun, that the
Hindús worshipped stocks and stones, and that the Mohammedans were
slaves to what they called "the impostor Mahomet." They were not more
lenient to those of their own blood who did not run on exactly the
same lines with them. A Roman Catholic, as they called him, was doomed
to perdition, and the same was the case with all non-church-going
Protestants. It is hardly to be wondered at if, at times, they lost
their wits. One man, who was about the wildest of his day, and who was
known as the "Patel" of Griffin-gaon, suddenly got a "call." He used to
distinguish himself by climbing a tree every morning, and by shouting
with all his might, "Dunga Chhor-do, Jesus Christ, Pakro," meaning,
"Abandon the world, and catch hold of the Saviour." This lasted for
years, and it ended in his breaking down in the moral line, and dying
in a mad-house.

The worst of all this was, that in 1842, there were very few white
faces in Bombay, and every man, woman, and child knew his, her, or
its religious affairs, as well as their own. It was, in fact, a
garrison, not a colony. People lived in a kind of huge barracks.
Essentially a middle-class society, like that of a small county town
in England, it was suddenly raised to the top of a tree, and lost its
head accordingly. Men whose parents in England were small tradesmen, or
bailiffs in Scotland, found themselves ruling districts and commanding
regiments, riding in carriages, and owning more pounds a month than
their parents had pounds a year. Those who had interest, especially in
Leadenhall Street, monopolized the best appointments, and gathered in
clans at the Residency, as head-quarters were called. They formed the
usual ring--a magic circle into which no intruder was admitted, save by
the pain _fort et dure_ of intermarriage. The children were hideously
brought up, and, under the age of five, used language that would make a
porter's hair stand on an end. The parents separated, of course, into
cliques. At that time Bombay was ruled by two Queens, who in subaltern
circles went by the name of "Old Mother Plausible," and "Old Mother
Damnable."

To give a taste of "Mother Damnable's" quality: I had been waltzing
with a girl, who, after too much exertion, declared herself fainting. I
led her into what would at home be called the cloak-room, fetched her a
glass of water, and was putting it to her lips, when the old lady stood
at the door. "Oh dear! I never intended to interrupt you," she said,
made a low bow, and went out of the room, positively delighted. "Mother
Plausible's" style was being intensely respectable. She was terribly
"exercised" about a son at Addiscombe, and carefully consulted every
new cadet about his proficiency in learning. "But does he prefer the
classics?" she asked a wild Irishman. "I don't know that he does," was
the answer. "Or mathematics?" The same result. "Or modern languages?"
"Well, no!" "Then what does he do?" "Faix," said the informant,
scratching his head for an idea, "he's a very purty hand at football."

But it was not only Society that had such an effect upon me. I found
the Company's officers, as they were called, placed in a truly ignoble
position. They had double commissions, and signed by the Crown, and
yet they ranked with, but after, their brothers and cousins in the
Queen's service. Moreover, with that strange superciliousness, which
seems to characterize the English military service, and that absence
of brotherhood which distinguishes the Prussian and Austrian, all
seemed to look down upon their neighbours. The Queen's despised the
Company, calling them armed policemen, although they saw as much, if
not much more service, than the Queen's in India. The Artillery held
its head above the Cavalry, the Cavalry above the Line, and, worse
still, a Company's officer could not, except under very exceptional
circumstances, rise above a certain rank. Under the circumstances, I
ventured to regret that I had not entered the Duke of Lucca's Guards.
India had never heard of the Duke of Lucca, or his Guards, and when
they heard the wild idea--

    "Their inextinguished laughter rent the skies."

For instance, they had no hopes of becoming local Commanders-in-Chief,
and the General Commander-in-Chief of the East Indies was carefully
put out of their reach. None but Englishmen would have entered such a
service under such conditions. A French _piou-piou_, with his possible
marshal's bâton in his knapsack, would have looked down upon it with
contempt; but England, though a fighting nation, is not a military
people, or rather _was_ not until Louis Napoleon made it necessary
that they should partially become so. At the end of six weeks or
so, I received orders to join my regiment, which was then stationed
at Baroda, in Gujarat. In those days there were no steamers up the
coast, and men hired what were called _pattymars_.[4] As the winds
were generally northerly, these tubs often took six weeks over what a
civilized craft now does in four days.

[Sidenote: _Engages Servants._]

The happy family embarked from Bombay. I preferred engaging
Goanese-Portuguese servants, as they were less troublesome than Hindús
and Mussulmans. I had engaged an excellent _buttrel_, named Salvador
Soares, who was _major domo_ over the establishment, for at that time
a subaltern never had less than a dozen servants. The sail northwards,
with all its novelties, was delightful, and I made a point of landing
every evening to see all that I could see upon the way. And so I had my
first look at Bassein, Broach, and Surat, the latter a kind of nursery
of the Anglo-Indian Empire. After a fortnight or so the _pattymar_
reached the Tankaria-Bunder, the mud-bank where travellers landed to
reach Baroda. Then came the land march of four days, which was full
of charms for a Griffin. I had utterly rejected the so-called Arab
horses--bastard brutes from the Persian Gulf--which were sold at the
Bombay bomb-proofs then at extravagant prices of five hundred rupees,
now doubled, and had contented myself with Kattywar horses. This
was a bright dun, with black stripes and stockings, a very vicious
brute, addicted to all the sins of horseflesh, but full of spirit as a
thoroughbred. Master and horse got on thoroughly well, and the gallant
animal travelled everywhere, till it was killed on the Neilgherry Hills
by a heavy fall on its side on the slippery clay. The marching was at
the rate of about twelve or fifteen miles a day, and the leisure hours
gave ample opportunity of seeing everything on and off the road.

To the traveller from Europe, Gujarat in winter was a novel spectacle.
The ground, rich black earth, was almost flat, and was covered with
that vivid leek-like verdigris green, which one associates with early
spring in the temperates. The little villages, with their leafy huts,
were surrounded and protected by hedge milk-bush, green as emeralds,
and nothing could be more peaceful or charming than the evening hour,
when the flocks and herds were returning home, and the villagers were
preparing for supper and sleep, with a sky-blue mist overhanging the
scene. A light veil, coloured like Damascene silver, hung over each
settlement, and the magnificent trees, compared with which the oaks in
Hyde Park appeared like shrubs, were tipped by peacocks screaming their
good-night to the sun. How curious that the physiologist will assert
that the nose has no memory! That light cloud was mostly composed of
cow-chips smoke, and I could never think of Gujarat without recalling
it; even the bazar always suggested spices and cocoa-nut oil.

Again I was scandalized by the contrast of the wretched villages under
English rule, and those that flourished under the Gaikwar. After the
boasting of Directorial speeches, and their echoes in the humbug press,
I could not understand this queer contrast of fiction and fact. I
made inquiries about it from every one, and immensely disgusted the
Company's Resident, Mr. Boyd, by my insistence, but a very few weeks
explained the matter to me. The Anglo-Indian rule had no elasticity,
and everything was iron-bound; it was _all rule_ without exception. A
crack young Collector would have considered himself dishonoured had he
failed to send in the same amount of revenues during a bad season, as
during the best year. It was quite different with the natives. After a
drought or an inundation, a village would always obtain remission of
taxes, it being duly understood that a good harvest would be doubly
taxed, and this was the simple reason why the natives preferred their
own to foreign rule. In the former case they were harried and plundered
whenever anything was to be got out of them, but in the mean time
they were allowed to make their little piles. Under the English they
were rarely tortured, and never compelled to give up their hardly won
earnings, but they had no opportunity of collecting the wherewithal for
plunder.

[Sidenote: _Reaches Baroda--Brother Officers._]

On the fourth day I arrived at my head-quarters, Baroda, and found
myself lodged in the comfortless travellers' bungalow. Here I was duly
inspected by my brother officers--Major H. James, then commanding
the 18th Bombay Native Infantry, Captain Westbrooke, second in
command, Lieutenant MacDonald, who was married, Lieutenant and
Adjutant Craycroft, Lieutenant J. J. Coombe, Ensign S. N. Raikes, and
Assistant-Surgeon Arnott, and a few others present. One wing of the
corps, containing a greater number of officers, had been stationed for
some time at Mhow, on the borders of the Bengal Presidency, and the
rest, as usual in those days, were on the Staff, that is, on detached
employment, some in Civil employ, and others in the Corps called
Irregulars.

[Sidenote: _Mess._]

The first night at Mess was an epoch, and the old hands observed that
I drank no beer. This was exceptional in those days. Malt liquor had
completed the defeat of brandy pawnee and the sangaree (sherry, etc.,
with water, sugar, and spices) affected by a former generation, and
beer was now king. The most moderate drank two bottles a day of strong
bottled stuff supposed to have been brewed by Bass and Allsopp, but too
often manipulated by the Parsee importer. The immoderate drank a round
dozen, not to speak of other liquors. The messes in those days were
tolerably rich, and their _godowns_, or stores, generally contained a
fair supply of port, sherry, and Madeira. "Drink beer, think beer" is
essentially true in India. Presently the bloating malt liquor began to
make way for thin French wines, claret, and Burgundy, and a quarter of
a century afterwards, the Anglo-Indian returned to brandy pawnee with
a difference. The water was no longer plain water, but soda-water,
that is, carbonic-acid gas pumped into well water, and every little
station had its own manufactory. Consequently the price declined from
eighteenpence to twopence a bottle, and most men preferred the "peg,"
as it is called, which is probably one of the least harmful. I adhered
manfully to a couple of glasses of port a day. Paddy Ryan at Bombay
had told me that the best tonic after fever, was a dozen of good port.
I soon worked out the fact, that what would cure fever, might also
prevent it, and consequently drank port as a febrifuge. It was the same
with me on the West Coast of Africa, where during four years of service
I came off well, when most other men died.

[Sidenote: _Drill._]

I was duly introduced to the drill-ground, where I had not much to
learn. Yet I studied military matters with all my might, for the
ominous words "tail of the Afghan storm" were in many men's mouths.
I had taught myself, with the assistance of books, the mysteries of
goose-step and extension movements, and perpetual practice with the
sword had made the other manœuvres easy to me. Having lodged myself in
what was called a bungalow, a thatched article not unlike a cowshed,
and having set up the slender household, I threw myself with a kind of
frenzy upon my studies. I kept up the little stock of Arabic that I had
acquired at Oxford, and gave some twelve hours a day to a desperate
tussle with Hindostani. Two _moonshees_ barely sufficed for me. Sir
Charles J. Napier in 1842 was obscurely commanding at Poonah. Presently
he was appointed to the Command in Sind, and all those who knew the old
soldier looked forward to lively times. Brevet-Major Outram, of the
23rd N.I., had proceeded to England on December 13th, 1842, and had
returned to India in February, 1843. This rapid movement also had an
ominous sound. The military day was then passed in India as follows:--

Men rose early, for the sun in India keeps decent hours (not like the
greater light in England, which in summer seems to rise shortly after
midnight, and in winter shortly before noon). The first proceeding was
a wash in cold water and a cup of tea. After that the horse was brought
round saddled, and carried the rider to the drill-ground. Work usually
began as soon as it was light, and lasted till shortly after sunrise.
In the Bengal Presidency the officers used to wash their teeth at three
a.m., and scarcely ever saw the face of the sun. Consequently the
Qui-hyes, or Bengalis, died like sheep upon a march where much exposure
was necessary.

In India the sun requires a little respect. It is not wise, for
instance, to wade through cold water with the rays beating upon the
upper part of the body, but it is always advisable to accustom one's
self to sunshine. After the parade was over, the officers generally
met at what was called a coffee shop, where one of the number hung out
_Choti-hazri_ or little breakfast--tea or _café au lait_, biscuit,
bread and butter, and fruit. After that, the heavy work of the day
being done, each proceeded to amuse himself as he best could; some to
play at billiards, others for a day's sport.

Some few youths in the flush of Griffinhood used to mount their
tattoos (ponies) and go out "peacocking," that is to say, calling upon
officers' wives. With the usual Indian _savoir vivre_, visiting hours
were made abominable. Morning calls began at eleven o'clock, when the
_beau sexe_ was supposed to be in war-paint, and ended at two, when
it was supposed to sit down to tiffin. The ride through the burning
sun, followed by a panting _ghorewalla_, and the self-preservation in
a state of profuse perspiration, were essentials of peacocking, which
soon beat off the most ardent admirers of the white fair sex. The
latter revenged itself for anything like neglect in the most violent
way, and the consequence was that, in those days, most men, after their
first year, sought a refuge in the society of the dark fair. Hence in
the year of grace 1842 there was hardly an officer in Baroda who was
not more or less morganatically married to a Hindí or a Hindú woman.
This could be a fertile ground for anecdote, but its nature forbids
entering into details.

These irregular unions were mostly temporary, under agreement to
cease when the regiment left the station. Some even stipulated that
there were to be no children. The system had its advantages and
disadvantages. It connected the white stranger with the country and
its people, gave him an interest in their manners and customs, and
taught him thoroughly well their language. It was a standing joke in
my regiment that one of the officers always spoke of himself in the
feminine gender. He had learnt all his Hindostani from his harem. On
the other hand, these unions produced a host of half-castes, mulattos,
"neither fish nor fowl, nor good red herring," who were equally
despised by the races of both progenitors.

[Sidenote: _Pig-sticking._]

Baroda was not a great place for pig-sticking. The old grey boars
abounded, but the country was too much cut up by deep and perpendicular
hillocks, which were death to horse and man. I invested in an old
grey Arab, which followed the game like a bloodhound, with distended
nostrils, and ears viciously laid back. I began, as was the cruel
fashion of the day, by spearing pariah dogs for practice, and my first
success brought me a well-merited accident. Not knowing that the
least touch of the sharp leaf-like head is sufficient to kill, I made
a mighty thrust with my strong-made bamboo shaft, which was carried
under the arm, Bombay fashion, not overhand, as in Bengal. The point
passed through the poor brute and deep into the ground. The effect of
the strong elastic spear was to raise me bodily out of the saddle, and
to throw me over the horse's head. It was a good lesson for teaching
how to take first blood. The great centres for pig-sticking were in
the Deccan and in Sind. The latter, however, offered too much danger,
for riding through tamarisk bushes is much like charging a series of
well-staked fishing-nets. Baroda, however, abounded in wild beasts;
the jackals screamed round the bungalows every night, and a hyæna
once crossed, in full day, the parade ground. One of the captains
(Partridge) cut it down with his regimental sword, and imprudently
dismounted to secure it. The result was a bite in the arm which he had
reason long to remember.

[Sidenote: _Sport._]

The sport all about Baroda was excellent, for in the thick jungle to
the east of the City, tigers were to be shot, and native friends would
always lend their elephants for a day's work. In the broad plains to
the north, large antelopes, called the _nilghai_, browsed about like
cows, and were almost as easy to shoot, consequently no one shot them.
It was different with the splendid black buck, sly and wary animals,
and always brought home in triumph. Cheetahs, or hunting leopards, were
also to be had for the asking. As for birds, they were in countless
numbers, from the huge adjutant crane, and the _sáras_ (_antigoni_),
vulgarly called _Cyrus Gries antigone_, which dies if its mate be shot,
and the peacock, which there, as in most parts of India, is a sacred
bird, to the partridge, which no one eats because it feeds on the road,
the wild duck, which gives excellent shooting, and the snipe, equal to
any in England. During the early rains quails were to be shot in the
compounds, or yards, attached to the bungalows. In fact, in those days,
sensible men who went out to India took one of two lines--they either
shot, or they studied languages.

Literature was at a discount, although one youth in the Bombay Rifles
was addicted to rhyme, and circulated a song which began as follows:--

    "'Tis merry, 'tis merry in the long jungle grass,
      When the Janwars around you fly,
    To think of the slaughter that you will commit,
      On the beasts that go passing by"--

this being the best stanza of the whole.

The 18th Bombay Infantry was brigaded with the 4th Regiment, _alias_
Rifles, under the command of Major C. Crawley. These Sepoys, in
their dingy green uniform, which seemed to reflect itself upon their
chocolate-coloured cheeks, looked even worse than those dressed in red.

There was also a company called Golandaz, a regular native artillery,
commanded by a Lieutenant Aked. Gunners are everywhere a peculiar
race, quite as peculiar as sailors. In India they had the great merit
of extreme attachment to their weapons, which, after a fashion, they
adored as weapons of destruction. "One could hit a partridge with a gun
like this," said a pink-faced youngster to a grizzly old cannonier.
"A partridge!" cried the veteran. "This does not kill partridges;
it smashes armies, slaughters Cities, and it would bring down Shiva
himself." And in Baroda City the Gaikwar had two guns, to which regular
adoration was offered. They were of massive gold, built around steel
tubes, and each was worth about £100,000. Yet the company of Native
Artillery was utterly absurd in European eyes. Nothing more beautiful
than the Gujarat bullocks, with their noble horns and pure white coats.
Europe has seen them in the _cascine_ of Tuscany. But it was truly
absurd to see these noble animals dragging a gun into position at a
shambling and dislocated trot. Satirical subalterns spoke of the "cow
batteries." In these days all, of course, are horsed.

[Sidenote: _Society._]

There was no such thing as society at Baroda. The Station was commanded
by an old Brigadier, named Gibbons, who had no wife, but a native
family. He was far too infirm to mount a horse; he never received,
ignored dinners either at home or abroad, and lived as most General
Officers did in those days. But he managed to get into a tremendous
row, and was removed from his Command for losing his temper, and
beating a native Chief of the Bazar about the head, with a leg of
mutton.

Hospitalities used to be exchanged between the corps on certain
ceremonious occasions, but a Mess dinner was the extent of sociability.
As in all small Societies, there were little tiffs, likings, and
dislikings. But the age of duelling had passed away, especially after
the fatal affairs of Colonel Fawcet of the 55th Regiment, and his
brother-in-law, Mr. Monro.

[Sidenote: _Feeding._]

A most pernicious practice, common in those days, was that of eating
"tiffin"--in other words, a heavy luncheon--at two, which followed
the normal breakfast, or _pakki-hazri_, at nine. Tiffin was generally
composed of heavy meats and the never-failing curry, washed down with
heavy bottled beer, was followed by two or three Manilla cheroots, and
possibly by a siesta. Nothing could be more anti-hygienic than this. It
is precisely the same proceeding by which the liver of the Strasbourg
goose is prepared for _pâté de foie gras_. The amount of oxygen present
in the air of India, is not sufficient to burn up all this carbon,
hence the dingy complexions and the dull dark hair which distinguished
Anglo-Indians on their return home. I contented myself with a biscuit
and a glass of port, something being required to feed the brain, after
the hard study of many hours.

The French in India manage these things much better. They keep up their
natural habits, except that they rise very early, take a very light
meal, chiefly consisting of _café noir_, and eat a heavy breakfast at
eleven. Between that and dinner, which follows sunset, they rarely
touch anything, and the consequence is that they return with livers
comparatively sound. But Anglo-Indian hours of meals were modelled upon
those of England, and English hours are laid down by the exigencies of
business. Hence the Briton, naturally speaking, breakfasts at nine.
As he rises late and has little appetite at that hour, he begins the
work of the day upon such a slender basis as tea, bread and butter, an
egg, or a frizzle of bacon. It was very different in the days of Queen
Elizabeth, as certainly the beefsteaks and beer produced a stronger
race. But in those days all rose early and lived much in the open air.

During the fine weather there was generally something to do on the
parade ground, shortly before sunset, after which the idlers mounted
their nags and took a lazy ride. The day ended at Mess, which was also
characteristically Indian. It was a long table in the Mess bungalow,
decorated with the regimental plate, and surmounted by creaking
punkahs, that resembled boards horizontally slung, with a fringe
along the lower part. A native, concealed behind the wall, set these
unpleasant articles in movement, generally holding the rope between two
toes. At the top of the table sat the Mess President, at the bottom
the Vice, and their duty was to keep order, and especially to prevent
shop-talking. The officers dressed like so many caterpillars in white
shell-jackets, white waistcoats, and white overalls, were a marvellous
contrast to the gorgeous Moslem _Khidmatgars_, who stood behind them,
with crossed arms, turbans the size of small tea-tables, waist-shawls
in proportion. The dinner consisted of soup, a joint of roast mutton
at one end, and boiled mutton or boiled fowls at the other, with
vegetables in the side dishes. Beef was never seen, because the cow
was worshipped at Baroda, nor was roast or boiled pork known at native
messes, where the manners and customs of the unclean bazar pig were
familiar to all, and where there were ugly stories about the insults to
which his remains were exposed on the part of the Mohammedan scullions.
At times, however, a ham made its appearance, disguised under the name
of "Wilayati Bakri," _Anglicè_ "Europe mutton."

This substantial part of the dinner always concluded with curry,
accompanied by dry fish, Bombay ducks, and _papris_ (assafœtida cake).
Anglo-Indians appreciate curry too much to allow it, as in England, to
precede other dishes, and to rob them of all their flavour. After this
came puddings and tarts, which very few men touched, as they disagreed
with beer, and cheese, which was a universal favourite. Coffee, curious
to say, was unknown, ice was rare, except at the Residency, and tin
vegetables, like peas and asparagus, had only lately been invented.
Immediately after cheese, all lit their cigars, which in those days
were invariably Manillas. They cost only twenty rupees a thousand, so
few were driven to the economy of the abominable Trichinopoly, smoked
in Madras. Havanas were never seen, pipes were as little known, and
only the oldsters had an extensive article, with a stand two feet high
and a pipe twenty feet long, in which they smoked a mixture called
Guraku. This was a mingling of tobacco, with plantains, essence of
roses, and a dozen different kinds of spices, that gave a very peculiar
perfume. The Hookah was, however, then going out of fashion, and
presently died the death. It is now as rarely seen in Anglo-India, as
the long _chibouque_ at Constantinople.

[Sidenote: _Nautch._]

The Mess dinner sometimes concluded with a game of whist, but a wing
of a native Corps had not officers enough to make it interesting.
After a _quantum sufficit_ of cheroots and spirits and water, the
members of the Mess broke up, and strolled home, immensely enjoying
the clear moonlight, which looked as if frost were lying on the
emerald green of Gujarat. On festive occasions there was a _Nach_,
which most men pronounced "Nautch." The scene has often been described
in its picturesque aspect. But it had a dark side. Nothing could be
more ignoble than the two or three debauched and drunken musicians,
squealing and scraping the most horrible music, and the _figurantes_
with Simiad or apish faces, dressed in magnificent brocades, and
performing in the most grotesque way. The exhibition gave one a shiver,
yet not a few of the old officers, who had been brought up to this
kind of thing, enjoyed it as much as the Russians, of the same epoch,
delighted in the gypsy _soirées_ of Moscow, and ruined themselves with
Madeira and Veuve Clicquot.

It was very different during the rains, which here, as in most parts of
the western lowlands of India, were torrential, sometimes lasting seven
days and seven nights, without an hour's interruption. The country
was mostly under water, and those who went to Mess had to protect
themselves with waterproofs; and if they wished to save their horses
from the dangerous disease called _barsáti_, had to walk to and fro
with bare legs and feet.

[Sidenote: _Reviews._]

This even tenor of existence was varied by only two things. The first
was the annual reviews, when old General Morse came over from Ahmedabad
to inspect the Corps, preparations for which ceremony had been going
on for a couple of months. These old officers were greatly derided by
the juniors, chiefly because their brains seemed to have melted away,
and they had forgotten almost everything except drill, which they had
learnt in their youth. This old General in particular prided himself
upon his Hindostani, and suffered accordingly. "How would you say 'Tell
a plain story,' General?" "Maydan-ki bát bolo"--which means, "Speak a
word of a level country."

[Sidenote: _Races._]

Another great event were the annual Races. Even here, however, there
was a division of the small Society. They were encouraged by the
Company's Resident, Mr. Boyd, and by Major Henry Corsellis, who had
come up with his wife to take command of the regiment. They were
discouraged, on the other hand, by Major Crawley, of the 4th Rifles,
who invariably had a picnic during the Race week. The reason, however,
was not "principle," but some quarrel about an old bet. I was one of
the winners at the Welter Stakes, having beaten an experienced rider,
Lieutenant Raikes.

The state of things at Baroda was not satisfactory. The French govern
their colonies too much, the English too little. The latter, instead
of taking their stand as the Masters, instead of declaring, _Sic volo,
sic jubeo, sit pro ratione voluntas,_ seemed, in Baroda at least, to
rule on sufferance: they were thoroughly the Masters of the position;
they could have superseded the Gaikwar, or destroyed the town in a
week. But the rule of the Court of Directors was not a rule of honour.

The officers in Cantonments, distant only half an hour's ride from
the Palace, were actually obliged to hire _rámosis_ (Paggis) to
protect their lives and properties. These men were simply professed
thieves, who took blackmail to prevent their friends and relations from
plundering. In the bungalows, on the borders of the camp, a couple of
these scoundrels were necessary. In two bungalows, officers had been
cut down, and the one in which I lived showed, on the door-lintel,
sabre cuts. Officers were constantly robbed and even murdered when
travelling in the districts, and the universally expressed wish was,
that some Director's son might come to grief, and put an end to this
miserable state of things. Now, these things _could_ have been put a
stop to by a single dispatch of the Court of Directors to the Resident
at Baroda. They had only to make the Gaikwar and the Native Authorities
answerable for the lives and property of their officers. A single
hanging and a few heavy fines would have settled the business once
and for ever; but, I repeat, the Government of the Court of Directors
was not a rule of honour, and already the hateful doctrine was being
preached, that "prestige is humbug."

[Sidenote: _Cobden and Indian History._]

The officers marvelled at the proceedings of their Rulers, and
marvelled without understanding things. Little could they know what was
going on at home. Here Mr. Richard Cobden, one of the most single-sided
of men, whose main strength was that he embodied most of the weakness,
and all the prejudice, of the British middle-class public, was watching
the affairs of India with a jealous and unfriendly eye, as a Military
and Despotic Government, as an acquisition of impolitic violence and
fraud, and as the seat of unsafe finance. India appeared to him utterly
destitute of any advantage either to the natives or to their foreign
masters.

He looked upon the East India Company in Asia as simply monopoly, not
merely as regards foreigners, but against their own countrymen. He
openly asserted that England had attempted an impossibility in giving
herself to the task of governing one hundred millions of Asiatics.
Rumours of an Asiatic war were in the air, especially when it was
known that Lieut.-Colonel Stoddart and Captain Conolly had been foully
murdered by the Amir of Bokhara. He declared (as if he had been taken
into supernatural confidence), that God and His visible Natural Laws
have opposed insuperable obstacles to the success of such a scheme. His
opinion as a professional reformer was, that Hindostan must be ruled
by those that live on that side of the globe, and that its people will
prefer to be ruled badly by its own colour, kith, and kin, than subject
itself to the humiliation of being better governed by a succession of
transient intruders from the Antipodes. He declared that ultimately,
of course, Nature (of which he knew nothing) will assert the supremacy
of her laws, and the white skins will withdraw to their own latitudes,
leaving the Hindús to the enjoyment of the climate, for which their
dingy skins are suited.

All this was the regular Free-trade bosh, and the Great Bagsman would
doubtless have been thunderstruck, had he heard the Homeric shouts of
laughter with which his mean-spirited utterances were received by every
white skin in British India. There was not a subaltern in the 18th
Bombay N.I. who did not consider himself perfectly capable of governing
a million Hindús. And such a conviction realizes itself--

    "By the sword we won the land,
    And by the sword we'll hold it still;"

for every subaltern felt (if he could not put the feeling into words)
that India had been won, _despite England_, by the energy and bravery
of men like himself. Every history tells one so in a way that all can
understand. The Company began as mere traders, and presently they
obtained the right of raising guards to defend themselves. The guards
naturally led to the acquisition of territory. The territory increased,
till its three centres, Bengal, Madras, and Bombay, became centres of
little Kingdoms.

The native Princes were startled and frightened. They attacked their
energetic neighbours, with more or less success, and the intruders
became more intrusive than before. Next day they began to elect
Governors, and Governor-Generals. Whenever a new man was sent out from
England, the natives, after the fashion of their kind, thought that
they saw an opportunity, and, losing their fear of the old Governor,
declared war against the new one. The latter assembled an army, and
duly reported the fact home. It took from eight to nine months before
the document was received and answered. The general tone of the reply
was a fierce diatribe against territorial aggrandizement, but in the
mean time a great battle or two had been fought, a province had been
conquered and duly plundered, and a large slice of territory had been
added to Anglo-Indian rule. This is the way in which British Empire in
the East arose, and probably this was the least objectionable way. For
when the Company rose to power, it began to juggle native Princes out
of their territory, to deny the right of adopting a sacred privilege
amongst the Hindús, and to perpetrate all kinds of injustice. A fair
example was the case of the Rajah of Patara, and the same proceedings
in Oudh, led to the celebrated Mutiny in 1857, and nearly wrecked
British dominion in India.

At last a bright day dawned. The whole of the little Cantonment was
electrified by the news of the battle of Meeanee, which had been fought
on February 21st, 1843. After a number of reverses truly humiliating
to British self-esteem, the Sun of Victory had at last shone upon her
bayonets. Sir Charles Napier had shown that, with a little force of
mixed Englishmen and Sepoys, he could beat the best and bravest army
that any Native Power could bring into the field. It was a gallant
little affair, because the few white faces had done nearly the whole
work. The Sepoys, as usual, had behaved like curs, and five of their
officers had been killed, to one of the Queen's service.

Then, on March 25th, followed the battle of Dabba, and Sind fell into
the power of the English, and Major Outram returned to England on
April 1st. Then arose the great quarrel between the two great men.
The general opinion of the time was, that the Bayard of India, as his
future enemy had called him, wished _himself_ to depose the Ameers,
and resented the work being done by another. His (Major Outram's) own
writings show, that he found them unfitted to rule, and that he had
proposed the most stringent remedies. But when these were carried out
by another man, he ranged himself in the ranks of the opposition.
Sir Charles Napier and his free-spoken brother, Sir William, had
been bitterly opposed to the twenty-four little Kings in Leadenhall
Street, and had never hesitated to express their opinions. One of
their energetic dicta was, that every rupee has a blood-spot on it,
and that wash as you will, the cursed spot will not out. Talking of
which, by-the-by, I, in one of those pungent epigrams, which brought me
such abundance of "good will (?)," wrote as follows, referring to the
£60,000 which Sir Charles Napier cleared by way of prize money:--

    "Who, when he lived on shillings, swore
    Rupees were stained with Indian gore,
    And 'widows' tears' for motto bore,
                            But Charley?

    "And yet who, in the last five years,
    So round a sum of that coin clears,
    In spite of 'gore' and 'widows' tears,'
                            As Charley?"

Major Outram again left India for England. The Court of Directors
persuaded him to become their champion, against their old enemy, Sir
Charles Napier. The latter was very strong, for he was thoroughly
supported by the new Governor-General (Lord Ellenborough), in
opposition to all others, and thoroughly identified himself with
the Army, and the Army adored him accordingly. One of his sayings,
"_Kacheri_ (or Court-House) hussar," alluding to the beards or the
mustachios of the civilians, caused a perfect tornado of wrath
amongst the black coats of India. He was equally free-spoken in his
condemnation of the politicals. The Court of Directors did not dare to
recall him at once, but they riled with impotent rage.

[Sidenote: _Somnath Gates._]

Amongst other cabals that they brought against him was the affair of
the Somnath Gates. Few people understood the truth of the question in
that day, and most who did, have not forgotten it. These famous doors,
which had been carried off in the year A.D. 1023 from a Hindú temple
in Gujarat by the great warrior, Mahmoud of Ghazni, had been matters
of dispute years before Lord Ellenborough's time. As early as 1831,
when Shah Shuja was in treaty with Runjeet Singh, of the Panjab, for
aid to recover his throne, one of the conditions of the latter, was
the restoration of the Gates of Somnath. Probably the Rajah, like the
Governor-General, was utterly ignorant of the fact that the ruins of
the Moon Temple have entirely perished. On that occasion, however,
the Shah reminded the Hindú of an old prophesy which foreboded the
downfall of the Sikh empire, or the withdrawal of the Gates from the
warrior's tomb at Ghazni. They were removed to India at the end of
1842, and in September, 1843, the Sikh empire practically collapsed
with the murder of Sher Singh--a curious case of uninspired prophecy.
The Gates were removed by General Mott, acting under the orders of the
Governor-General, on March 10th, 1843; they were deposited in Agra,
where they were kept, and may even now be kept, in an old palace in
the Fort, formerly used as an arsenal by the British.[5] The venerable
relics ought long ago to have been sent to the South Kensington Museum.

[Sidenote: _Outram and Napier._]

The feud between Sir Charles Napier and Major Outram, divided Western
Anglo-India into two opposing camps. Major Outram belonged to a family
of mechanics, from whose name came the tramways, and he had begun his
service in the Bombay marine. He was presently transferred to the
Native Infantry, and carved out a career for himself. His peculiar
temperament gave him immense power amongst the wild Bhíls and other
tribes, whom he had been sent, as it were, to civilize. He was a short,
stout man, anything but prepossessing in appearance, but of immense
courage and most violent temper. A story is told concerning him and
his brother, who, in a dispute at a tiger-hunt, turned their rifles
against each other. He hated to be outdone, or even to be equalled. On
one occasion, when he found a man who could spring into the lake, off
the house terrace, like himself, he made a native raise him upon his
shoulders, and so managed to outdo the rival jumper. He was immensely
generous and hospitable, living quite in the native way, with a troupe
of _Nach_ girls to pass the evening. He always acted upon impulse, and
upon generous impulses. On one occasion, when marching past, at the
head of his troops, he was grossly insulted by a villager, whereupon he
turned to and administered condign chastisement to the villagers. When
transferred to Sind, he had denounced the Ameers in the severest way;
in fact, his account of them, as political, seemed to justify their
being dethroned. But, as I said, when that operation was performed by
another than himself, he suddenly turned round and denounced the deed.
He was a Scotchman, and was by no means wanting in that canniness
which teaches a man which side his bread carries the butter. He was
thoroughly impressed with the axiom that "bluid is thicker than water,"
and always promoted, if he could, the interests of a countryman, to the
detriment of others. Sir Charles Napier, on the other hand, belonged
to that exceptional order of Scotchmen, who are chiefly remarkable for
having nothing of the Scotchman about them. He was utterly deficient
in prudence, he did not care a fig how many enemies he made, and his
tongue was like a scorpion's sting. He spoke of Sir James Hogg as "that
Hogg," alluding to the Hindostani word _suar_ ("pig"), one of the most
insulting words in the language. He spoke of Dr. Buist, a Scotch editor
at Bombay, as "the blatant beast of the Bombay _Times_." In fact, he
declared war to the knife.

On the other hand, Outram's friends were not idle. He had a large
party of his own. Men liked his courage, his generosity, his
large-heartedness, and his utter disregard for responsibility. He
could also write, in a dull, thick style, it is true, but thoroughly
intelligible to the multitude, and quite unlike the style, like
polished steel, that was so doughtily used by Sir William Napier.
Become a politician, the "Bayard" did not improve; in fact, two or
three dodges were quoted about him which added very little to his
reputation. I had no reason to like him. In his younger days, thirsting
for distinction, Outram was ambitious to explore the Somali country,
then considered the most dangerous in Africa, but when I proposed to
do so, he openly opposed me. This was, however, perhaps natural, as he
was then commanding at Aden.

As soon as I had passed my drill I was placed in charge of a Company,
and proceeded to teach what I had just learnt. I greatly encouraged
my men in sword exercise, and used to get the best players to my
quarters for a good long bout every day. The usual style in India is
a kind of single-stick, ribbonded with list cloth, up to the top,
and a small shield in the left hand. The style of work seems to
have been borrowed from the sword-dance of some civilized people,
like the Bactrian-Greeks. The swordsman begins with "renowning it,"
vapouring, waving his blade, and showing all the curious _fantasie_
that distinguish a Spanish Espada. Then, with the fiercest countenance,
he begins to spring in the air, to jump from side to side, to crouch
and to rush forwards and backwards, with all the action of an excited
baboon. They never thought of giving "point:" throughout India the
thrust is confined to the dagger. The cuts, as a rule, were only
two--one in the shoulder, and the other, in the vernacular called
_kalam_, at the lower legs. Nothing was easier than to guard these
cuts, and to administer a thrust that would have been fatal with steel.
I gave a prize every month, to the best swordsman, wrestler, and
athlete, generally some gaudy turban. But, although I did my best, I
never could teach them to use a foil.

[Sidenote: _He learns Indian Riding and Training._]

These proceedings excited not a little wonder amongst my brother subs,
but much more when I sent for a _Chábu Sawar_, or native jockey,
and began to learn the Indian system of riding, and of training the
horse. As a rule, this was absurdly neglected in India. Men mostly
rode half-broken Arabs, and many an annual review showed the pleasant
spectacle of a commanding officer being run away with in one direction,
and the second in command in another. And when it came to meeting
Indians in the field, the Englishman was at a terrible disadvantage. An
old story is told of an encounter between an Indian and English cavalry
officer, who had been offended by the remarks of the former. They
charged, sword in hand, in presence of their regiments, and both were
equally skilful in parrying the enemy's attack; presently, however, the
Britisher found himself in a fix, the native with his sharp light blade
having cut the horse's reins, without hurting either horse or man. This
is a favourite native ruse. Whereupon the English officer drew his
pistol and disloyally shot the Indian, who in his lingering illness,
which ended fatally, declared that he never meant to hurt the English
officer, but only to prove his own words, that he was not his equal in
swordsmanship or horsemanship. Light chains were afterwards adopted to
accompany the leather bridle. The English officer deeply regretted the
event, and it was hushed up; but such acts are never quite buried.

A similar manslaughter took place during one of the Sind campaigns. An
officer, who shall be nameless, attacked a Beluch chief, who, being
mounted upon a tired mare, made no attempt to fly. The Englishman, who
had some reputation as a swordsman, repeatedly bore down upon him,
making a succession of cuts, which the opponent received upon his blade
and shield. At last, being unable to win fairly, the Englishman, who is
now high in command, drew his pistol and shot him, and, curious to say,
was not court-martialled!

[Sidenote: _Passes Exams. in Hindostani._]

At last I considered myself thoroughly qualified to pass in Hindostani,
and in early April, 1843, obtained leave from the Commander-in-Chief
to visit Bombay for the purpose of examination. I made the same march
from Baroda to Tankaria-Bunder, and then found a _pattymar_ for Bombay.
The sail southwards, despite the extraordinary heat of the season, was
perfectly charming. The north-east monsoon, about drawing to its end,
alternated with the salt sea-breeze and the spicy land-breeze, the
former justly called "The Doctor." The sky was deep blue, unflecked
by a single cloud, and the sea bluer, still hardly crisped by the
wind. There was perfect calm inside and outside the vessel. No posts
and no parades. The living was simple enough, consisting chiefly of
rice, curry and _chapatís_, with the never-failing tea and tobacco.
Tea in India is better than in England, although of inferior quality,
because it has less sea voyage. The native servants, however, have a
peculiar way of brewing it, and those who have once drunk a sneaker, or
double-sized cup, full of Indian tea, will never forget it. Sensible
men, therefore, brew their tea for themselves.

Despite landing almost every evening, the voyage down coast occupied
only six or seven days. This time I hired a tent, with the aid of the
old Parsee General, and pitched in the Strangers' Lines. They extended
southwards from the Sanitarium, along the shore of Back Bay, and were
not, as now, huddled up into a little space on the other side of the
road. With the assistance of old Dosabhai Sohrabji I worked up the last
minutiæ of the language, and on May 5th appeared in the Town Hall,
where the examinations were held.

These were not without a certain amount of difficulty. The candidate
was expected to make a written translation, to read and translate
_vivâ voce_ from a native book, to read a written letter, often vilely
scrawled, and to converse with the _moonshee_, Mohammed Makba, a
Concani Mussulman, whose son I afterwards met in 1876. I was fortunate
in my examiner. Captain Pope, who formerly held that position, had been
made Assistant-Commissary-General, and could no longer indulge his
pet propensity of plucking candidates. The committee was composed of
Major-General Vans-Kennedy and three or four nobodies. The former was
an Orientalist after a fashion, knew a great deal of books, and much
more of native manners and customs. In fact, he lived in their society,
and was, as usual, grossly imposed upon. Whenever a servant wanted
"leave," he always begged permission to leave a _badli_, or substitute,
to do his work, and when number one returned, number two remained.
Consequently, the old man was eaten up by native drones. He lived
amongst his books in a tumble-down bungalow, in a tattered compound,
which was never repaired, and he had a slight knowledge of Sanscrit
and Arabic, an abundant acquaintance with Hindostani and Persian, and
general Oriental literature.

The one grievance of his life was his treatment by Sir John
(afterwards Lord) Keane. This Western barbarian came out to India
when advanced in years, and, imbued with a fine contempt "of the
twenty-years-in-the-country-and-speak-the-language man," he could not
understand what was the use of having officers who did nothing but
facilitate the study of Orientalism, and he speedily sent off Colonel
Vans-Kennedy to join his regiment. The latter was deeply in debt, as
usual, under his circumstances; his creditors tolerated him at the
Presidency, where they could lay ready claws upon his pay, but before
he could march up country, he was obliged to sell, for a mere nothing,
his valuable library of books and manuscripts, which had occupied him
a lifetime in collecting. He was a curious spectacle, suggesting only
a skeleton dressed in a frock-coat of worn-out blue cloth uniform, and
he spoke all his languages with a fine broad lowland accent, which is,
perhaps, Orientally speaking, the best.

I passed my examination the first of twelve. Next to me was Ensign
Robert Gordon, of the 4th Bombay Rifles, and Ensign Higginson, of the
78th Highlanders. The latter brought to the Examination Hall one of
the finest Irish brogues ever heard there. I had been humble enough
before I passed, but, having once got through, I was ready to back my
knowledge against the world. This was no great feat on my part, as I
had begun Arabic at Oxford, and worked at Hindostani in London, and
on board the ship, and had studied for twelve hours a day at Baroda.
Before I quitted the Presidency, I had an unpleasantness with a certain
Dr. Bird, a pseudo-Orientalist, who, after the fashion of the day, used
the brains of _moonshee_ and _pandit_ to make his own reputation. I
revenged myself by lampooning him, when, at the ripe age of forty-five,
he was about to take to himself a spare-rib. The line began--

    "A small grey bird goes out to woo,
      Primed with Persian ditties new;
    To the gardens straight he flew,
      Where he knew the rosebud grew."
  $/

We afterwards met in London, and were very good friends.

Dr. Bird only regretted that he had wasted his time on native
languages, instead of studying his own profession. He practised
medicine for a short time in London, and died.

I left Bombay on May 12th, and rejoined my regiment just before
the burst of the south-west monsoon. This was a scene that has
often been described in verse and prose. It was a prime favourite
with the Sanscrit poets, and English readers are familiar with it
through Horace Hayman Wilson's Hindú theatre. But the discomforts
of the season in a cowshed-like bungalow were considerable;
you sat through the day in a wet skin, and slept through the night
with the same. The three months were an alternation of steaming
heat and damp, raw cold.

The rains are exceptionally heavy in Gujarat, and sometimes
the rainpour lasted without interval for seven days and seven
nights. This is mostly the case in the lowlands of India, especially
at Bombay and other places, where the Gháts approach the coast.
Throughout the inner plateau, as at Poonah, the wet season,
which the Portuguese call winter, with its occasional showers and
its bursts of sunshine, is decidedly pleasant. The brown desolation
of the land disappears in a moment, and is replaced by a
brilliant garb of green. The air is light and wholesome, and the
change is hailed by every one; but at Baroda there were torments
innumerable. The air was full of loathsome beings, which
seemed born for the occasion--flying horrors of all kinds, ants
and bugs, which persisted in intruding into meat and drink. At
Mess it was necessary to have the glasses carefully covered, and it
was hardly safe to open one's mouth. The style of riding to a
dinner has been already described. There was no duty, and the
parade-ground was a sheet of water. Shooting was impossible,
except during the rare intervals of sunshine; and those who did not
play billiards suffered from mortal _ennui_.

I now attacked with renewed vigour the Gujarati language, spoken
throughout the country, and by the Parsees of Bombay and elsewhere.
My teacher was a Nagar Brahman, named Him Chand. Meanwhile
I took elementary lessons of Sanscrit, from the regimental _pandit_.
Every Sepoy Corps, in those days, kept one of these men, who was a
kind of priest as well as a schoolmaster, reading out prayers, and
superintending the nice conduct of Festivals, with all their complicated
observances. Besides these men, the Government also supplied
schoolmasters, and the consequence was, that a large percentage of
young Sepoys could read and write. I once won a bet from my
brother-in-law Stisted, by proving that more men in the 18th Bombay
Native Infantry than in the 78th Queen's could read and write. In
the latter, indeed, they occasionally had recruits who could not
speak English, but only Gaelic.

[Sidenote: _Receives the Brahminical Thread._]

Under my two teachers I soon became as well acquainted, as a
stranger can, with the practice of Hinduism. I carefully read up
Ward, Moor, and the publications of the Asiatic Society, questioning
my teachers, and committing to writing page after page of notes, and
eventually my Hindú teacher officially allowed me to wear the _Janeo_
(Brahminical thread). My knowledge, indeed, not a little surprised
my friend Dr. H. G. Carter, who was secretary to the Asiatic Society
at Bombay. On June 26th, 1843, I was appointed interpreter to
my regiment, which added something--a few rupees, some thirty a
month--to my income. My brother officers now began to see that
I was working with an object. When I returned from Bombay, they
had been surprised at my instantly resuming work, and not allowing
myself a holiday. They grumbled not a little at having so unsociable
a messmate.

About that time, too, I began to acquire the ominous soubriquet
of "The White Nigger," and what added not a little to the general
astonishment was, that I left off "sitting under" the garrison Chaplain,
and transferred myself to the Catholic Chapel of the chocolate-coloured
Goanese priest, who adhibited spiritual consolation to the
_bultrels_ (butlers and head-servants) and other servants of the camp.[6]
At length, on August 22nd, 1843, I again obtained leave "to
proceed to Bombay to be examined in the Guzerattee language."
This time I was accompanied on the journey by Lieutenant R. A.
Manson, who was on like business, to the Presidency. The march
was detestable. We could hardly ride our horses through the
sticky and knee-deep mud of Gujarat. So we fitted up native carts
with waterproof tilts, and jogged behind the slow-paced steers on
the high-road to Broach. Here we found a detachment of a native
Corps, living the usual dull, monotonous life.

Hence we proceeded to Surat, once the cradle of the British
power in India, and afterwards doomed to utter neglect. Its
masterful position for trade secured it from utter ruin, but no thanks
to its rulers. Here we again took a _pattymar_, and dropped down
the river, _en route_ to the Presidency. But this time it was very
different voyaging. The south-west monsoon was dead against us,
and nothing could be more ominous than the aspect of the weather.
We reached Bombay on September 26th, just in time to avoid the
_Elephanta_, or dangerous break up of the rainy monsoon. Little
Manson, who had been wrecked when coming out in Back Bay, was
in an extreme state of nervousness, and I was prepared for any
risk when I saw the last sheets of lightning hung out by the purple-black
clouds. The examination took place on October 16th, 1843,
again in presence of old General Vans-Kennedy and the normal
three or four nobodies, and I again passed first, distancing my
rival, Lieutenant C. P. Rigby, of the 16th Bombay N.I. I wished
to remain in Bombay to await my regiment, then under orders for
Sind, but on the 10th of November I was ordered north, and yet
the corps had received orders to march on November 23rd.

The break up of the Cantonment produced all manner of festivities.
The two Corps took leave of one another, and passed the last
night in the enjoyment of a stupendous _Nach_, or Nautch.

[Sidenote: _On the March._]

A March with a regiment in those days was a pleasure. The first
bugle sounded shortly after midnight, and presently came the
signal--

    "Don't you hear the general say,
    'Strike your tents and march away'?"

After a few days' practice, the camp was on the ground and ready packed
for starting on carts and camels, within a few minutes. Naturally loose
marching was the rule. The men were only expected to keep in Companies,
and the officers, with rifles in their hands, rode before, behind, or
alongside of them. In this way many a head of game made its appearance
at the regimental Mess. The Marches seldom exceeded fifteen miles
a day; at the end of the stage the Sepoys were drawn up into line,
inspected, and told off to pitching the tents. Breakfast was generally
eaten by the officers shortly after sunrise, and the morning air gave
fine appetites. The food was generally carried in a _dúli_, a kind of
portable palanquin, primarily intended for the sick and wounded. After
the tents were pitched most men were glad to have a short sleep. They
assembled again at Tiffin, and its objectionable properties disappeared
during the march. They then amused themselves with shooting, or
strolling about the country, till Mess hour. The officers' wives were
always present at dinner, and no smoking was allowed until they had
disappeared. After mess, men were only too glad to turn in, and to get
as much sleep as they could before the morning bugle.

The regiment embarked in a native craft at Tankaria-Bunder, and on
December 26th, 1843, encamped on the Esplanade, Bombay. They were
in the highest spirits, for all expected to see service. The wing
from Mhow had been ordered to rejoin head-quarters, and the same was
the case with the Staff officers, Captains Jamieson and Partridge,
Lieutenants MacDonald, Hough, Compton, and Ensign Anderson. Needless
to say that the latter were in high dudgeon at leaving their fat
appointments.

[Sidenote: _Embarks for Sind._]

On New Year's Day of 1844, the corps embarked on board the H.E.I.
Company's steamship _Semiramis_, generally known as the "Merry
Miss." She was commanded by Captain Ethersey, who ended badly. His
"'aughtiness," as the crew called it, won him very few friends. And now
I come to the time when I began to describe my experiences in print.
The first chapter of "Scinde; or the Unhappy Valley" gives a facetious
account of this voyage.

On board the _Semiramis_ I made a good friend in Captain Walter Scott,
of the Bombay Engineers, who had been transferred from Kandesh, to
take charge of the Survey in Lower Sind, by general order of November
23rd, 1843. He was a handsome man in the prime of life, with soft blue
eyes, straight features, yellow hair, and golden-coloured beard. Withal
he not a little resembled his uncle, "The Magician of the North," of
whom he retained the fondest remembrance. He preserved also the trick,
wholly unintentional, of the burr and the lisp, the former in the
humorous parts, and the latter in the tenderer part of his stories. He
was an admirable conversationist, and his anecdotes were full of a dry
and pawky humour, which comes from north of the Tweed. Yet, curious
to say, when he took pen in hand his thoughts seemed to fly abroad.
His lines were crooked, and his sentences were hardly intelligible.
Something of this was doubtless owing to his confirmed habit of cheroot
smoking, whilst he was writing, but it was eminently characteristic of
the man.

Walter Scott was a truly fine character. His manners were those
of a gentleman of the Old School, and he never said a disagreeable
word or did an ungraceful deed. A confirmed bachelor, he was not at
all averse to women's society; indeed, rather the contrary. He was
generous, even lavish to the extreme, and he was quite as ready to
befriend an Englishman, as a "brither Scot." These two latter qualities
seemed to distinguish a high-bred Scotchman, whilst the English and
Irish gentleman preserved the characteristics of his nationality,
of course refining it and raising it to the highest standard. The
Scottish gentleman seems to differ not only in degree, but in kind,
and to retain only the finer qualities of his race. This is not
speaking of the aristocracy, but of the finer nature, which is the
nature of a true gentleman. Whereas the common herd errs in excess of
canniness and cautiousness, keeps a keen eye upon the main chance, and
distrusts everything and everybody. The select few are rather rash than
otherwise, think less of gain than of a point of honour, and seem to
believe all other men as true-hearted and high-spirited as themselves,
as well as utterly destitute of religious fanaticism.

Walter Scott's favourite reading was old history and romance. He was
delighted to meet with a man who was acquainted with Hollingshed and
Froissart. Moreover, he had sent to Italy for a series of books upon
the canalization of the valley of the Po, and was right glad to find a
man who had been in that part of the world, and could assist him by his
knowledge of Italian. And I capped the good effect I had upon him, by
quoting some of the finest of his uncle's lines, which end with--

    "I bless thee, and thou shalt be blessed."

The little voyage, beautiful outside the ship, and stiff and prim
within, ended on the fourth day. The _Semiramis_ ran past Manora Head
and anchored near the Bar, which in those days was as bad as bad could
be. My first impressions of the country, a marvellous contrast to
Gujarat and Bombay, were as follows:--

[Sidenote: _Karáchi, Sind._]

 "In those days Sind was in the most primitive state. The town, or
 rather village, of Karáchi was surrounded by a tall wall of guy swish,
 topped with fancy crenelles, and perpendicularly striped with what the
 Persians call _Da mágheh_, or nostril holes, down which the besieged
 could pour hot oil, or boiling water. Streets there were none; every
 house looked like a small fort, and they almost met over the narrow
 lanes that formed the only thoroughfares. The bazar, a long line
 of miserable shops, covered over with rude matting of date leaves,
 was the only place comparatively open. Nothing could exceed the
 filthiness of the town; sewers there were none. And the deodorization
 was effected by the dust. The harbour, when the tide was out, was a
 system of mud-flats, like the lagoons of Venice, when you approach
 them by the Murazzi. A mere sketch of a road, which in these days
 would be called a Frere highway, led from the nearest mud-bank to the
 Cantonment. The latter was in its earliest infancy. The ground of hard
 clay was still covered with milk-bush and desert vegetation, and only
 here and there a humble bungalow was beginning to be built. There was
 no sign of barracks, and two race-courses were laid out before any one
 thought of church or chapel.

 "Yet Karáchi showed abundant sign of life. Sir Charles Napier
 thoroughly believed in its future, and loudly proclaimed that in
 a few years it would take the wind out of Bombay sails. The old
 Conqueror himself was temporarily staying there. He had his wife and
 two handsome daughters. His personal staff was composed of his two
 nephews, Captain William Napier and Lieutenant Byng. In his general
 Staff he had Major Edward Green, Assistant Adjutant-General, for
 Quarter-Master-General; Captain MacMurdo, who afterwards married his
 daughter; a civilian named Brown, _alias_ 'Beer' Brown; Captain Young,
 of the Bengal army, as his Judge Advocate-General; and Captain Preedy
 for his Commissary-General. The latter was the son of a violent old
 officer in the Bombay army, and of whom many a queer story was told.
 One of them is as follows:--He was dining at a Dragoon mess at Poonah,
 when they began to sing a song which had been written by an officer of
 the regiment, and which had for refrain--

    'Here's death to those
    Who dare oppose
    Her Majesty's Dragoons.'

 Old Preedy well knew that in the affair alluded to, the Dragoons,
 having ventured into a native village, had been soundly thrashed by
 the villagers. After patiently hearing the song out, he proposed
 to give the villagers a turn, but he had hardly finished his first
 verses--

    'Success to who
    Dare to bamboo
    Her Majesty's Dragoons.'

 before he was duly kicked out of the Mess.

 "Karáchi was then swarming with troops. The 78th Highlanders were
 cantoned there, and were presently joined by the 86th, or 'County Down
 Boys.' Both consumed a vast quantity of liquor, but in diametrically
 different ways. The kilts, when they felt fou, toddled quietly to bed,
 and slept off the debauch; the brogues quarrelled and fought, and
 made themselves generally disagreeable, and passed the night in the
 guard-house. There was horse artillery and foot artillery, and the
 former, when in uniform, turned out in such gorgeous gingerbread-gold
 coats, that gave a new point to the old sneer of 'buying a man at
 your own price, and selling him at his own,' and there were native
 regiments enough to justify brigade parades on the very largest scale."

The 18th was presently ordered off to Gharra, a desolate bit of rock
and clay, which I described as follows:--

 "Look at that unhappy hole--it is Gharra.

 "The dirty heap of mud-and-mat hovels that forms the native village is
 built upon a mound, the _débris_ of former Gharras, close to a creek
 which may or may not have been the 'western outlet of the Indus in
 Alexander's time.' All round it lies a--

    'windy sea of land:'--

 salt, flat, barren rock and sandy plain, where eternal sea-gales
 blow up and blow down a succession of hillocks--warts upon the foul
 face of the landscape--stretching far, far away, in all the regular
 irregularity of desolation.

 "You see the cantonment with its falling brick lines outside, and its
 tattered thatched roofs peeping from the inside of a tall dense hedge
 of bright green milk-bush."

We were obliged to pitch tents, for there was no chance of lodging in
the foul little village, at the head of the Gharra creek. Under the
circumstances, of course, the work was very hard.

A sandstorm astonished an English visitor considerably.

 "When we arose in the morning the sky was lowering, the air dark; the
 wind blew in puffs, and--unusual enough at the time of the year--it
 felt raw and searching. If you took the trouble to look towards the
 hills about eight a.m. you might have seen a towering column of sand
 from the rocky hills, mixed with powdered silt from the arid plains,
 flying away as fast as it could from the angry puffing Boreas.

 "The gale increases--blast pursuing blast, roaring and sweeping round
 the walls and over the roofs of the houses with the frantic violence
 of a typhoon. There is a horror in the sound, and then the prospect
 from the windows! It reminds one of Firdausi's vast idea that one
 layer has been trampled off earth and added to the coats of the
 firmament. You close every aperture and inlet, in the hope of escaping
 the most distressing part of the phenomenon. Save yourself the
 trouble, all such measures are useless. The finer particles with which
 the atmosphere is laden would pass without difficulty through the
 eye of a needle; judge what comfortable thoroughfares they must find
 the chinks of these warped doors and the crannies of the puttyless
 munnions.

 "It seems as though the dust recognized in our persons kindred
 matter. Our heads are powdered over in five minutes; our eyes, unless
 we sit with closed lids, feel as if a dash of cayenne had been
 administered to them; we sneeze like schoolboys after a first pinch of
 'blackguard;' our epidermises are grittier than a loaf of provincial
 French bread, and washing would only be a mockery of resisting the
 irremediable evil.

 "Now, Mr. Bull, if you wish to let your friends and old cronies at
 home see something of the produce of the East, call for a lighted
 candle, and sit down to compose an 'overland letter.' It will take you
 at least two hours and a half to finish the four pages, as the pen
 becomes clogged, and the paper covered every few minutes; moreover,
 your spectacles require wiping at least as often as your quill does.
 By the time the missive comes to hand it will contain a neat little
 cake of Indus mud and Scinde sand moulded in the form of paper. Tell
 Mrs. Bull that you went without your tiffin--lunch I mean--that you
 tried to sleep, but the novel sensation of being powdered all over
 made the attempt an abortive one--that it is impossible to cook during
 a dust-storm--and that you are in for a modification of your favourite
 'intramural sepulture,' if the gale continues much longer. However,
 your days are safe enough; the wind will probably fall about five or
 six in the afternoon,--it is rare that it does not go down with the
 sun--and even should it continue during the night, it will be a farce
 compared to what we are enduring now."

[Sidenote: _He passes in Maharátta._]

There was great excitement on June 20th, 1844, when the Sepoys of the
64th Regiment mutinied at Shikapur and beat their officers. The station
was commanded by Major-General Hunter, C.B. Most of his experience was
in studs. When campaigning with Sir Charles Napier, the latter sent to
him for something to eat, and the reply was a ham and a round of press
beef. The "devil's brother," as the Sindís called him, cut a slice out
of the ham and another out of the beef, and then sent the remainder
back to the owner. On June 27th a general order established vernacular
examination, making it every officer's duty to learn something more
or less of the language. In September I went down to Bombay to pass
an examination in Maharátta, and on October 15th I distanced some six
competitors.

       *       *       *       *       *

Richard produced another Chapter on India when he was sick, in 1888,
for Mr. Hitchman, which is the one the biographer used, having objected
to some of the other parts, whilst I have used the original manuscript
just as it was given to me in 1876.

[1] The general orders of the Commander-in-Chief--

"To rank from date of sailing from Gravesend to the ship by which they
proceeded in the following order, viz.:--

"Charles Thompson, per barque _John Knox_         June 18, 1842.
Richard Francis Burton, per barque _John Knox_    June 18, 1842.
The latter appointed to the 14th Regiment B.N.I.  Sept. 24, 1842.
The latter transferred to 18th B.N.I.             Oct. 25, 1842.
No. 106, date of arrival at Bombay                Oct. 28, 1842."

[2] He was assistant garrison surgeon, serving under Superintendent
Surgeon A. C. Kane. The latter's name evidently subjected him to a
variety of small witticisms, especially when he was called in to treat
a certain A. Bell.

[3] Amongst natives, caste is so powerful in India that it even affects
Mlenchha, or outcast races.

[4] For description of _pattymar_, see "Goa and Blue Mountains," by R.
F. Burton.

[5] Colonel Yule gives an illustration of these gates in his second
volume of "Marco Polo."

[6] I was at this time a child in the schoolroom; we had no knowledge
of each other's existence; I therefore had no part in the matter. He
did not tell me of it until we had been married for some time, as
he wished, he said, to see if _he_ was paramount in _my_ mind, and
that I would make the sacrifice for him, which was necessary for our
marriage later on. He then said, "that if a man _had_ a religion, it
must be the Catholic; it was the religion of a gentleman--a terrible
religion for a man of the world to live in, but a good one to die in."
I have often wondered that this step never excited any comment; he
wrote of it freely; he spoke of it freely until his latter years; but
as he did not like _me_ to do so, I never did. Nobody ever dared to
question his action till after he was dead; but when the master-mind,
the witty tongue was powerless, when the scathing pen the strong right
sword-arm could no longer wield, people fell foul of me for speaking of
it as a simple and natural fact. I never called him a devout practical
Catholic; I only said he was received into the Church, and that he
meant to have its rites at the time of his death.--I. B.




CHAPTER VII.

THE REMINISCENCES WRITTEN FOR MR. HITCHMAN IN 1888--INDIA.


[Sidenote: _A Later Chapter on same events differently told._]

When I landed at Bombay (October 28th, 1842), "Momba Devi" town was a
marvellous contrast with the "Queen of Western India," as she thrones
it in 1887; no City in Europe, except perhaps Vienna, can show such a
difference. The old Portuguese port-village _temp. Caroli Secundi_,
with its silly fortifications and useless esplanade, its narrow alleys
and squares like _places d'armes_, had not developed itself into
"Sasson-Town," as we may call the olden, and "Frére-Town" the modern
moiety.

Under the patriarchal rule of the Court of Directors to the Hon. East
Indian Company, a form of torpidity much resembling the paternal
government of good Emperor Franz, no arrangements were made for the
reception of the queer animals called "cadets." They landed and fell
into the knowing hands of some rascals; lodged at a Persian tavern,
the British Hotel, all uncleanliness at the highest prices. I had a
touch of "seasoning sickness," came under the charge of "Paddy Ryan,"
Fort Surgeon and general favourite, and was duly drafted into the
Sanitary Bungalow--thatched hovels facing Back Bay, whence ever arose
a pestilential whiff of roast Hindú, and opened the eyes of those
who had read about the luxuries of the East. Life was confined to a
solitary ride (at dawn and dusk), a dull monotonous day, and a night in
some place of dissipation--to put it mildly--such as the Bhendi bazar,
whose attractions consisted of dark young persons in gaudy dress,
mock jewels, and hair japanned with cocoa-nut oil, and whose especial
diversions were an occasional "row"--a barbarous manner of "town and
gown." But a few days, of residence had taught me that India, at least
Western India, offered only two specialities for the Britisher; first
_Shikar_ or sport, and secondly, opportunities of studying the people
and their languages. These were practically unlimited; I found that
it took me some years of hard study before I could walk into a bazar
and distinguish the several castes, and know something of them, their
manners and customs, religion and superstitions. I at once engaged a
venerable Parsee, Dosabhai Sohrabji, also a _mubid_, or priest, as
his white cap and coat showed, who had coached many generations of
_griffs_, and under his guidance dived deep into the "Ethics of Hind"
(Akhlak-i-Hindi) and other such text-books.

This was the year after the heir-apparent was born; when Nott, Pollock,
and Sale revenged the destruction of some 13,000 men by the Afghans;
when the Chinese War broke out; when Lord Ellenborough succeeded
awkward Lord Auckland; and when Major-General Sir Charles J. Napier,
commanding at Poonah, was appointed to Sind (August 25th, 1842),
and when his subsequent unfriend, Brevet-Major James Outram, was on
furlough to England; lastly, and curious to say, most important of all
to me, was the fact that "Ensign Burton" was ranked and posted in the
G. G. O. of October 15th, 1842, to the 18th Regiment, Bombay N.I.

Nor was I less surprised by the boasting of my brother officers (the
Sepoys had thrashed the French in India and elsewhere, they were the
flower of the British army, and so forth)--fine specimen of _esprit
de corps_ run mad, which was destined presently to change its tone,
after 1857. Meanwhile this loud brag covered an ugly truth. We officers
of the Indian army held her Majesty's commission, but the Company's
officers were looked upon by the Queen's troops as mere auxiliaries,
locals without general rank, as it were black policemen. Moreover the
rules of the service did not allow us to rise above a certain rank.
What a contrast to the French private, who carries a Marshal's baton in
his knapsack!

Captain Cleland introduced me to his sister, the wife of a
field-officer, and she to sundry of her friends, whose tone somewhat
surprised me. Here and there a reference was made to my "immortal
soul," and I was overwhelmed with oral treatises upon what was expected
from a "Christian in a heathen land." And these ladies "talked shop,"
at least, so it appeared to me, like non-commissioned officers. After
_Shikar_ and the linguistics, the only popular pursuit in India is
(I should think always was) "Society." But indigestible dinners are
not pleasant in a Turkish bath; dancing is at a discount in a region
of eternal dog-days; picnics are unpleasant on the "palm-tasselled
strand of glowing Ind," where scorpions and cobras come uninvited;
horse-racing, like Cicero's "Mercaturi," to be honoured, must be on a
large scale; the Mess tiffin is an abomination ruinous to digestion and
health; the billiard-table may pass an hour or so pleasantly enough,
but it becomes a monotonous waste of time, and the evening bands, or
meet at "Scandal Point," is open to the charge of a deadly dullness.

Visits become visitations, because that tyrant Madam Etiquette
commanded them about noon, despite risk of sunstroke, and "the ladies"
insisted upon them without remorse of conscience. Needless to say that
in those days the _Gym-hánah_ was unknown, and that the Indian world
ignored lawn-tennis, even croquet.

Another point in Bombay Society at once struck me, and I afterwards
found it in the Colonies and most highly developed in the United
States. At home men and women live under an incubus, a perfect system
of social despotism which is intended to make amends for an unnatural
political equality, amongst classes born radically unequal. Abroad, the
weight is taken off their shoulders, and they result of its removal is
a peculiar rankness of growth. The pious become fanatically one-idea'd,
pharisaical, unchristian, monomaniacal. The un-pious run to the other
extreme, believe nothing, sneer at the holies, "and look upon the mere
Agnostic as a 'slow coach.'" Eccentricity develops itself Bedlam-wards.
One of my friends had a mania and swore "By my halidom." Another had
an image of Gánpati over his door, which he never passed without
the prayer, "Shri ganeshayá Hamahá" ("I bow to auspicious Janus").
A third, of whom I heard, had studied Aristotle in Arabic, and when
shown the "Novum Organon," asked, indignantly, "who the fellow might
be that talked such stuff." And in matters of honesty the social idea
was somewhat lax; to sell a spavined horse to a friend was considered
a good joke, and to pass off plated wares for real silver was looked
upon as only a trifle too "smart." The Press faithfully reflected
these nuances with a little extra violence and virulence of its own.
By-the-by, I must not forget making the acquaintance of a typical
Scot, Dr. Buist (afterwards Sir Charles Napier's "blatant beast of the
_Bombay Times_"). He wrote much (so badly that only one clerk could
read it) and washed little; and as age advanced he married a young wife.

After a month or so at Bombay, chiefly spent in mugging "Hindostani,"
and in providing myself with the necessaries of life--servants, headed
by Salvador Soares, a handsome Goanese; a horse, in the shape of a
dun-coloured Kattywár nag; also a "horsekeeper," a dog, a tent, and
so forth--I received my marching orders and set out to "join" my own
corps. The simple way of travelling in those days before steam and rail
was by palanquin or _pattymar_. I have described the latter article
in "Goa," and I may add that it had its advantages. True it was a
"slow coach," creeping on seventy or eighty miles a day, and some days
almost stationary; it had few comforts and no luxuries. I began by
actually missing "pudding," and have often smiled at the remembrance
of my stomach's comical disappointment. _En revanche_, the study of
the little world within was most valuable to the "young Anglo-Indian,"
and the slow devious course allowed landing at places rarely visited
by Europeans. During my repeated trips I saw Diu, once so famous in
Portuguese story, Holy Dwarká, guarded outside by sharks and filled
with fierce and fanatic mercenaries, and a dozen less interesting spots.

The end of this trip was Tankária-Bunder, a small landing in the Bay of
Cambay, a most primitive locale to be called a port, where a mud-bank,
adapted for a mooring-stake, was about the only convenience. It showed
me, however, a fine specimen of the _Ghora_, or bore, known to our
Severn and other rivers--an exaggerated high tide, when the water
comes rushing up the shallows like a charge of cavalry. Native carts
were also to be procured at Tankária-Bunder for the three days' short
march to Baroda, and a mattress spread below made the rude article
comfortable enough for young limbs and strong nerves.

Gujarat, the classical Gujaráhtra, a land of the Gujar clan, which
remained the Syrastrena Regio of Arrian, surprised me by its tranquil
beauty and its vast natural wealth. Green as a card-table, flat as
a prairie, it grew a marvellous growth of trees, which stunted our
English oaks and elm trees--

                        "to ancient song unknown,
    The noble sons of potent heat and flood"--

and a succession of fields breaking the glades, of townlets and
villages walled by luxuriant barriers of caustic milk-bush (euphorbia),
teemed with sights and sounds and smells peculiarly Indian. The sharp
bark of Hanu the Monkey and the bray of the _Shankh_ or conch near
the bowery pagoda were surprises to the ear, and less to the nose was
the blue vapour which settled over the hamlets morning and evening, a
semi-transparent veil, the result of _Gobar_ smoke from "cow-chips."
A stale trick upon travellers approaching India by sea was to rub a
little sandal oil upon the gunwale and invite them to "smell India,"
yet many a time for miles off shore I have noted that faint spicy
odour, as if there were curry in the air, which about the abodes of man
seems to be crossed with an aroma of drugs, as though proceeding from
an apothecary's store. Wondrous peaceful and quiet lay those little
Indian villages, outlaid by glorious banyan and pipal trees, topes or
clumps of giant figs which rain a most grateful shade, and sometimes
provided by the piety of some long-departed Chief with a tank of cut
stone, a _baurá_ or draw-well of fine masonry and large dimensions. But
what "exercised" not a little my "Griffin" thoughts was to note the
unpleasant difference between villages under English rule and those
belonging to "His Highness the Gaikwar" or cowkeeper; the penury of the
former and the prosperity of the latter. Mr. Boyd, the then Resident at
the local court, soon enlightened me upon the evils of our unelastic
rule of "smart Collectors," who cannot and dare not make any allowance
for deficient rainfall or injured crops, and it is better to have
something to lose, and to lose it even to the extent "of being ousted
of possessions and disseized of freehold," with the likely hope of
gaining it again, than to own nothing worth plundering.

The end of the march introduced me to my corps, the 18th Regiment,
Bombay Native Infantry, whose head-quarters were in Gujarat, one wing
being stationed at Mhow, on the Bengal frontier.

The officer commanding, Captain James (C.V.), called upon me at the
Travellers' bungalow, the rudimentary Inn which must satisfy the
stranger in India, suggesting the while such sad contrast, and bore me
off to his bungalow, formally presented me at Mess--then reduced to
eight members besides myself--and the Assistant-Surgeon Arnott put me
in the way of lodging myself. The regimental Mess, with its large cool
Hall and punkahs, its clean napery and bright silver, its servants each
standing behind his master's chair, and the cheroots and hookahs which
appeared with the disappearance of the "table"-cloth, was a pleasant
surprise, the first sight of comfortable home-life I had seen since
landing at Bombay. Not so the Subalterns' bungalow, which gave the idea
of a dog-hole at which British Ponto would turn up his civilized nose.
The business of the day was mainly goose-step and studying the drill
book, and listening to such equivocal words of command as "Tandelees"
(stand at ease) and "Fiz-bagnat" (fix bayonets). Long practice with
the sword, which I had began seriously at the age of twelve, sometimes
taking three lessons a day, soon eased my difficulties, and led to the
study of native swordsmanship, whose grotesqueness and buffoonery can
be rivalled only by its insufficiency.[1]

The wrestling, however, was another matter, and not a few natives in my
Company had at first the advantage of me, and this induced a trial of
Indian training, which consisted mainly of washing down balls of _Gur_
(unrefined sugar) with bowls of hot milk hotly spiced. The result was
that in a week I was blind with bile. Another set of lessons suggested
by common sense, was instruction by a _chábuhsawar_, or native jockey.
All nations seem to despise one another's riding, and none seem to
know how much they have to learn. The Indian style was the merit of
holding the horse well in hand, making him bound off at a touch of the
heel, stopping him dead at a hand gallop, and wheeling him round as
on a pivot. The Hindú will canter over a figure-of-eight, gradually
diminishing the dimensions till the animal leans over at an angle of
45°, and throwing himself over the off side and hanging by the heel to
the earth, will pick up sword or pistol from the ground. Our lumbering
chargers brought us to notable grief more than once in the great Sikh
War. And as I was somewhat nervous about snakes, I took lessons of a
"Charmer," and could soon handle them with coolness.

The _Bibi_ (white woman) was at that time rare in India; the result was
the triumph of the _Búbú_ (coloured sister). I found every officer in
the corps more or less provided with one of these helpmates.

We boys naturally followed suit; but I had to suffer the protestations
of the Portuguese _padre_, who had taken upon himself the cure and
charge of my soul, and was like a hen who had hatched a duckling. I
had a fine opportunity of studying the _pros_ and _cons_ of the _Búbú_
system.

_Pros_: The "walking dictionary" is all but indispensable to the
Student, and she teaches him not only Hindostani grammar, but the
syntaxes of native Life. She keeps house for him, never allowing him
to save money, or, if possible, to waste it. She keeps the servants in
order. She has an infallible recipe to prevent maternity, especially if
her tenure of office depends on such compact. She looks after him in
sickness, and is one of the best of nurses, and, as it is not good for
man to live alone, she makes him a manner of home.

The _disadvantages_ are as manifest as the advantages. Presently, as
overland passages became cheaper and commoner, the _Bibi_ won and the
_Búbú_ lost ground. Even during _my_ day, married men began, doubtless
at the instance of their wives, to look coldly upon the half-married,
thereby showing mighty little common sense. For India was the classic
land of Cicisbeism, where husbands are occupied between ten a.m. and
five p.m. at their offices and counting-houses, leaving a fair field
and much favour to the sub unattached, and whose duty often keeps
the man sweltering upon the plains, when the wife is enjoying the
_somer-frisch_ upon "the Hills." Moreover, the confirmed hypocrite and
the respectable-ist, when in power, established a kind of inquisitorial
inquiry into the officer's house, and affixed a black mark to the
name of the half-married. At last the _Búbú_ made her exit and left a
void. The greatest danger in British India is the ever-growing gulf
that yawns between the governors and the governed; they lose touch of
one another, and such racial estrangement leads directly to racial
hostility.

The day in Cantonment-way is lively. It began before sunrise on the
parade-ground, an open space, which any other people but English
would have converted into a stronghold. Followed, the baths and the
_choti-hazri_, or little breakfast, the _munshi_ (language-master), and
literary matters till nine o'clock meal. The hours were detestable,
compared with the French system--the _déjeuner à la fourchette_, which
abolished the necessity of lunch; but throughout the Anglo-American
world, even in the places worst adapted, "business" lays out the day.
After breakfast, most men went to the billiard-room; some, but very
few, preferred "peacocking," which meant robing in white-grass clothes
and riding under a roasting sun, as near the meridian as possible, to
call upon "regimental ladies," who were gruff as corporals when the
function was neglected too long. The dull and tedious afternoon again
belonged to _munshi_, and ended with a constitutional ride, or a rare
glance at the band; Mess about seven p.m., possibly a game of whist,
and a stroll home under the marvellous Gujarat skies, through a scene
of perfect loveliness, a paradise bounded by the whity-black line.

There was little variety in such days. At times we rode to Baroda
City, which seemed like a Mansion, to which the Cantonment acted as
porter's Lodge. "Good Water" (as the Sanskritists translate it) was
a walled City, lying on the north bank of the Vishwamitra river, and
containing some 150,000 souls, mostly hostile, who eyed us with hateful
eyes, and who seemed to have taught even their animals to abhor us. The
City is a _mélange_ of low huts and tall houses, grotesquely painted,
with a shabby palace, and a _Chauk_, or Bazar, where four streets
meet. At times H.M. the Gaikwar would show us what was called sport--a
fight between two elephants with cut tusks, or a caged tiger and a
buffalo--the last being generally the winner--or a wrangle between
two fierce stallions, which bit like camels. The cock-fighting was,
however, of a superior kind, the birds being of first-class blood,
and so well trained, that they never hesitated to attack a stranger.
An occasional picnic, for hunting, not society, was a most pleasant
treat. The native Prince would always lend us his cheetahs or hunting
leopards, or his elephants; the jungles inland of the city swarmed with
game, from a snipe to a tiger, and the broad plains to the north were
packs of _nilghai_ and the glorious black buck. About twenty-eight
miles due east, rises high above the sea of verdure the picturesque
hill known as Pávangarh, the Fort of Eolus, and the centre of an old
Civilization. Tanks and Jain temples were scattered around it, and
the ruins of Champenír City cumbered the base. In a more progressive
society, this place, 2500 feet high, and cooler by 18° to 20° F.,
would have become a kind of sanitarium. But men, apparently, could not
agree. When the Baroda races came round, Major C. Crawley, commanding
the 4th Bombay Rifles, used, in consequence of some fancied slight, to
openly ride out of cantonment; and Brigadier Gibbons, the commander,
did nothing for society. But the crowning excitement of the season was
the report of Sir Charles Napier's battle of Miani (February 21st),
followed by the affair of Dubba (March 25th), the "tail of the Afghan
War." The account seemed to act as an electric shock upon the English
frame, followed by a deep depression and a sense of mortal injury at
the hands of Fate in keeping us out of the fray.

At length, in April, 1843, I obtained two months' leave of absence
to the Presidency, for the purpose of passing an examination in
Hindostani. The function was held at the Town Hall. Major-General
Vans-Kennedy presided, a queer old man as queerly dressed, who
had given his life to Orientalism, and who had printed some very
respectable studies of Hinduism. The examining _munshi_, Mohammed
"Mucklá," was no friend to me, because I was coached by a rival, old
Dosabhai, yet he could not prevent my distancing a field of eleven.
This happened on May 5th, and on May 12th I had laid in a full supply
of Gujarati books, and set out by the old road to rejoin.

If Baroda was dull and dreary during the dries, it was mortal during
the rains. I had been compelled to change my quarters for a bigger
bungalow, close to the bank of the _nullah_ which bounded the camp
to the east and fed the Vishwamitra. It was an ill-omened place; an
English officer had been wounded in it, and the lintel still bore
the mark of a sabre which some native ruffian had left, intending
to split a Serjeant's head. Other quarters in the cantonment were
obliged to keep one _ramosi, alias_ Paggi, a tracker, a temporarily
reformed thief who keeps off other thieves; my bungalow required two.
An ignoble position for a dominant race, this openly paying blackmail
and compounding felony. The rule of the good Company was, however, not
a rule of honour, but of expediency, and the safety of its officers
was little regarded; they were stabbed in their tents, or cut down by
dacoits, even when travelling on the highways of Gujarat. Long and
loudly the survivors hoped that some fine day a bishop or a Director's
son would come to grief, and _when this happened at last_ the process
was summarily stopped. Indeed, nothing was easier to find than a
remedy. A heavy fine was imposed upon the district in which the outrage
was committed. By such means, Mohammed Ali of Egypt made the Suez
Desert safer than a London street, and Sir Charles Napier pacified
Sind, and made deeds of violence unknown--by means not such as Earl
Russell virtually encouraged the robber-shepherds of Greece to plunder
and murder English travellers.

The monsoon,[2] as it is most incorrectly termed, completely changes
the tenor of Anglo-Indian life. It is ushered in by a display of
"insect youth" which would have astonished Egypt in the age of the
plagues, "flying bugs," and so forth. At Mess every tumbler was
protected by a silver lid. And when the downfall begins it suggests
that the "fountains of the great deep" have been opened up. I have
seen tropical rains in many a region near the Line, but never anything
that rivals Gujarati. Without exaggeration, the steady discharge of
water buckets lasted literally, on one occasion, through seven days
and nights without intermission, and to reach Mess we had to send our
clothes on, and to wear a single waterproof, and to gallop through
water above, around, and below at full speed. This third of the year
was a terribly dull suicidal time, worse even than the gloomy month
of November. It amply accounted for the card-table surface and the
glorious tree-clump of the Gujarat--

    "The mighty growth of sun and torrent-rains."

Working some twelve hours a day, and doing nothing but work, I found
myself ready in later August for a second trip to the Presidency, and
obtained leave from September 10th to October 30th (afterwards made to
include November 10th) for proceeding to Bombay, and being examined in
the Guzerattee language.[3]

This time I resolved to try another route, and, despite the warning of
abominable roads, to ride down coast _viâ_ Baroch and Surat. I had not
been deceived; the deep and rich black soil, which is so good for the
growth of cotton, makes a mud truly terrible to travellers. Baroch, the
Hindú Brighu-Khatia, or Field of Brighú, son of Brahma, is generally
made the modern successor of Ptolemy and Arrian's "Barygaza," but there
are no classic remains to support the identification of the spot, nor
indeed did any one in the place seem to care a fig about the matter.
A truly Hindú town of some twelve thousand souls on the banks of the
Nerbudda, it boasted of only one sight, the _Kabir-bar_, which the
English translated "Big Banyan," and which meant, "Banyan-tree of (the
famous ascetic and poet) Das Kabir." I remember only two of his lines--

             "Máyá mare na man mare, mar mar gaya sarir"
    ("Illusion dies; dies not the mind, though body die and die")--

_Máyá_ (illusion) being sensuous matter, and old Fakirs express the
idea of the modern Hylozoist,[4] "All things are thinks." The old tree
is hardly worth a visit, although it may have sheltered five thousand
horsemen and inspired Milton, for which see the guide-books.

Surat (Surashtra = good region), long time the "Gate of Meccah," where
pilgrims embarked instead of at Bombay, shows nothing of its olden
splendour.

This was the nucleus of British power on the western coast of India in
the seventeenth century, and as early as May, 1609, Captain Hawkins, of
the _Hector_, obtained permission at Agra here to found a factory for
his half-piratical countrymen, who are briefly described as "Molossis
suis ferociores." They soon managed to turn out the Portuguese,
and they left a Graveyard which is not devoid of some barbaric
interest--Tom Croyate of the Crudities, however, is absent from it. At
Surat I met Lieutenant Manson, R.A. He was going down to "go up" in
Maharátta, and we agreed to take a _pattymar_ together. We cruised down
the foul Tapti river--all Indian, like West African, streams seem to be
made of dirty water--and were shown the abandoned sites of the Dutch
garden and French factory, Vaux's Tomb, and Dormus Island. We escaped
an _Elephanta_ storm, one of those pleasant September visitations
which denote the break up of the "monsoon," and which not unfrequently
bestrews the whole coast of Western India with wreckage. This time I
found lodging in the Town Barracks, Bombay, and passed an examination
in the Town Hall before General Vans-Kennedy, with the normal success,
being placed first. The process consisted of reading from print (two
books), and handwriting, generally some "native letter," and of
conversing and of writing an "address" or some paper of the kind.

Returning Baroda-wards, whence my regiment was transferred to our
immense satisfaction to Sind, I assisted in the farewell revelries,
dinners and _Naches_, or native dances--the most melancholy form in
which Terpsichore ever manifested herself.

By far the most agreeable and wholesome part of regimental life in
India is the march; the hours are reasonable, the work not too severe,
and the results, in appetite and sleep, admirable. At Bombay we
encamped on the Esplanade, and on January 1st, 1844, we embarked for
Karáchi on board the H.E.I.C.'s steamer _Semiramis_, whose uneventful
cruise is told in "Scinde, or the Unhappy Valley," chap. I, "The Shippe
of Helle." Yet not wholly uneventual to me.

On board of the _Semiramis_ was Captain Walter Scott, Bombay Engineers,
who had lately been transferred from commanding in Candeish to the
superintendence of the Sind Canals, a department newly organized by
the old Conqueror of "Young Egypt," and our chance meeting influenced
my life for the next six years. I have before described him. With
short intervals I was one of his assistants till 1849. We never had a
diverging thought, much less an unpleasant word; and when he died, at
Berlin, in 1875, I felt his loss as that of a near relation.

Karáchi, which I have twice described, was in 1844 a mere stretch of
a Cantonment, and nothing if not military; the garrison consisting of
some five thousand men of all arms, European and native. The discomfort
of camp life in this Sahara,[5] which represented the Libyan Desert,
after Gujarat, the Nile Valley, was excessive, the dust-storms were
atrocious,[6] and the brackish water produced the most unpleasant
symptoms. Parades of all kinds, regimental and brigade, were the rule,
and Sir Charles Napier was rarely absent from anything on a large scale.

The Conqueror of Scinde was a noted and remarkable figure at that time,
and there is still a semi-heroic ring about the name. In appearance
he was ultra-Jewish, a wondrous contrast to his grand brother, Sir
William; his countrymen called him Fagan, after Dickens, and his
subjects, Shaytan-á-Bhái, Satan's brother, from his masterful spirit
and reckless energy. There is an idealized portrait of him in Mr. W. H.
Bruce's "Life" (London, Murray, 1885), but I much prefer the caricature
by Lieutenant Beresford, printed in my wife's volume, "A.E.I." Yet
there was nothing mean in the Conqueror's diminutive form; the hawk's
eye, and eagle's beak, and powerful chin would redeem any face from
vulgarity.

Sir Charles, during his long years of Peninsular and European service,
cultivated the habit of jotting down all events in his diary, with
a _naïveté_, a vivacity, and a fulness which echoed his spirit, and
which, with advancing years, degenerated into intemperance of language
and extravagance of statement. He was hard, as were most men in those
days, upon the great Company he termed the "Twenty-four Kings of
Leadenhall Street"--"ephemeral sovereigns;" he quoted Lord Wellesley
about the "ignominious tyrants of the East."

In his sixtieth year he was appointed to the command of Poonah
(December 28th, 1841), and he was so lacking in the goods of this world
that a Bombay house refused to advance him £500. He began at once to
study Hindostani, but it was too late; the lesson induced irresistible
drowsiness, and the _munshi_ was too polite to awaken the aged scholar,
who always said he would give Rs. 10,000 to be able to address the
Sepoys. On September 3rd, 1842, he set off to assume his new command
in Upper and Lower Sind, and he at once saw his opportunity. Major
Outram had blackened the faces of the Amirs, but he wanted to keep the
work of conquest for himself, and he did not relish its being done by
another. He, however, assisted Sir Charles Napier, and it was not till
his return to England in 1843 that he ranged himself on the side of the
Directors, whose hatred of the Conqueror grew with his success, and
two factions, Outramists and Napierists, divided the little world of
Western India.

The battles of Miani and Dubba were much criticized by military
experts, who found that the "butcher's bill" did not justify the
magnificent periods of Sir William Napier. This noble old soldier's
"Conquest of Scinde" was a work of _fantaisie_; the story was admirably
told, the picture was perfect, but the details were so incorrect, that
it became the subject of endless "chaff" even in Government House,
Karáchi. The corrective was an official report by Major (afterwards
General) Waddington, B.O. Eng., which gave the shady, rather than the
sunlit side of the picture. And there is still a third to be written.
Neither of our authorities tell us, nor can we expect a public document
to do so, how the mulatto who had charge of the Amir's guns had been
persuaded to fire high, and how the Talpur traitor who commanded the
cavalry, openly drew off his men and showed the shameless example
of flight. When the day shall come to publish details concerning
disbursement of "Secret service money in India," the public will learn
strange things. Meanwhile those of us who have lived long enough to see
how history is written, can regard it as but little better than a poor
romance.

However exaggerated, little Miani taught the world one lesson which
should not be forgotten--the sole plan to win a fight from barbarians,
be they Belochis, Kafirs, or Burmese. It is simplicity itself; a sharp
cannonade to shake the enemy, an advance in line or _échelon_ as the
ground demands, and a dash of cavalry to expedite the runaways. And
presently the victory led to organizing the "Land Transport Corps"
and the "Baggage Corps," two prime wants of the Indian army. Here Sir
Charles Napier's skill as an inventor evolved order out of disorder,
and efficiency from the most cumbrous of abuses. The pacification of
the new Province was marvellously brought about by the enlightened
despotism of the Conqueror. Outram had predicted ten years of guerilla
warfare before peace could be restored; Sir Charles made it safer than
any part of India within a year, and in 1844, when levelling down the
canals, I was loudly blessed by the peasants, who cried out, "These men
are indeed worthy to govern us, as they work for our good."

But Sir Charles Napier began India somewhat too late in life, and
had to pay the penalty. His mistakes were manifold, and some of them
miserable. When preparing for the "Truhkee campaign," he proposed to
content himself with a "_Numero-cent_" tent for a Commander-in-Chief!
When marching upon Multan, his idea was to quarter the Sepoys in the
villages, which would have been destroyed at once; and it was some time
before his Staff dared put it in this light.

From over-deference to English opinion, he liberated all the African
slaves in Sind and turned them out to starve; it would have been wiser
to "free the womb," and forbid importation. He never could understand
the "Badli system," where a rich native buys a poor man to be hanged
for him who committed the crime, and terribly scandalized Captain
Young, the civilian Judge Advocate-General, by hanging the wrong man.
Finding that the offended husband in Sind was justified by public
opinion for cutting down his wife, he sent the unfortunate to the
gallows, and the result was a peculiar condition of society. On one
occasion, the anonymas of Hyderabad sent him a deputation to complain
"that the married women were taking the bread out of their mouths."

Sir Charles was a favourite among the juniors, in fact, amongst all who
did not thwart or oppose him. He delighted in Rabelaisian _bon-mots_,
and the _Conte grivois_, as was the wont of field-officers in his day;
his comment upon a newspaper's "peace and plenty at Karáchi" was long
quoted.

After a month of discomfort at Karáchi, rendered more uncomfortable
by the compulsory joining of six unfortunate Staff-officers who lost
their snug appointments in India,[7] we were moved to Gharra--"out of
the frying-pan into the fire"--a melancholy hole some forty miles by
road north of Head-quarters, and within hearing of the evening gun. I
have already described its horror.[8] Our predecessors had not built
the barracks or bungalows, and we found only a parallelogram of rock
and sand, girt by a tall dense hedge of bright green milk-bush, and
surrounded by a flat of stone and gravel, near a filthy village whose
timorous inhabitants shunned us as walking pestilences.

This, with an occasional temperature of 125° F., was to be our "house"
for some years. As I had no money wherewith to build, I was compelled
to endure a hot season in a single-poled tent, pitched outside the
milk-bush hedge; and after, to escape suffocation, I was obliged to
cover my table with a wet cloth and pass the hot hours under it.
However, energy was not wanting, and the regimental _pandit_ proving
a good school-master, I threw away Sindi for Maráthá; and in October,
1844, I was able to pass my examination in Maráthá at the Presidency,
I coming first of half a dozen. About this time Southern Bombay was
agitated by a small mutiny in Sáwantwádi, and the papers contained a
long service-correspondence about Colonels Outram and Wallace, the
capture of Amanghar, and Lieutenant Brassy's descent on Shiva Drug. I
at once laid in a store of Persian books, and began seriously to work
at that richest and most charming of Eastern languages.

On return to Karáchi, I found myself, by the favour of my friend Scott,
gazetted as one of his four assistants in the Sind "Survey," with
especial reference to the Canal Department; my being able to read and
translate the valuable Italian works on hydro-dynamics being a point
in my favour. A few days taught me the use of compass, theodolite, and
spirit-level, and on December 10th, 1844, I was sent with a surveying
party and six camels to work at Fulayli (Phuleli) and its continuation,
the Guni river. The labour was not small; after a frosty night using
instruments in the sole of a canal where the sun's rays seemed to
pour as through a funnel, was decidedly trying to the constitution.
However, I managed to pull through, and my surveying books were
honoured with official approbation. During this winter I enjoyed some
sport, especially hawking, and collected material for "Falconry in the
Valley of the Indus."[9] I had begun the noble art as a boy at Blois,
but the poor kestrel upon which I tried my "'prentice hand" had died
soon, worn out like an Eastern ascetic by the severities of training,
especially in the fasting line. Returning northwards, I found my Corps
at Hyderabad, and passing through the deserted Gharra, joined the
Head-quarters of the Survey at Karáchi in April.

Here I made acquaintance with Mirza Ali Akhbar, who owed his rank (Khan
Bahádur) to his gallant conduct as Sir Charles Napier's _munshi_ at
Miani and Dubba, where he did his best to save as many unfortunate
Beloch braves as possible. He lived outside the camp in a bungalow
which he built for himself, and lodged a friend, Mirza Dáud, a
first-rate Persian scholar. My life became much mixed up with these
gentlemen, and my brother officers fell to calling me the "White
Nigger." I had also invested in a Persian _munshi_, Mirza Mohammad
Musayn, of Shiraz; poor fellow, after passing through the fires of
Scinde unscathed, he returned to die of cholera in his native land.
With his assistance I opened on the sly three shops at Karáchi,[10]
where cloth, tobacco, and other small matters were sold exceedingly
cheap to those who deserved them, and where I laid in a stock of native
experience, especially regarding such matters as I have treated upon
in my "Terminal Essay" to the "Thousand Nights and a Night,"[11] but
I soon lost my _munshi_ friends. Mirza Dáud died of indigestion and
patent pills at Karáchi; I last saw Mirza Ali Akhbar at Bombay, in
1876, and he deceased shortly afterwards. He had been unjustly and
cruelly treated. Despite the high praises of Outram and Napier for
the honesty and efficiency of Ali Akhbar,[12] the new commission had
brought against the doomed man a number of trumped-up charges, proving
bribery and corruption, and managed to effect his dismissal from the
service. The unfortunate Mirza, in the course of time, disproved them
all, but the only answer to his application for being reinstated was
that what had been done could not now be undone. I greatly regretted
his loss. He had promised me to write out from his Persian notes a
diary of his proceedings during the conquest of Scinde; he was more
"behind the curtain" than any man I knew, and the truths he might have
told would have been exceedingly valuable.

Karáchi was, for India, not a dull place in those days. Besides our
daily work of planning and mapping the surveys of the cold season,
and practising latitudes and longitudes till my right eye became
comparatively short-sighted, we organized a "Survey Mess" in a bungalow
belonging to the office "Compound." There were six of us--Blagrave,
Maclagan, Vanrenin, and afterwards Price and Lambert--and local
society pronounced us all mad, although I cannot see that we were
more whimsical than our neighbours. I also built a bungalow, which
got the title of the "Inquisition," and there I buried my favourite
game-cock Bhujang (the dragon), who had won me many a victory--people
declared that it was the grave of a small human. I saw much of Mirza
Husayn, a brother of Agha Khan Mahallati, a scion of the Isma'iliyah,
or "Old Man of the Mountain," who, having fled his country, Persia,
after a rebellion, ridiculous even in that land of eternal ridiculous
rebellions, turned _condottière_, and with his troop of one hundred
and thirty ruffians took service with us and was placed to garrison
Jarak (Jerruch). Here the Belochis came down upon him, and killed
or wounded about a hundred of his troop, after which he passed on
to Bombay and enlightened the Presidency about his having conquered
Scinde. His brother, my acquaintance, also determined to attack Persia
_viâ_ Makran, and managed so well that he found himself travelling to
Teheran, lashed to a gun carriage. The Lodge "Hope" kindly made me
an "entered apprentice," but I had read Carlisle, "The Atheistical
Publisher," and the whole affair appeared to me a gigantic humbug,
dating from the days of the Crusades, and as Cardinal Newman expressed
it, "meaning a goose club." But I think better of it now, as it still
serves political purposes in the East, and gives us a point against
our French rivals and enemies. As the "Scinde Association" was formed,
I was made honorary secretary, and had no little correspondence with
Mr. E. Blyth, the curator of the Zoological Department, Calcutta. Sir
Charles Napier's friends also determined to start a newspaper, in order
to answer the Enemy in the Gate, and reply to the "base and sordid
Bombay faction," headed by the "Rampant Buist," with a strong backing
of anonymous officials.

The _Karrachee Advertiser_ presently appeared in the modest shape of
a lithographed sheet on Government foolscap, and, through Sir William
Napier, its most spicy articles had the honour of a reprint in London.
Of these, the best were "the letters of Omega," by my late friend
Rathborne, then Collector at Hyderabad, and they described the vices
of the Sind Amirs in language the reverse of ambiguous. I did not keep
copies, nor, unfortunately, did the clever and genial author.

This pleasant, careless life broke up in November, 1845, when I started
with my friend Scott for a long tour to the north of Sind. We rode by
the high-road through Gharra and Jarak to Kotri, the station of the
Sind flotilla, and then crossed to Hyderabad, where I found my Corps
flourishing. After a very jolly week, we resumed our way up the right
bank of the Indus and on the extreme western frontier, where we found
the Beloch herdsmen in their wildest state. About that time began to
prevail the wildest reports about the lost tribes of Israel (who were
never lost), and with the aid of Gesenius and Lynch I dressed up a very
pretty grammar and vocabulary, which proved to sundry scientists that
the lost was found at last. But my mentor would not allow the joke
to appear _in print_. On Christmas Day we entered "Sehwán," absurdly
styled "Alexander's Camp." Here again the spirit of mischief was too
strong for me. I buried a broken and hocussed jar of "_Athenæum_
sauce," red pottery with black Etruscan figures, right in the way of
an ardent amateur antiquary; and the results were comical. At Larkháná
we made acquaintance with "fighting FitzGerald," who commanded there,
a magnificent figure, who could cut a donkey in two; and who, although
a man of property, preferred the hardships of India to the pleasures
of home. He had, however, a mania of blowing himself up in a little
steamer mainly of his own construction, and after his last accident he
was invalided home to England, and died within sight of her shores. At
Larkháná the following letter was received:--

 "Karáchi, January 3, 1846.

 "MY DEAR SCOTT,

 "The General says you may allow as many of your assistants as you
 can spare to join their regiments, if going on service, with the
 understanding that they must resign their appointments and will not be
 reappointed, etc.

 "(Signed) JOHN NAPIER."

This, beyond bazar reports, was our first notice of the great Sikh War,
which added the Punjab to Anglo-India. This news made me wild to go. A
carpet-soldier was a horror to me, and I was miserable that anything
should take place in India without my being in the thick of the fight.
So, after a visit to Sahkar Shikarpúr and the neighbourhood, I applied
myself with all my might to prepare for the Campaign. After sundry
small surveyings and levellings about Sahkar (Sukhur), I persuaded
Scott, greatly against the grain, to send in my resignation, and called
upon General James Simpson, who was supposed to be in his dotage, and
was qualifying for the Chief Command in the Crimea.

My application was refused. Happily for me, however, suddenly appeared
an order from Bengal to the purport that all we assistant-surveyors
must give sureties. This was enough for me. I wrote officially, saying
that no man would be bail for me, and was told to be off to my corps;
and on February 23rd, I marched with the 18th from Rohri.

Needless to repeat the sad story of our disappointment.[13] It was a
model army of thirteen thousand men, Europeans and natives, and under
"Old Charley" it would have walked into Multan as into a mutton-pie.
We had also heard that Náo Mall was wasting his two millions of gold,
and we were willing to save him the trouble. Merrily we trudged through
Sabzalcote and Khanpur, and we entered Baháwalpur, where we found the
heart-chilling order to retire and to march home, and consequently
we marched and returned to Rohri on April 2nd; and after a few days'
halt there, tired and miserable, we marched south, _viâ_ Khayrpur,
and, after seventeen marches, reached the old regimental quarters in
Mohammad Khan Ká Tándá, on the Fulayli river.[14]

But our physical trials and mental disappointments had soured our
tempers, and domestic disturbances began. Our colonel was one Henry
Corsellis, the son of a Bencoolen civilian, and neither his colour nor
his temper were in his favour. The wars began in a small matter.

I had been making doggrel rhymes on men's names at Mess, and knowing
something of the commanding officer's touchiness, passed him over.
Hereupon he took offence, and seeing well that I was "in for a row,"
I said, "Very well, Colonel, I will write your Epitaph," which was as
follows--

    "Here lieth the body of Colonel Corsellis;
    The rest of the fellow, I fancy, in hell is."

After which we went at it "hammer and tongs."

I shall say no more upon the subject; it is, perhaps, the part of my
life upon which my mind dwells with least satisfaction. In addition
to regimental troubles, there were not a few domestic disagreeables,
especially complications, with a young person named Núr Jan. To make
matters worse, after a dreadful wet night my mud bungalow came down
upon me, wounding my foot.[15] The only pleasant reminiscences of the
time are the days spent in the quarters of an old native friend[16]
on the banks of the beautiful Phuleli, seated upon a felt rug, spread
beneath a shadowy tamarind tree, with beds of sweet-smelling _rayhan_
(basil) around, and eyes looking over the broad smooth stream and the
gaily dressed groups gathered at the frequent ferries. I need hardly
say that these visits were paid in native costume, and so correct was
it, that I, on camel's back, frequently passed my Commanding Officer
in the Gateway of Fort Hyderabad, without his recognizing me. I had
also a host of good friends, especially Dr. J. J. Steinhaüser, who, in
after years, was to have accompanied me, but for an accident, to Lake
Tanganyika, and who afterwards became my collaborateur in the "Thousand
Nights and a Night."

The hot season of 1846 was unusually sickly, and the white regiments
at Karáchi, notably the 78th Highlanders, suffered terribly. Hyderabad
was also threatened, but escaped better than she deserved. In early
July I went into "sick quarters," and left my regiment in early
September, with a strong case. At Bombay my friend Henry J. Carter
assisted me, and enabled me to obtain two years' leave of absence to
the Neilgherries.

My _munshi_, Mohammed Husayn, had sailed for Persia, and I at once
engaged an Arab "coach." This was one Haji Jauhur, a young Abyssinian,
who, with his wife, of the same breed, spoke a curious Semitic dialect,
and was useful in conversational matters. Accompanied by my servants
and horse, I engaged the usual _pattymar_, the _Daryá Prashád_ ("Joy
of the Ocean"), and set sail for Goa on February 20th, 1847. In three
days' trip we landed in the once splendid capital, whose ruins I have
described in "Goa and the Blue Mountains" (1851). Dom Pestanha was
the Governor-General, Senhor Gomez Secretary to Government, and Major
St. Maurice chief aide-de-camp, and all treated me with uncommon
kindness. On my third visit to the place in 1876, all my old friends
and acquaintances had disappeared, whilst the other surroundings had
not changed in the least degree.

From Goa to Punány was a trip of five days, and from the little Malabar
Port, a terrible dull ride of ten days, halts and excursions included,
with the only excitement of being nearly drowned in a torrent,
placed me at Conoor, on the western edge of the "Blue Mountains." At
Ootacamund, the capital of the sanitarium, I found a friend, Lieutenant
Dyett, who offered to share with me his quarters. Poor fellow! he
suffered sadly in the Multan campaign, where most of the wounded came
to grief, some said owing to the salt in the silt, which made so many
operations fatal; after three amputations his arm was taken out of
the socket. I have noted the humours of "Ooty" in the book before
mentioned, and I made myself independent of society by beginning the
study of Telugu, in addition to Arabic.

But the sudden change from dry Scinde to the damp cold mountains
induced in me an attack of rheumatic ophthalmia, which began at the
end of May, 1847, and lasted nearly two years, and would not be shaken
off till I left India in March, 1849. In vain I tried diet and dark
rooms, change of place, blisters of sorts, and the whole contents of
the Pharmacopœia; it was a thorn in the flesh which determined to
make itself felt. At intervals I was able to work hard and to visit
the adjacent places, such as Kotagherry, the Orange Valley, and St.
Catherine's Falls.[17] Meanwhile I wrote letters to the _Bombay
Times_, and studied Telugu and Toda as well as Persian and Arabic, and
worked at the ethnology of Hylobius the Hillman, whose country showed
mysterious remains of civilized life, gold mining included.

"Ooty" may be a pleasant place, like a water-cure establishment to
an invalid in rude health; but to me nothing could be duller or more
disagreeable, and my two years of sick leave was consequently reduced
to four months. On September 1st, 1847, glad as a partridge-shooter,
I rode down the Ghát, and a dozen days later made Calicut, the old
capital of Camoens' "Jamorim," the Samriry Rajah. Here I was kindly
received, and sent to visit old Calicut and other sights, by Mr.
Collector Conolly, whom a Madras civilianship could not defend from
Fate. A short time after my departure he was set upon and barbarously
murdered in his own verandah, by a band of villain _Moplahs_,[18] a
bastard race got by Arab sires on Hindú dams. He was thus the third of
the gallant brothers who came to violent end.

This visit gave me a good opportunity of studying on the spot the most
remarkable scene of "The Lusiads," and it afterwards served me in good
stead. The _Seaforth_, Captain Biggs, carried me to Bombay, after
passing visits to Mangalore and Goa, in three days of ugly monsoon
weather. On October 15th I passed in Persian at the Town Hall, coming
out first of some thirty, with a compliment from the examiners; and
this was succeeded by something more substantial, in the shape of an
"honorarium" of Rs. 1000 from the Court of Directors.

This bright side of the medal had its reverse. A friend, an Irish
medico, volunteered to prescribe for me, and strongly recommended
frictions of citric ointment (calomel in disguise) round the orbit
of the eye, and my perseverance in his prescription developed ugly
symptoms of mercurialism, which eventually drove me from India.

My return to Scinde was in the s.s. _Dwárká_, the little vessel which,
in 1853, carried me from Jeddah to Suez, and which, in 1862, foundered
at the mouth of the Tapti or Surat river. She belonged to the Steam
Navigation Company, Bombay, and she had been brought safely round the
Cape by the skipper, a man named Tribe. That "climate" had demoralized
him. He set out from Karáchi without even an able seaman who knew the
Coast; the Captain and his Mate were drunk and incapable the whole way.
As we were about to enter the dangerous port, my fellow-passengers
insisted upon my taking Command as Senior Officer, and I ordered the
_Dwárká's_ head to be turned westward under the easiest steam, so that
next morning we landed safely.

My return to head-quarters of the Survey was a misfortune to my
comrades; my eyes forbade regular work, and my friends had to bear my
share of the burden. However, there were painless intervals when I
found myself able to work at Sindí under Munshi Nandú, and at Arabic
under Shaykh Háshim, a small half-Bedawin, who had been imported by me
from Bombay. Under him also I began the systematic study of practical
Moslem divinity, learned about a quarter of the Korán by heart, and
became a proficient at prayer. It was always my desire to visit Meccah
during the pilgrimage season; written descriptions by hearsay of its
rites and ceremonies were common enough in all languages, European as
well as native, but none satisfied me, because none seemed practically
to know anything about the matter. So to this preparation I devoted all
my time and energy; not forgetting a sympathetic study of Sufi-ism,
the _Gnosticism_ of Al-Islam,[19] which would raise me high above the
rank of a mere Moslem. I conscientiously went through the _chillá_,
or quarantine of fasting and other exercises, which, by-the-by,
proved rather over-exciting to the brain. At times, when overstrung,
I relieved my nerves with a course of Sikh religion and literature:
the good old priest solemnly initiated me in presence of the swinging
_Granth_, or Naná Shah's Scripture. As I had already been duly
invested by a strict Hindú with the _Janeo_, or "Brahminical thread,"
my experience of Eastern faiths became phenomenal, and I became a
Master-Sufi.

There was a scanty hope of surveying for weak eyes; so I attempted
to do my duty by long reports concerning the country and the people,
addressed to the Bombay Government, and these were duly printed in its
"Selections," which MSS. I have by me. To the local branch of the Royal
Asiatic Society, there were sent two papers, "Grammar of the Játakí
or Mulltani Language," and "Remarks on Dr. Dorn's Chrestomathy of the
Afghan Tongue."[20] Without hearing of Professor Pott, the _savant_
of Halle (and deceased lately), I convinced myself that the Játs of
Scinde, a race which extends from the Indus's mouth to the plains of
Tartary, give a clue to the origin of the Gypsies as well as to the
Getæ and Massagetæ (Great Getæ).

And this induced me to work with the Camel men, who belong to that
notorious race, and to bring out a grammar and vocabulary.

Indeed the more sluggish became my sight, the more active became my
brain, which could be satisfied only with twelve to fourteen hours a
day of alchemy, mnemonics, "Mantih," or Eastern logic, Arabic, Sindi,
and Panjábi. In the latter, official examinations were passed before
Captain Stack, the only Englishman in the country who had an inkling of
the subject.

The spring of 1848, that most eventful year in Europe, brought us two
most exciting items of intelligence. The proclamation of the French
Republic reached us on April 8th, and on May 2nd came the news of the
murder of Anderson and his companion by Náo Mall of Multan.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Sidenote: _His Little Autobiography._]

Richard wrote a little bit of autobiography about himself in 1852. In
case all may not have seen it, and many may not remember it, I here
insert it.


 RICHARD BURTON'S LITTLE AUTOBIOGRAPHY.


 "The only scrap of autobiography we have from Richard Burton's pen,"
 said Alfred Richard Bates, "was written very early in life, whilst in
 India, and dates thirty years ago. It is so characteristic it deserves
 to be perpetuated:--

 "I extract the following few lines from a well-known literary
 journal as a kind of excuse for venturing, unasked, upon a scrap of
 autobiography. As long as critics content themselves with bedevilling
 one's style, discovering that one's slang is 'vulgar,' and one's
 attempts at drollery 'failures,' one should, methinks, listen silently
 to their ideas of 'gentility,' and accept their definitions of wit,
 reserving one's own opinion upon such subjects. For the British
 author in this, our modern day, engages himself as clown in a great
 pantomime, to be knocked down, and pulled up, slashed, tickled, and
 buttered _à discrétion_ for the benefit of a manual-pleasantry-loving
 Public. So it would be weakness in him to complain of bruised back,
 scored elbows, and bumped head.

 "Besides, the treatment you receive varies prodigiously according to
 the temper and the manifold influences from without that operate upon
 the gentleman that operates upon you. For instance--

 "''Tis a _failure_ at being _funny_,' says surly Aristarchus, when,
 for some reason or other, he dislikes you or your publisher.

 "'It is a _smart_ book,' opines another, who has no particular reason
 to be your friend.

 "'Narrated with _freshness of thought_,' declares a third, who takes
 an honest pride in 'giving the devil his due.'

 "'Very _clever_,' exclaims the amiable critic, who for some reason or
 another likes you or your publisher.

 "'There is _wit_ and _humour_ in these pages,' says the gentleman who
 has some particular reason to be your friend.

 "'Evinces considerable _talent_.'

 "And--

 "'There is _genius_ in this book,' declare the dear critics who in any
 way identify themselves or their interests with you.

 "Now for the extract:--

 "'Mr. Burton was, it appears, stationed for several years in Sind
 with his regiment, and it is due to him to say that he has set a
 good example to his fellow-subalterns by pursuing so diligently his
 inquiries into the language, literature, and customs of the native
 population by which he was surrounded. We are far from accepting all
 his doctrines on questions of Eastern policy, especially as regards
 the treatment of natives; but we are sensible of the value of the
 additional evidence which he has brought forward on many important
 questions. For a young man, he seems to have adopted some very extreme
 opinions; and it is perhaps not too much to say, that the fault from
 which he has most to fear, not only as an author, but as an Indian
 officer, is a disregard of those well-established rules of moderation
 which no one can transgress with impunity.'

 "The greatest difficulty a raw writer on Indian subjects has to
 contend with, is a proper comprehension of the _ignorance crasse_
 which besets the mind of the home-reader and his oracle the critic.
 What a knowledge these lines _do_ show of the opportunity for study
 presented to the Anglo-Indian subaltern serving with his corps! Part
 of the time when I did duty with mine we were quartered at Ghárrá,
 a heap of bungalows surrounded by a wall of milk-bush; on a sandy
 flat, near a dirty village whose timorous inhabitants shunned us as
 walking pestilences. No amount of domiciliary visiting would have
 found a single Sindian book in the place, except the accounts of the
 native shopkeepers; and, to the best of my remembrance, there was not
 a soul who could make himself intelligible in the common medium of
 Indian intercourse--Hindostani. An ensign stationed at Dover Castle
 might write 'Ellis's Antiquities;' a _sous-lieutenant_ with his corps
 at Boulogne might compose the 'Legendaire de la Morinie,' but Ghárrá
 was sufficient to paralyse the readiest pen that ever coursed over
 foolscap paper.

 "Now, waiving, with all due modesty, the unmerited compliment of
 'good boy,' so gracefully tendered to me, I proceed to the judgment
 which follows it, my imminent peril of 'extreme opinions.' If there
 be any value in the 'additional evidence' I have 'brought forward on
 important questions,' the reader may, perchance, be curious to know
 how that evidence was collected. So, without further apology, I plunge
 into the subject.

 "After some years of careful training for the Church in the north
 and south of France, Florence, Naples, and the University of Pisa,
 I found myself one day walking the High Street, Oxford, with all
 the emotions which a Parisian exquisite of the first water would
 experience on awaking--at 3 p.m.--in 'Dandakaran's tangled wood.'

 "To be brief, my 'college career' was highly unsatisfactory. I began
 a 'reading man,' worked regularly twelve hours a day, failed in
 everything--chiefly, I flattered myself, because Latin hexameters
 and Greek iambics had not entered into the list of my studies--threw
 up the classics, and returned to old habits of fencing, boxing, and
 single-stick, handling the 'ribbons,' and sketching facetiously,
 though not wisely, the reverend features and figures of certain
 half-reformed monks, calling themselves 'fellows.' My reading also ran
 into bad courses--Erpenius, Zadkiel, Falconry, Cornelius Agrippa, and
 the Art of Pluck.

 "At last the Afghan War broke out. After begging the paternal
 authority in vain for the Austrian service, the Swiss Guards at
 Naples, and even the _Légion étrangère_, I determined to leave
 Oxford, _coûte qui coûte_. The testy old lady, Alma Mater, was easily
 persuaded to consign, for a time, to 'country nursing' the froward
 brat who showed not a whit of filial regard for her. So, after two
 years, I left Trinity, without a 'little go,' in a high dog-cart,--a
 companion in misfortune too-tooing lustily through a 'yard of tin,' as
 the dons started up from their game of bowls to witness the departure
 of the forbidden vehicle. Thus having thoroughly established the fact
 that I was fit for nothing but to be 'shot at for sixpence a day,' and
 as those Afghans (how I blessed their name!) had cut gaps in many a
 regiment, my father provided me with a commission in the Indian army,
 and started me as quickly as feasible for the 'Land of the Sun.'

 "So, my friends and fellow-soldiers, I may address you in the words
 of the witty thief--slightly altered from Gil Blas--'Blessings on the
 dainty pow of the old dame who turned me out of her house; for had she
 shown clemency I should now doubtless be a dyspeptic Don, instead of
 which I have the honour to be a lieutenant, your comrade.'

 "As the Bombay pilot sprang on board, twenty mouths agape over the
 gangway, all asked one and the same question. Alas! the answer was
 a sad one!--the Afghans had been defeated--the avenging army had
 retreated! The twenty mouths all ejaculated a something unfit for ears
 polite.

 "To a mind thoroughly impressed with the sentiment that

    'Man wants but little here below,
    Nor wants that little long,'

 the position of an Ensign in the Hon. E. I. Company's Service is a
 very satisfactory one. He has a horse or two, part of a house, a
 pleasant Mess, plenty of pale ale, as much shooting as he can manage,
 and an occasional invitation to a dance, where there are thirty-two
 cavaliers to three dames, or to a dinner-party when a chair
 unexpectedly falls vacant. But some are vain enough to want more, and
 of these fools was I.

 "In India two roads lead to preferment. The direct highway is
 'service;'--getting a flesh wound, cutting down a few of the enemy,
 and doing something eccentric, so that your name may creep into a
 despatch. The other path, study of the languages, is a rugged and
 tortuous one, still you have only to plod steadily along its length,
 and, sooner or later, you must come to a 'staff appointment.' _Bien
 entendu_, I suppose you to be destitute of or deficient in Interest
 whose magic influence sets you down at once a heaven-born Staff
 Officer, at the goal which others must toil to reach.

 "A dozen lessons from Professor Forbes and a native servant on board
 the _John Knox_ enabled me to land with _éclat_ as a griff, and to
 astonish the throng of palanquin bearers that jostled, pushed, and
 pulled me at the pier head, with the vivacity and nervousness of
 my phraseology. And I spent the first evening in company with one
 Dosabhai Sohrabji, a white-bearded Parsee, who, in his quality of
 language-master, had vernacularized the tongues of Hormuzd knows how
 many generations of Anglo-Indian subalterns.

 "The corps to which I was appointed was then in country quarters
 at Baroda, in the land of Gujerat; the journey was a long one, the
 difficulty of finding good instructors there was great, so was the
 expense, moreover fevers abounded; and, lastly, it was not so easy to
 obtain leave of absence to visit the Presidency, where candidates for
 the honours of language are examined. These were serious obstacles to
 success; they were surmounted, however, in six months, at the end of
 which time I found myself in the novel position of 'passed interpreter
 in Hindostani.'

 "My success--for I had distanced a field of eleven--encouraged me
 to a second attempt, and though I had to front all the difficulties
 over again, in four months my name appeared in orders as qualified to
 interpret in the Guzerattee tongue.

 "Meanwhile the Ameers of Sind had exchanged their palaces at
 Haydarábád for other quarters not quite so comfortable at Hazareebagh,
 and we were ordered up to the Indus for the pleasant purpose of
 acting police there. Knowing the Conqueror's chief want, a man who
 could speak a word of his pet conquest's vernacular dialect, I had
 not been a week at Karáchee before I found a language-master and a
 book. But the study was undertaken _invitâ minervâ_. We were quartered
 in tents, dust-storms howled over us daily, drills and brigade
 parades were never ending, and, as I was acting interpreter to my
 regiment, courts-martial of dreary length occupied the best part of
 my time. Besides, it was impossible to work in such an atmosphere of
 discontent. The seniors abhorred the barren desolate spot, with all
 its inglorious perils of fever, spleen, dysentery, and congestion of
 the brain, the juniors grumbled in sympathy, and the Staff officers,
 ordered up to rejoin the corps--it was on field service--complained
 bitterly of having to quit their comfortable appointments in more
 favoured lands without even a campaign in prospect. So when, a month
 or two after landing in the country, we were transferred from
 Karáchee to Ghárrá--purgatory to the other locale--I threw aside Sindí
 for Maharattee, hoping, by dint of reiterated examinations, to escape
 the place of torment as soon as possible. It was very like studying
 Russian in an English country-town; however, with the assistance of
 Molesworth's excellent dictionary, and the regimental _pundit_, or
 schoolmaster, I gained some knowledge of the dialect, and proved
 myself duly qualified in it at Bombay. At the same time a brother
 subaltern and I had jointly leased a Persian _moonshee_, one Mirza
 Mohammed Hosayn, of Shiraz. Poor fellow, after passing through the
 fires of Sind unscathed, he returned to his delightful land for a
 few weeks, to die there!--and we laid the foundation of a lengthened
 course of reading in that most elegant of Oriental languages.

 "Now it is a known fact that a good Staff appointment has the general
 effect of doing away with one's bad opinion of any place whatever. So
 when, by the kindness of a friend whose name _his_ modesty prevents
 my mentioning, the Governor of Sind was persuaded to give me the
 temporary appointment of Assistant in the Survey, I began to look with
 interest upon the desolation around me. The country was a new one, so
 was its population, so was their language. After reading all the works
 published upon the subject, I felt convinced that none but Mr. Crow
 and Captain J. MacMurdo had dipped beneath the superficies of things.
 My new duties compelled me to spend the cold season in wandering over
 the districts, levelling the beds of canals, and making preparatory
 sketches for a grand survey. I was thrown so entirely amongst the
 people as to depend upon them for society, and the 'dignity,' not
 to mention the increased allowances of a Staff officer, enabled me
 to collect a fair stock of books, and to gather around me those who
 could make them of any use. So, after the first year, when I had
 Persian at my fingers'-ends, sufficient Arabic to read, write, and
 converse fluently, and a superficial knowledge of that dialect of
 Punjaubee which is spoken in the wilder parts of the province, I began
 the systematic study of the Sindian people, their mariners and their
 tongue.

 "The first difficulty was to pass for an Oriental, and this was as
 necessary as it was difficult. The European official in India seldom,
 if ever, sees anything in its real light, so dense is the veil which
 the fearfulness, the duplicity, the prejudice, and the superstitions
 of the natives hang before his eyes. And the white man lives a life
 so distinct from the black, that hundreds of the former serve through
 what they call their 'term of exile' without once being present at
 a circumcision feast, a wedding, or a funeral. More especially the
 present generation, whom the habit and the means of taking furloughs,
 the increased facility for enjoying ladies' society, and, if truth be
 spoken, a greater regard for appearances, if not a stricter code of
 morality, estrange from their dusky fellow-subjects every day more and
 more. After trying several characters, the easiest to be assumed was,
 I found, that of a half-Arab, half-Iranian, such as may be met with in
 thousands along the northern shore of the Persian Gulf. The Sindians
 would have detected in a moment the difference between my articulation
 and their own, had I attempted to speak their vernacular dialect,
 but they attributed the accent to my strange country, as naturally
 as a home-bred Englishman would account for the bad pronunciation
 of a foreigner calling himself partly Spanish, partly Portuguese.
 Besides, I knew the countries along the Gulf by heart from books, I
 had a fair knowledge of the Shiah form of worship prevalent in Persia,
 and my poor _moonshee_ was generally at hand to support me in times
 of difficulty, so that the danger of being detected--even by a 'real
 Simon Pure'--was a very inconsiderable one.

 "With hair falling upon his shoulders, a long beard, face and hands,
 arms and feet, stained with a thin coat of henna, Mirza Abdullah of
 Bushire--your humble servant--set out upon many and many a trip. He
 was a _bazzaz_, a vendor of fine linen, calicoes, and muslins--such
 chapmen are sometimes admitted to display their wares, even in the
 sacred harem, by 'fast' and fashionable dames--and he had a little
 pack of _bijouterie_ and _virtù_ reserved for emergencies. It was
 only, however, when absolutely necessary that he displayed his
 stock-in-trade; generally, he contented himself with alluding to it on
 all possible occasions, boasting largely of his traffic, and asking a
 thousand questions concerning the state of the market. Thus he could
 walk into most men's houses, quite without ceremony; even if the
 master dreamed of kicking him out, the mistress was sure to oppose
 such measure with might and main. He secured numberless invitations,
 was proposed to by several papas, and won, or had to think he won, a
 few hearts; for he came as a rich man and he stayed with dignity, and
 he departed exacting all the honours. When wending his ways he usually
 urged a return of visit in the morning, but he was seldom to be found
 at the caravanserai he specified--was Mirza Abdullah the Bushiri.

 "The timid villagers collected in crowds to see the rich merchant in
 Oriental dress, riding spear in hand, and pistols in holsters, towards
 the little encampment pitched near their settlements. But regularly
 every evening on the line of march the Mirza issued from his tent and
 wandered amongst them, collecting much information and dealing out
 more concerning an ideal master--the Feringhee supposed to be sitting
 in State amongst the _moonshees_, the Scribes, the servants, the
 wheels, the chains, the telescopes, and the other magical implements
 in which the camp abounded. When travelling, the Mirza became this
 mysterious person's factotum, and often had he to answer the question
 how much his perquisites and illicit gains amounted to in the course
 of the year.

 "When the Mirza arrived at a strange town, his first step was to
 secure a house in or near the bazar, for the purpose of evening
 _conversazioni_. Now and then he rented a shop, and furnished it
 with clammy dates, viscid molasses, tobacco, ginger, rancid oil, and
 strong-smelling sweetmeats; and wonderful tales Fame told about these
 establishments. Yet somehow or other, though they were more crowded
 than a first-rate milliner's rooms in town, they throve not in a
 pecuniary point of view; the cause of which was, I believe, that the
 polite Mirza was in the habit of giving the heaviest possible weight
 for their money to all the ladies, particularly the pretty ones, that
 honoured him by patronizing his concern.

 "Sometimes the Mirza passed the evening in a mosque listening to the
 ragged students who, stretched at full length with their stomachs on
 the dusty floor, and their arms supporting their heads, mumbled out
 Arabic from the thumbed, soiled, and tattered pages of theology upon
 which a dim oil light shed its scanty ray, or he sat debating the
 niceties of faith with the long-bearded, shaven-pated, blear-eyed,
 and stolid-faced _genus loci_, the _Mullah_. At other times, when
 in merrier mood, he entered uninvited the first door whence issued
 the sounds of music and the dance;--a clean turban and a polite bow
 are the best 'tickets for soup' the East knows. Or he played chess
 with some native friend, or he consorted with the hemp-drinkers and
 opium-eaters in the _estaminets_, or he visited the Mrs. Gadabouts and
 Go-betweens who make matches amongst the Faithful, and gathered from
 them a precious budget of private history and domestic scandal.

 "What scenes he saw! what adventures he went through! But who would
 believe, even if he ventured to detail them?[21]

 "The Mirza's favourite school for study was the house of an elderly
 matron on the banks of the Fulailee River, about a mile from the
 Fort of Haydarábád. Khanum Jan had been a beauty in her youth, and
 the tender passion had been hard upon her--at least judging from the
 fact that she had fled her home, her husband, and her native town,
 Candahar, in company with Mohammed Bakhsh, a purblind old tailor, the
 object of her warmest affections.

 "'Ah, he is a regular old hyæna now,' would the Joan exclaim in her
 outlandish Persian, pointing to the venerable Darby as he sat in the
 cool shade, nodding his head and winking his eyes over a pair of
 pantaloons which took him a month to sew, 'but you should have seen
 him fifteen years ago, what a wonderful youth he was!'

 "The knowledge of one mind is that of a million--after a fashion. I
 addressed myself particularly to that of 'Darby;' and many an hour
 of tough thought it took me before I had mastered its truly Oriental
 peculiarities, its regular irregularities of deduction, and its
 strange monotonous one-idea'dness.

 "Khanum Jan's house was a mud edifice, occupying one side of a
 square formed by tall, thin, crumbling mud walls. The respectable
 matron's peculiar vanity was to lend a helping hand in all manner
 of _affaires du cœur_. So it often happened that Mirza Abdullah was
 turned out of the house to pass a few hours in the garden. There he
 sat upon his felt rug spread beneath a shadowy tamarind, with beds of
 sweet-smelling basil around him, his eyes roving over the broad river
 that coursed rapidly between its wooded banks and the groups gathered
 at the frequent ferries, whilst the soft strains of mysterious,
 philosophical, transcendental Hafiz were sounded in his ears by the
 other Mirza, his companion; Mohammed Hosayn--peace be upon him!

 "Of all economical studies this course was the cheapest. For tobacco
 daily, for frequent draughts of milk, for hemp occasionally, for
 four months' lectures from Mohammed Bakhsh, and for sundry other
 little indulgences, the Mirza paid, it is calculated, the sum of six
 shillings. When he left Haydarábád, he gave a silver talisman to the
 dame, and a cloth coat to her protector: long may they live to wear
 them!"

       *       *       *       *       *

 "Thus it was I formed my estimate of the native character. I am as
 ready to reform it when a man of more extensive experience and greater
 knowledge of the subject will kindly show me how far it transgresses
 the well-established limits of moderation. As yet I hold, by way of
 general rule, that the Eastern mind--I talk of the nations known to me
 by personal experience--is always in extremes; that it ignores what
 is meant by 'golden mean,' and that it delights to range in flights
 limited only by the _ne plus ultra_ of Nature herself. Under which
 conviction I am open to correction.

 "RICHARD F. BURTON."

[Sidenote: _His Books on India._]

Richard's works on India are--A grammar of the Játakí, or Belochi
dialect. Here I would remark he mixed with the Játs of Sind, a race
extending from the mouth of the Indus to the plains of Tartary, and
who _he_ believed to be the origin and head of the numerous tribes
of Oriental gypsies, and he worked with the Camel men to assimilate
himself with them. The next work was a grammar of the Mooltanee
language, "Notes on the Pushtû, or Afghan Dialect," Reports to Bombay,
(1) "General Notes on Sind," (2) "Notes on the Population of Sind."

These were all _preparatory_ to becoming an author, and were brought
out in 1849 by the Royal Asiatic Society, Bombay branch, and the
Government Records. I have a single copy of each, but they must be out
of print; meantime he prepared "Goa and the Blue Mountains," 1 vol.;
"Scinde, or the Unhappy Valley," 2 vols.; and "Sindh and the Races that
inhabit the Valley of the Indus," 1 vol.; but these did not appear
until 1851.

"Scinde, or the Unhappy Valley," is, I think, the freshest, most witty
and spirited thing I ever read. He had not been to war with the critics
and Mrs. Grundy then, and there is all the boy's fun and fire in it.
"Falconry in the Valley of the Indus" was produced in 1852, and is
worthy of any sportsman's attention. That is Van Voorst's, now Gurney
and Jackson, whom Richard used to say was the only honest publisher he
ever met. It is _not_ out of print. In 1870 appeared "Vikram and the
Vampire," 1 vol. These tales are thoroughly witty, and make those laugh
heartily who have lived in the East, but it was a great amusement to
Richard and me, when the publisher, having accepted "Vikram," which
is full of "chaff," said to me with a long face, "My eldest boy and I
read over some of the tales last night, and we were so disappointed we
could not laugh." I could not help saying drily, "No, I dare say you
couldn't."

The last book on India was "Sind Revisited," 2 vols., 1877. It was
written in maturer years and after hard experience of the world. It
may be more valuable, but to my mind has not the sparkle of twenty-six
years earlier. All these eight or ten books, including my own
"A.E.I."--"Arabia, Egypt, and India"--brought out in 1879, I boiled
down into Christmas books for boys. I took my manuscript (enough for
three Christmas books) to David Bogue, King William Street, Strand,
and went abroad, and the next thing I heard was, that David Bogue was
bankrupt, and my manuscript had disappeared.

I give a few pages in the appendixes out of his first book on Scinde as
a sample. One describes his visit to the village of a Scindian chief,
a perfect picture of an Oriental visit; the other is a description of
a cock-fight. After his transfer to the Goanese Church, his bungalow
was nicknamed the "Inquisition," and there he buried Bhujang, when his
favourite game-cock departed this life, and people declared it was
a baby's grave. For all that my husband _said_ of India, he talked
exactly as Mr. Rudyard Kipling writes, and when I read him, I can
hear Richard talking; hence I knew how true and to the point are his
writings. Also I think Mr. Kipling must have taken his character of
"Strickland" from my husband, who mixed with, and knew all about, the
natives and their customs, as Strickland did.

During those first seven years in India, Richard passed in Hindostani,
Guzaratee, Persian, Maharattee, Sindhee, Punjaubee, Arabic, Telugu,
Pushtû (Afghan tongue), with Turkish and Armenian. In 1844 he went to
Scinde with the 18th Native Infantry, and Colonel Walter Scott put him
on Sir Charles Napier's staff, who soon found out what he was worth,
and turned his merits to account, but he accompanied his regiment to
Mooltan to attack the Sikhs. He became much attached to his Chief; they
quite understood each other, and remained together for five years.
Richard's training was of the uncommon sort, and glorious as it was,
dangerous as it was, and romantic as it will ever be to posterity, he
did not get from dense and narrow-minded Governments those rewards
which men who risk their lives deserve, and which would have been
given to the man who took care of "number one," and who, with average
stupidity, worked on red-tape lines. He was sent out amongst the wild
tribes of the hills and plains to collect information for Sir Charles.
He did not go as a British officer or Commissioner, because he knew he
would see nothing but what the natives chose him to see; he let down a
curtain between himself and Civilization, and a tattered, dirty-looking
dervish would wander on foot, lodge in mosques, where he was venerated
as a saintly man, mix with the strangest company, join the Beloch and
the Brahui tribes (Indo-Scythians), about whom there was nothing then
known. Sometimes he appeared in the towns; as a merchant he opened a
shop, sold stuffs or sweetmeats in the bazar. Sometimes he worked with
the men in native dress, "Játs" and Camel men, at levelling canals.

When Richard was in India he at one time got rather tired of the daily
Mess, and living with men, and he thought he should like to learn
the manners, customs, and habits of monkeys, so he collected forty
monkeys of all kinds of ages, races, species, and he lived with them,
and he used to call them by different offices. He had his doctor, his
chaplain, his secretary, his aide-de-camp, his agent, and one tiny one,
a very pretty, small, silky-looking monkey, he used to call his wife,
and put pearls in her ears. His great amusement was to keep a kind of
refectory for them, where they all sat down on chairs at meals, and the
servants waited on them, and each had its bowl and plate, with the food
and drinks proper for them. He sat at the head of the table, and the
pretty little monkey sat by him in a high baby's chair, with a little
bar before it. He had a little whip on the table, with which he used
to keep them in order when they had bad manners, which did sometimes
occur, as they frequently used to get jealous of the little monkey, and
try to claw her. He did this for the sake of doing what Mr. Garner is
now doing, that of ascertaining and studying the language of monkeys,
so that he used regularly to talk to them, and pronounce their sounds
afterwards, till he and the monkeys at last got quite to understand
each other. He obtained as many as sixty words, I think twenty more
than Mr. Garner--that is, leading words--and he wrote them down and
formed a vocabulary, meaning to pursue his studies at some future time.
Mr. Garner has now the advantage of phonographs, and all sorts of
appliances. Had Richard been alive, he could have helped him greatly.
Unfortunately his monkey vocabulary was burnt in Grindlay's fire. He
also writes--but this was with his regiment--

 [Sidenote: _Burying a Sányasi._]

 "Amongst other remarkable experiments made by me, a Sányasi, whom I
 knew, talked to me about their manner of burying themselves alive.
 I said I would not believe it unless I saw it. The native therefore
 told me that he would prove it, by letting me try it; but that he
 should require three days for preparation, and hoped for a reward.
 Accordingly for three days he made his preparations by swallowing
 immense draughts of milk. I refused to put him in a coffin, or to
 bury him in the earth, lest he should die; but he lay down in a
 hammock, rolled his tongue up in his throat, and appeared to be dead.
 My brother officers and I then slung him up to the ceiling by four
 large hooks and ropes, lying comfortably in the hammock, and, to avoid
 trickery, one of us was always on guard day and night, each taking two
 hours' watch at a time. After three weeks we began to get frightened,
 because if the man died there would be such a scandal. So we lowered
 him down, and tried to awake him. We opened his mouth and tried to
 unroll his tongue into its natural position. He then, after some time,
 woke perfectly well. We gave him food, paid him a handsome reward, and
 he went away quite delighted, offering to do it for _three months_, if
 it pleased us."

Richard would be in a dozen different capacities on his travels,
but when he returned, he was rich with news and information for Sir
Charles, for he arrived at secrets quite out of the reach of the
British Army. He knew all that the natives knew, which was more
than British officers and surveyors did. General MacMurdo consulted
his journals and Survey books, which were highly praised by the
Surveyor-General. He was frequently in the presence of and speaking
before his own Colonel without his having the slightest idea that it
was Richard.

Sir Charles Napier liked decision; he hated a man who had not an
answer ready for him. For instance, a young man would go and ask him
for an appointment. Sir Charles would say, "What do you want?" The
youth of firm mind would answer, "An Adjutancy, Sir." "All right,"
said Sir Charles, and he probably got it. But "Anything you please,
Sir Charles," would be sure to be contemptuously dismissed. On
returning from his native researches, Sir Charles would ask Richard
such questions as: "Is it true that native high-class landowners, who
monopolize the fiefs about the heads of the canals, neglect to clear
out the tails, and allow Government ground and the peasants' fields to
lie barren for want of water?"

"Perfectly true, Sir."

"What would be my best course then?"

"Simply to confiscate the whole or part of those estates, Sir."

"H'm! You don't mince matters, Burton."

He once asked Richard how many bricks there were in a newly built
bridge (an impossible question, such as are put to lads whom the
examiner intends to pluck). Richard, knowing his foible, answered,
"229,010, Sir Charles." He turned away and smiled. Another time he
ordered a review on a grand scale to impress certain Chiefs--

"Lieutenant Burton, be pleased to inform these gentlemen that I propose
to form these men in line, then to break into échelon by the right,
and to form square on the centre battalion," and so on, for about
five minutes in military technical terms, for which there were no
equivalents in these men's dialects.

"Yes, Sir," said Richard, saluting.

Turning to the Chiefs, Richard said, "Oh, Chiefs! our Great Man is
going to show you the way we fight, and you must be attentive to the
rules." He then touched his cap to Sir Charles.

"Have you explained all?" he asked.

"Everything, Sir," answered Richard.

"A most concentrated language that must be," said Sir Charles, riding
off with his nose in the air.

[Sidenote: _His Indian Career practically ends._]

After seven years of this kind of life, overwork, overstudy, combined
with the hot season, and the march up the Indus Valley, told on
Richard's health, and at the end of the campaign he was attacked by
severe ophthalmia, the result of mental and physical fatigue, and he
was ordered to take a short rest. He utilized that leave in going to
Goa, and especially to Old Goa, where, as he said himself, he made a
pilgrimage to the tomb of St. Francis Xavier, and explored the scenes
of the Inquisition. At last news reached him that another campaign
was imminent in Mooltan, that Sir Charles Napier would take command;
Colonel Scott and a host of friends were ordered up. He writes as
follows:--

 "I applied in almost suppliant terms to accompany the force as
 interpreter. I had passed examinations in six native languages,
 besides studying others, Multani included, and yet General Auchmuty's
 secretary wrote to me that this could not be, as he had chosen for the
 post Lieutenant X. Y. Z., who had passed in Hindustani.

 "This last misfortune broke my heart. I had been seven years in India,
 working like a horse, volunteering for every bit of service, and
 qualifying myself for all contingencies. Rheumatic ophthalmia, which
 had almost left me when in hopes of marching northward, came on with
 redoubled force, and no longer had I any hope of curing it except
 by a change to Europe. Sick, sorry, and almost in tears of rage, I
 bade adieu to my friends and comrades in Sind. At Bombay there was no
 difficulty in passing the Medical Board, and I embarked at Bombay for
 a passage round the Cape, as the Austral winter was approaching, in a
 sixty-year-old teak-built craft, the brig _Eliza_, Captain Cory.

 "My career in India had been in my eyes a failure, and by no fault of
 my own; the dwarfish demon called 'Interest' had fought against me,
 and as usual had won the fight."

[1] Those curious upon the subject will consult my "Book of the Sword,"
vol. i. p. 163. Remember, young swordsman, these people never give
point and never parry it.

[2] The word is a Portuguese "corruption" of _mausim_, in Arabia a
season, and _per excellentiam_ the sailing season. Thence it was
transferred to the dry season, when the north-eastern trade-winds blow
upon the Indian Ocean. But popular use transferred the name to the
south-western rainy winds, which last from June to September.

[3] On June 26th, 1843, "Ensign Burton" appeared in orders as
"Regimental Interpreter."

[4] See "Humanism _versus_ Theism, or Solipsism (Egoism)--Atheism,"
letters by Robert Lewin, M.D. London: Freethought Publishing Company,
1887.

[5] "Scinde, or the Unhappy Valley," 2 vols.; and "Sind Revisited,"
1877.

[6] "Scinde," chapter iv.

[7] "Scinde," vol. i. p. 252.

[8] Ibid., p. 89.

[9] It was brought out in 1852, by my friend John Van Voorst, of
Paternoster Row, who, after a long and honourable career, retired at
the ripe age of eighty-four to take well-merited rest. He has proved
himself to me a phœnix amongst publishers. "Half profits are no profits
to the author," is the common saying, and yet for the last thirty years
I have continually received from him small sums which represented my
gains. Oh that all were so scrupulous!

[10] "Falconry in the Valley of the Indus," pp. 100, 101.

[11] Vol. x. p. 205, _et seqq._

[12] See, in vol. i. p. 53 of "Sind Revisited," Sir Charles's outspoken
opinion.

[13] "Scinde," vol. ii. p. 258, etc.

[14] "Sind Revisited," vol. i. p. 256, shows how I found my old home in
1876.

[15] "Scinde," vol. i. p. 151.

[16] "Falconry," pp. 103-105.

[17] "Goa," etc., p. 355.

[18] See Ibid., p. 339.

[19] This stuck to him off and on all his life.--I. B.

[20] Written with the assistance of a fine old Afghan _mullah_, Akhund
Burhan al-Din.

[21] This was the manner in which he excelled in Eastern life and
knowledge, and knew more than all your learned Orientalists and men
high in office. I wish he would have written a personal novel about
these scenes, but I never could induce him to do so. First he thought
that they would never suit Mrs. Grundy, and though he could retain a
crowd of friends around him till the small hours of the morning to
listen to his delightful experiences, in print he never could be got to
talk about himself.--I. B.




CHAPTER VIII.

ON RETURN FROM INDIA.


[Illustration: LUNGE AND CUT IN CARTE (INSIDE).]

When Richard came home, he first ran down full of joy to visit all
his relations and friends. He then went to Oxford with half a mind to
take his degree. He was between twenty-eight and twenty-nine years of
age. In 1850 he went back to France, and devoted himself to fencing.
To this day "the Burton _une-deux_" and notably the _manchette_ (the
upward slash, disabling the swordarm, and saving life in affairs of
honour), earned him his _brevet de pointe_ for the excellence of his
swordsmanship, and he became a _Maître d'armes_. Indeed, as horseman,
swordsman, and marksman, no soldier of his day surpassed him, and very
few equalled him. His family, that is his father, mother and sister,
with her two children--her husband being in India, and his brother
Edward in the 37th Regiment (Queen's)--went to Boulogne, like all the
rest of us, for change, quiet, and economy, and there he joined them.

[Sidenote: _Boulogne._]

_We_ did exactly the same, the object being to put me and my sisters
into the Sacré Cœur to learn French. Boulogne, in those days, was a
very different town to what it is now. It was "the home of the stranger
who had done something wrong." The natives were of the usual merchant,
or rich _bourgeoisie_ class; there was a sprinkling of local _noblesse_
in the Haute-Ville; the gem of the natives in the lower class were the
Poissardes, who hold themselves entirely distinct from the town, are
a cross between Spanish and Flemish, and in _those_ days were headed
by a handsome "Queen" called Caroline, long since dead. The English
colony was very large. The _créme_, who did not mix with the general
"smart people," were the Seymours, Dundases, Chichesters, Jerninghams,
Bedingfelds, Cliffords, Molyneux-Seels, and ourselves. Maybe I have
forgotten many others.

The rest of the colony, instead of living like the colonies that
Richard describes at Tours, used to walk a great deal up and down the
Grand Rue, which was the fashionable lounge, the Rue de l'Écu, the
Quai, and the Pier. The men were handsome and smart, and beautifully
dressed, with generally an immense amount of white shirt-front, as in
the Park, and the girls were pretty and well dressed. So were the young
married women in those days. The Établissement was a sort of Casino,
where everybody passed their evening, except the _créme;_ they had
music, dancing, cards, old ladies knitting, and refreshments, and it
was the hotbed, like a club, of all the gossip and flirtation, with an
occasional roaring scandal.

The hardship of _my_ life and that of my sisters, was, that our mother
would never let us set foot inside of it, which was naturally the
only thing we longed to do, so that we had awfully dull, slow lives.
Here Richard brought out his "Goa," his two books on Scinde, and his
"Falconry," and prepared a book that came out in 1853, "A Complete
System of Bayonet Exercise," of which, I regret to say, the only copy
I possessed has been lost with the manuscript at David Bogue's. People
were _now_ beginning to say that "Burton was an awfully clever young
fellow, a man of great mark, in fact the coming man." Whilst I am
speaking of that system of bayonet exercise, I may say that it was, as
all he did, undervalued _at the time_, but still it has long been the
one used by the Horseguards. Colonel Sykes, who was Richard's friend,
sent for him, and sharply rebuked him with printing a book that would
do far more harm than good.

[Sidenote: _Bayonet Exercise._]

It was thought that bayonet exercise would make the men unsteady in the
ranks. The importance of bayonet exercise was recognized everywhere
_except_ in England. Richard detected our weak point in military
system, and he knew that it would be the British soldier's forte when
properly used. Richard was not "in the ring," but when that was proved,
his pamphlet was taken down from the dusty pigeon-hole, and a few
modifications--not improvements--were added, so as to enable a just and
enlightened War Office, not to send him a word of thanks, a compliment,
an expression of official recognition, which was all his soul craved
for, but a huge letter from the Treasury, with a seal the size of a
baby's fist, with a gracious permission to draw upon the Treasury for
the sum of one shilling.

Richard always appreciated humour. He went to the War Office at
once, was sent to half a dozen different rooms, and, to the intense
astonishment of all the clerks, after three-quarters of an hour's very
hard work he drew his shilling, and instead of framing it, he gave it
to the first hungry beggar that he saw as soon as he came out of the
War Office.

"Lord love yer, sir," said the beggar.

"No, my man, I don't exactly expect Him to do _that_. But I dare say
you want a drink?"

He did not lead the life that was led by the general colony at
Boulogne. He had a little set of men friends, knew some of the French,
had a great many flirtations, one very serious one. He passed his days
in literature and fencing: at home he was most domestic; his devotion
to his parents, especially to his sick mother, was beautiful.

My sisters and I were kept at French all day, music and other studies,
but were frequently turned into the Ramparts, which would give one a
mile's walk around, to do our reading; then we had a turn down the
Grande Rue, the Rue de l'Écu, the Quai, and the Pier at the fashionable
hour, for a treat, or else we were taken a long country walk, or a long
row up the river Liane in the summer time, where we occasionally saw a
Guingette; but we were religiously marched home at half-past eight to
supper and bed, unless one of the _créme_ gave a dull tea-party.

[Sidenote: _Meets me at Boulogne at School._]

One day, when we were on the Ramparts, the vision of my awakening brain
came towards us. He was five feet eleven inches in height, very broad,
thin, and muscular;[1] he had very dark hair, black, clearly defined,
sagacious eyebrows, a brown weather-beaten complexion, straight Arab
features, a determined-looking mouth and chin, nearly covered by an
enormous black moustache. I have since heard a clever friend say "that
he had the brow of a God, the jaw of a Devil." But the most remarkable
part of his appearance was, two large black flashing eyes with long
lashes, that pierced you through and through. He had a fierce, proud,
melancholy expression, and when he smiled, he smiled as though it hurt
him, and looked with impatient contempt at things generally. He was
dressed in a black, short, shaggy coat, and shouldered a short thick
stick as if he was on guard.

He looked at me as though he read me through and through in a moment,
and started a little. I was completely magnetized, and when we had got
a little distance away I turned to my sister, and whispered to her,
"That man will marry _me_." The next day he was there again, and he
followed us, and chalked up, "May I speak to you?" leaving the chalk
on the wall, so I took up the chalk and wrote back, "No, mother will
be angry;" and mother found it,--and _was_ angry; and after that we
were stricter prisoners than ever. However, "destiny is stronger than
custom." A mother and a pretty daughter came to Boulogne, who happened
to be a cousin of my father's; they joined the majority in the Society
sense, and one day we were allowed to walk on the Ramparts with them.
There I met Richard, who--agony!--was flirting with the daughter; we
were formally introduced, and the name made me start. I will say why
later.

I did not try to attract his attention; but whenever he came to the
usual promenade I would invent any excuse that came, to take another
turn to watch him, if he was not looking. If I could catch the sound
of his deep voice, it seemed to me so soft and sweet, that I remained
spell-bound, as when I hear gypsy-music. I never lost an opportunity
of seeing him, when I could not be seen, and as I used to turn red and
pale, hot and cold, dizzy and faint, sick and trembling, and my knees
used to nearly give way under me, my mother sent for the doctor, to
complain that my digestion was out of order, and that I got migraines
in the street, and he prescribed me a pill which I put in the fire. All
girls will sympathize with me. I was struck with the shaft of Destiny,
but I had no hopes (being nothing but an ugly schoolgirl) of taking
the wind out of the sails of the dashing creature, with whom he was
carrying on a very serious flirtation.

In early days Richard had got into a rather strong flirtation with
a very handsome and very fast girl, who had a vulgar, middle-class
sort of mother. One day he was rather alarmed at getting a polite
but somewhat imperious note from the mother, asking him to call upon
her. He obeyed, but he took with him his friend Dr. Steinhaüser, a
charming man, who looked as if his face was carved out of wood. After
the preliminaries of a rather formal reception, in a very prim-looking
drawing-room, the lady began, looking severely at him, "I sent for you,
Captain Burton, because I think it my dooty to ask what your intentions
are, with regard to my daughter?" Richard put on his most infantile
face of perplexity as he said, "Your dooty, madam--" and, then, as if
he was trying to recall things, and after a while suddenly seizing
the facts of the case, he got up and said, "Alas! madam, strictly
dishonourable," and shaking his head as if he was going to burst into
tears at his own iniquities, "I regret to say, strictly dishonourable;"
and bowed himself out with Dr. Steinhaüser, who never moved a muscle
of his face. Richard had never done the young lady a scrap of harm,
beyond talking to her a little more than the others, because she was
so "awfully jolly," but the next time he met her he said, "Look here,
young woman, if I talk to you, you must arrange that I do not have
'mamma's dooty' flung at my head any more." "The old fool!" said the
girl, "how like her!"

The only luxury I indulged in was a short but heartfelt prayer for
him every morning. I read all his books, and was seriously struck as
before by the name when I came to the Játs in Scinde--but this I will
explain later on. My cousin asked him to write something for me, which
I used to wear next to my heart. One night an exception was made to
our dull rule of life. My cousins gave a tea-party and dance, and "the
great majority" flocked in, and there was Richard like a star amongst
rushlights. That was a Night of nights; he waltzed with me once, and
spoke to me several times, and I kept my sash where he put his arm
round my waist to waltz, and my gloves. I never wore them again. I did
not know it then, but the "little cherub who sits up aloft" is not
_only_ occupied in taking care of poor Jack, for I came in also for a
share of it.


MECCA.


[Sidenote: _His Famous Journey to Mecca and El Medinah._]

Whilst leading this sort of life, on a long furlough, Richard
determined to carry out a project he had long had in his head, to study
thoroughly the "inner life of the Moslem." He had long felt within
himself the qualifications, both mental and physical, which are needed
for the exploration of dangerous regions, impossible of access, and
of disguises difficult to sustain. His career as a dervish in Scinde
greatly helped him. His mind was both practical and imaginative; he set
himself to imagine and note down every contingency that _might_ arise,
and one by one he studied each separate thing until he was master
of it. As a small sample he apprenticed himself to a blacksmith; he
learned to make horseshoes and shoe his horse.

To accomplish a journey to Mecca and Medinah quite safely in those
days (1853) was almost an impossibility, for the discovery that he was
_not_ a Mussulman would have been avenged by a hundred Khanjars. It
meant living with his life in his hand, and amongst the strangest and
wildest companions, adopting their unfamiliar manners, and living for
perhaps nine months in the hottest and most unhealthy climate, upon
repulsive food, complete and absolute isolation from all that makes
life tolerable, from all civilization, from all his natural habits--the
brain at high tension, never to depart from the _rôle_ he had adopted.

He obtained a year's leave on purpose, and left London as a Persian,
for, during the time, he had to assume and sustain _several_ Oriental
characters. Captain Grindlay, who was in the secret, travelled to
Southampton and Alexandria as his English interpreter. John Thurburn,
who, curiously to say, was also the host of Burckhardt till he died,
and was buried in Cairo, received Richard at Alexandria. He and his
son-in-law, John Larking, of the Firs, Lee, Kent, were the only
persons throughout the perilous expedition who knew of his secret. He
went to Cairo as a dervish, and he lived there as a native, till (as
he told me) he actually believed himself to be what he represented
himself to be, and then he felt he was safe, and he practised on his
own country-people the finding out that he was unrecognizable. He had
wished to cross the whole length of Arabia, but the Russian War had
caused disturbances, which might have delayed him over his year's leave.

In those days it was almost impossible to visit the Holy City as one
of the Faithful. First, there was the pilgrim-ship to embark on; then
there were long desert caravan marches, with their privations and their
dangers; then there was the holy shrine, the Ka'abah, to be visited,
and all the ceremonies to be gone through, like a Roman Catholic Holy
Week at Rome. Burckhardt, the Swiss traveller, did get in, but he
never could see the Ka'abah, and he confessed afterwards that he was
so nervous that he was unable to take notes, and unable to write or
sketch for fear of being detected, whereas Richard was sketching and
writing in his white _burnous_ the whole time he was prostrating and
kissing the holy Stone. He did not go in mockery, but reverentially.
He had brought his brain to believe himself one of them. Europeans,
converted Moslems, have of late gone there, but they have been received
with the utmost civility, consistent with coldness, have been admitted
to outward friendship, but have been carefully kept out of what they
most wished to know and see, so that Richard was thus the only European
who had beheld the inner and religious life of the Moslems as one of
themselves.

Amongst the various Oriental characters that Richard assumed, the
one that suited best was half-Arab, half-Iranian, such as throng the
northern shores of the Persian Gulf. With long hair falling on his
shoulders, long beard, face and hands, arms and legs browned and
stained with a thin coat of henna, Oriental dress, spear in hand, and
pistols in belt, Richard became Mirza Abdullah, el Bushiri. Here he
commenced his most adventurous and romantic life, explored from North
to South, from East to West, mixed with all sorts of people and tribes
without betraying himself in manners, customs, or speech, when death
must often have ensued, had he created either dislike or suspicion.

I here give a slight sketch from his private notes, and for fuller
details refer the reader to his "Pilgrimage to Mecca and El Medinah," 3
vols., with coloured illustrations, published in 1855, and which made a
great sensation. Although he has been the author of some eighty books
and pamphlets, I think that this original edition of three volumes is
the one that his name should live by, and it will be the first of the
Uniform Library with the Meccan Press. The Uniform Library means a
reproduction of all his hitherto published works, and eventually his
unpublished ones, so that the world may lose nothing of what he has
ever written.

As I have said, on the night of the 3rd of April, 1853, a Persian
Mirza, accompanied by an English interpreter, Captain Henry Grindlay,
of the Bengal Cavalry, left London for Southampton, and embarked
on the P. and O. steamer _Bengal_. The voyage was profitable but
tedious; Richard passed it in resuming his Oriental character, with
such success, that when he landed at Alexandria, he was recognized and
blessed as a true Moslem by the native population.

[Illustration: RICHARD BURTON AS HAJI ABDULLAH, EN ROUTE TO MECCA.]

John Thurburn and his son-in-law, John Larking, received him at their
villa on the Mahmudíyah Canal, but he was lodged in an outhouse, the
better to deceive the servants. Here he practised the Korán and prayer,
and all the ceremonies of the Faith, with a neighbouring Shaykh. He
also became a _hakím_, or doctor, and called himself Shaykh Abdullah,
preparing to be a dervish. The dervish is a chartered vagabond; nobody
asks why he comes, where he goes; he may go on foot, or on horseback,
or alone, or with a large retinue, and he is as much respected
without arms, as though he were armed to the teeth. "I only wanted," he
said, "a little knowledge of medicine, which I _had_, moderate skill in
magic, a studious reputation, and enough to keep me from starving." He
provided himself with a few necessaries for the journey.

When he had to leave Alexandria he wrote--

 "Not without a feeling of regret, I left my little room among the
 white myrtle blossoms and the rosy oleander flowers with the almond
 scent. I kissed with humble ostentation my good host's hand, in
 the presence of his servants. I bade adieu to my patients, who now
 amounted to about fifty, shaking hands with all meekly, and with
 religious equality of attention; and mounted in a 'trap' which looked
 like a cross between a wheelbarrow and a dog-cart, drawn by a kicking,
 jibbing, and biting mule, I set out for the steamer, the _Little
 Asthmatic_.

 [Sidenote: _His Start from Alexandria to Cairo._]

 "The journey from Alexandria to Cairo lasted three days and nights.
 We saw nothing but muddy water, dusty banks, sand, mist, milky sky,
 glaring sun, breezes like the blasts of a furnace, and the only
 variation was that the steamer grounded four or five times a day, and
 I passed my time telling my beads with a huge rosary. I was a deck
 passenger. The sun burnt us all day, and the night dews were raw and
 thick. Our diet was bread and garlic, moistened with muddy water from
 the canal. At Cairo I went to a caravanserai. Here I became a Pathán.
 I was born in India of Afghan parents, who had settled there, and I
 was educated at Rangoon, and sent out, as is often the custom, to
 wander. I knew all the languages that I required to pass me, Persian,
 Hindostani, and Arabic. It is customary at the shop, on the camel, in
 the Mosque, to ask, 'What is thy name? Whence comest thou?' and you
 must be prepared. I had to do the fast of the Ramazan, which is far
 stricter than the Catholics' Lent, and in Cairo I studied the Moslem
 faith in every detail. I had great difficulty in getting a passport
 without betraying myself, but the chief of the Afghan college at the
 Azhar Mosque contrived it for me. I hired a couple of camels, and
 put my Meccan boy and baggage on one, and I took the other. I had an
 eighty-four mile ride in midsummer, on a bad wooden saddle, on a bad
 dromedary, across the Suez Desert.

 "Above, through a sky terrible in its stainless beauty, and the
 splendours of a pitiless blinding glare, the simoom caresses you like
 a lion with flaming breath. Around lie drifted sand-heaps, upon which
 each puff of wind leaves its trace in solid waves, frayed rocks, the
 very skeletons of mountains, and hard unbroken plains, over which he
 who rides is spurred by the idea that the bursting of a waterskin, or
 the pricking of a camel's hoof, would be a certain death of torture; a
 haggard land infested with wild beasts and wilder men; a region whose
 very fountains murmur the warning words, 'Drink and away!'

 "In the desert, even more than upon the ocean, there is present
 Death, and this sense of danger, never absent, invests the scene of
 travel with a peculiar interest.

 "Let the traveller who suspects exaggeration leave the Suez road, and
 gallop northwards over the sands for an hour or two; in the drear
 silence, the solitude, and the fantastic desolation of the place, he
 will feel what the desert _may_ be. And then the oases, and little
 lines of fertility--how soft and how beautiful!--even though the
 Wady-el-Ward ('the Vale of Flowers') be the name of some stern flat
 in which a handful of wild shrubs blossom, while struggling through a
 cold season's ephemeral existence.

 "In such circumstances the mind is influenced through the body.
 Though your mouth glows, and your skin is parched, yet you feel no
 languor,--the effect of humid heat; your lungs are lightened, your
 sight brightens, your memory recovers its tone, and your spirits
 become exuberant. Your fancy and imagination are powerfully aroused,
 and the wildness and sublimity of the scenes around you, stir up all
 the energies of your soul, whether for exertion, danger, or strife.
 Your _morale_ improves; you become frank and cordial, hospitable
 and single-minded; the hypocritical politeness and the slavery
 of Civilization are left behind you in the City. Your senses are
 quickened; they require no stimulants but air and exercise; in the
 desert spirituous liquors excite only disgust.

 "There is a keen enjoyment in mere animal existence. The sharp
 appetite disposes of the most indigestible food; the sand is softer
 than a bed of down, and the purity of the air suddenly puts to flight
 a dire cohort of diseases.

 "Here Nature returns to Man, however unworthily he has treated
 her, and, believe me, when once your tastes have conformed to the
 tranquillity of such travel, you will suffer real pain in returning to
 the turmoil of civilization. You will anticipate the bustle and the
 confusion of artificial life, its luxuries and its false pleasures,
 with repugnance. Depressed in spirits, you will for a time after your
 return feel incapable of mental or bodily exertion. The air of Cities
 will suffocate you, and the careworn and cadaverous countenances of
 citizens will haunt you like a vision of judgment.

 "I was nearly undone by Mohammed, my Meccan boy, finding my sextant
 amongst my clothes, and it was only by Umar Effendi having read a
 letter of mine to Haji Wali that very morning on Theology, that he was
 able to certify that I was thoroughly orthodox.

 "When I started my intention had been to cross the all but unknown
 Arabian Peninsula, and to map it out, either from El Medinah to
 Maskat, or from Mecca to Makallah on the Indian Ocean. I wanted to
 open a market for horses between Arabia and Central India, to go
 through the Rubá-el-Khali ('the Empty Abode'), the great wilderness
 on our maps, to learn the hydrography of the Hejaz, and the
 ethnographical details of this race of Arabs. I should have been very
 much at sea without my sextant. I managed to secrete a pocket compass.

 "The journey would have been of fifteen or sixteen hundred miles,
 and have occupied at least ten months longer than my leave. The
 quarrelling of the tribes prevented my carrying it out. I had
 arranged with the Beni Harb, the Bedawin tribe, to join them
 after the Pilgrimage like a true Bedawin, but it _meant_ all this
 above-mentioned work; I found it useless to be killed in a petty
 tribe-quarrel, perhaps, about a mare, and once I joined them it would
 have been a point of honour to aid in all their quarrels and raids.

 [Sidenote: _Twelve Days in an Open Sambúk._]

 "At Suez we embarked on a _Sambúk_, an open boat of about fifty tons.
 She had no means of reefing, no compass, no log, no sounding-line,
 no chart. Ninety-seven pilgrims (fifteen women and children) came
 on deck. They were all barefoot, bare-headed, dirty, ferocious, and
 armed. The distance was doubled by detours; it would have been six
 hundred miles in a straight line. Even the hardened Arabs and Africans
 suffered most severely. After twelve days of purgatory, I sprang
 ashore at Yambú; and travelling a fortnight in this pilgrim-boat gave
 me the fullest possible knowledge of the inner life of El Islam.
 However, the heat of the sun, the heavy night dews, and the constant
 washing of the waves over me, had so affected one of my feet that I
 could hardly put it to the ground.

 "Yambú is the port of El Medinah, as Jeddah is that of Mecca. The
 people are a good type, healthy, proud, and manly, and they have
 considerable trade. Here I arranged for camels, and our Caravan hired
 an escort of irregular cavalry--very necessary, for, as the tribes
 were out, we had to fight every day. They did not want to start till
 the tribes had finished fighting; but I was resolved, and we went.
 Here I brought a _shugduf_, or litter, and seven days' provisions
 for the journey, and here also I became an Arab, to avoid paying the
 capitation tax, the _Jizyát_.

 "We eventually arrived at El Hamra, the 'Red Village,' but in a
 short while the Caravan arrived from Mecca, and in about four hours
 we joined it and went on our way. That evening we were attacked by
 Bedawi, and we had fighting pretty nearly the whole way. We lost
 twelve men, camels, and other beasts of burden; the Bedawi looted the
 baggage and ate the camels.

 "One morning El Medinah was in sight. We were jaded and hungry; and
 we gloried in the gardens and orchards about the town. I was met at
 El Medinah by Shaykh Hamid, who received me into his family as one of
 the faithful, and where I led a quiet, peaceful, and pleasant life,
 during leisure hours; but of course, the pilgrimage being my object,
 I had a host of shrines to visit, ceremonies to perform, and prayers
 to recite, besides the usual prayers five times a day; for it must
 be remembered that El Medinah contains the tomb of Mahommad." (For
 description see Burton's 'Mecca and El Medinah,' 3 vols.)

 "The Damascus Caravan was to start on the 27th Zu'l Ka'adah (1st
 September). I had intended to stay at El Medinah till the last moment,
 and to accompany the _Kafilat el Tayyárah_, or the 'Flying Caravan,'
 which usually leaves on the 2nd Zu'l Hijjah, two days after that of
 Damascus.

 "Suddenly arose the rumour that there would be no _Tayyárah_,[2] and
 that all pilgrims must proceed with the Damascus Caravan or await the
 _Rakb_.[3] The Sheríf Zayd, Sa'ad, the robbers' only friend, paid
 Sa'ad an unsuccessful visit. Sa'ad demanded back his shaykhship, in
 return for a safe conduct through his country; 'otherwise,' said he,
 'I will cut the throat of every hen that ventures into the passes.'

 "The Sheríf Zayd returned to El Medinah on the 25th Zu'l Ka'adah.
 (30th August). Early on the morning of the next day, Shaykh Hamid
 returned hurriedly from the bazar, exclaiming, 'You must make ready at
 once, Effendi! There will be no _Tayyárah_. All Hajis start to-morrow.
 Allah will make it easy to you! Have you your water-skins in order?
 You are to travel down the Darb el Sharki, _where you will not see
 water for three days!_'

 "Poor Hamid looked horror-struck as he concluded this fearful
 announcement, which filled me with joy. Burckhardt had visited and
 described the Darb el Sultani, the 'High' or 'Royal Road' along
 the coast; but _no_ European had as yet travelled down by Harún el
 Rashíd's and the Lady Zubaydah's celebrated route through the Nejd
 Desert. And here was my chance!

 "Whenever he was ineffably disgusted, I consoled him with singing the
 celebrated song of Maysúnah, the beautiful Bedawin wife of the Caliph
 Muawíyah." (Richard was immensely fond of this little song, and the
 Bedawin screams with joy when he hears it.)

    "'Oh, take these purple robes away,
    Give back my cloak of camel's hair,
    And bear me from this tow'ring pile
    To where the black tents flap i' the air.
    The camel's colt with falt'ring tread,
    The dog that bays at all but me,
    Delight me more than ambling mules,
    Than every art of minstrelsy;
    And any cousin, poor but free,
    Might take me, fatted ass, from thee.'[4]

 "The old man was delighted, clapped my shoulder, and exclaimed,
 'Verily, O Father of Moustachios, I will show thee the black Tents of
 my Tribe this year.'

 [Sidenote: _Ten Days' Ride to Mecca._]

 "So, after staying at Medinah about six weeks, I set out with the
 Damascus Caravan down the Darb el Sharki, under the care of a
 very venerable Bedawin, who nicknamed me 'Abú Shuwárib,' meaning,
 'Father of Moustachios,' mine being very large. I found myself
 standing opposite the Egyptian gate of El Medinah, surrounded by my
 friends--those friends of a day, who cross the phantasmagoria of
 one's life. There were affectionate embraces and parting mementoes.
 The camels were mounted; I and the boy Mohammed in the litter or
 _shugduf_, and Shaykh Nur in his cot. The train of camels with the
 Caravan wended its way slowly in a direction from north to north-east,
 gradually changing to eastward. After an hour's travel, the Caravan
 halted to turn and take farewell of the Holy City.

 "We dismounted to gaze at the venerable minarets and the green dome
 which covers the tomb of the Prophet. The heat was dreadful, the
 climate dangerous, and the beasts died in numbers. Fresh carcases
 strewed our way, and were covered with foul vultures. The Caravan was
 most picturesque. We travelled principally at night, but the camels
 had to perform the work of goats, and step from block to block of
 basalt like mountaineers, which being unnatural to them, they kept up
 a continual piteous moan. The simoom and pillars of sand continually
 threw them over.

 "Water is the great trouble of a Caravan journey, and the only remedy
 is to be patient and not to talk. The first two hours gives you the
 mastery, but if you drink you cannot stop. Forty-seven miles before
 we reached Mecca, at El Zaríbah, we had to perform the ceremony of
 _El Ihram_, meaning 'to assume the pilgrim garb.' A barber shaved us,
 trimmed our moustachios; we bathed and perfumed, and then we put on
 two new cotton cloths, each six feet long by three and a half broad.
 It is white, with narrow red stripes and fringe, and worn something as
 you wear it in the baths. Our heads and feet, right shoulder and arm,
 are exposed.

 "We had another fight before we got to Mecca, and a splendid camel
 in front of me was shot through the heart. Our Sheríf Zayd was an
 Arab Chieftain of the purest blood, and very brave. He took two or
 three hundred men, and charged them. However, they shot many of our
 dromedaries, and camels, and boxes and baggage strewed the place; and
 when we were gone the Bedawi would come back, loot the baggage, and
 eat the camels. On Saturday, the 10th of September, at one in the
 morning, there was great excitement in the Caravan, and loud cries of
 'Mecca! Mecca! Oh, the Sanctuary, the Sanctuary!' All burst into loud
 praises, and many wept. We reached it next morning, after ten days and
 nights from El Medinah. I became the guest of the boy Mohammed, in the
 house of his mother.

 [Sidenote: _Moslem Holy Week._]

 "First I did the circumambulation at the Haram. Early next morning I
 was admitted to the house of our Lord; and we went to the holy well
 Zemzem, the holy water of Mecca,[5] and then the Ka'abah, in which
 is inserted the famous black stone, where they say a prayer for
 the Unity of Allah. Then I performed the seven circuits round the
 Ka'abah, called the _Tawaf_. I then managed to have a way pushed for
 me through the immense crowd to kiss it. While kissing it, and rubbing
 hands and forehead upon it, I narrowly observed it, and came away
 persuaded that it is an aerolite. It is curious that almost all agree
 upon one point, namely, that the stone is volcanic. Ali Bey calls it
 mineralogically a 'block of volcanic basalt, whose circumference is
 sprinkled with little crystals, pointed and straw-like, with rhombs of
 tile-red felspath upon a dark ground like velvet or charcoal, except
 one of its protuberances, which is reddish.' It is also described as
 'a lava containing several small extraneous particles of a whitish and
 of a yellowish substance.'

 "All this time the pilgrims had scorched feet and burning heads, as
 they were always uncovered. I was much impressed with the strength
 and steadfastness of the Mohammedan religion. It was so touching to
 see them; one of them was clinging to the curtain, and sobbing as
 though his heart would break.[6] At night I and Shaykh Nur and the boy
 Mohammed issued forth with the lantern and praying-carpet.

 "The moon, now approaching the full, tipped the brow of Abú Kubáya,
 and lit up the spectacle with a more solemn light. In the midst stood
 the huge bier-like erection--

                         'Black as the wings
    Which some spirit of ill o'er a sepulchre flings!'

 except where the moonbeams streaked it like jets of silver falling
 upon the darkest marble. It formed the point of rest for the eye;
 the little pagoda-like buildings and domes around it, with all their
 gilding and framework, faded to the sight. One object, unique in
 appearance, stood in view--the temple of the one Allah, the God of
 Abraham, of Ishmael, and of their posterity. Sublime it was, and
 expressing by all the eloquence of fancy the grandeur of the one idea
 which vitalized El Islam, and the strength and steadfastness of its
 votaries.

 "One thing I remarked, and think worthy of notice, is that ever since
 Noah's dove, every religion seems to consider the pigeon a sacred
 bird; for example, every Mosque swarms with pigeons; St. Mark's, at
 Venice, and the same exists in most Italian market-places; the Hindoo
 pandits and the old Assyrian Empire also have them; whilst Catholics
 make it the emblem of the Holy Ghost.

 "The day before I went to Arafat, I spent the night in the Mosque,
 where I saw many strange sights. One was a negro possessed by the
 devil. There, too, he prayed by the grave of Ishmael. After this
 we set out for Arafat, where is the tomb of Adam. (I have seen two
 since--one at Jerusalem, and one in the mountains behind Damascus.)

 "It was a very weary journey, and, with the sun raining fire on our
 heads and feet, we suffered tortures. The camels threw themselves on
 the ground, and I myself saw five men fall out and die. On the Mount
 there were numerous consecrated shrines to see, and we had to listen
 to an immensely long sermon. On the great festival day we stoned the
 Devil, each man with seven stones washed in seven waters, and we
 said, while throwing each stone, 'In the name of Allah--and Allah is
 Almighty--I do this in hatred of the Devil, and to his shame.' There
 is then an immense slaughter of victims (five or six thousand), which
 slaughter, with the intense heat, swarms of flies, and the whole space
 reeking with blood, produces the most noisome vapours, and probably is
 the birthplace of that cholera and small-pox which generally devastate
 the World after the Haj. _Now_ we were allowed to doff the pilgrim's
 garb.

 "We all went to barbers' booths, where we were shaved, had our beards
 trimmed and our nails cut, saying prayers the while; and, though we
 had no clothes, we might put our clothes over our heads, and wear our
 slippers, which were a little protection from the heat. We might then
 twirl our moustachios, stroke our beards, and return to Mecca. At the
 last moment I was sent for. I thought, 'Now something is going to
 happen to me; now I am suspected.'

 [Sidenote: _The All-important Crisis._]

 "A crowd had gathered round the Ka'abah, and I had no wish to stand
 bare-headed and bare-footed in the midday September sun. At the cry
 of 'Open a path for the Haji who would enter the House!' the gazers
 made way. Two stout Meccans, who stood below the door, raised me in
 their arms, whilst a third drew me from above into the building.
 At the entrance I was accosted by several officials, dark-looking
 Meccans, of whom the blackest and plainest was a youth of the Benu
 Shaybah family, the true blood of the El Hejaz. He held in his hand
 the huge silver-gilt padlock of the Ka'abah, and presently, taking
 his seat upon a kind of wooden press in the left corner of the hall,
 he officially inquired my name, nation, and other particulars. The
 replies were satisfactory, and the boy Mohammed was authoritatively
 ordered to conduct me round the building, and to recite the prayers. I
 will not deny that, looking at the windowless walls, the officials at
 the door, and a crowd of excited fanatics below--

    'And the place death, considering who I was,'

 my feelings were of the trapped-rat description, acknowledged by the
 immortal nephew of his uncle Perez. A blunder, a hasty action, a
 misjudged word, a prayer or bow, not strictly the right shibboleth,
 and my bones would have whitened the desert sand. This did not,
 however, prevent my carefully observing the scene during our long
 prayer, and making a rough plan with a pencil upon my white _ihram_.

 [Illustration: MECCA AND THE KA'ABAH, OR THE HOLY GRAIL OF THE
 MOSLEMS.]

 "I returned home after this _quite_ exhausted, performed an elaborate
 toilet, washing with henna and warm water, to mitigate the pain the
 sun had caused on my arms, shoulders, and breast, head and feet, and
 put on my gayest clothes in honour of the festival. When the moon
 rose, there was a second stoning, or lapidation, to be performed, and
 then we strolled round the coffee-houses. There was also a little
 pilgrimage to undertake, which is in honour of Hagar seeking water for
 her son Ishmael.

 "I now began to long to leave Mecca; I had done everything, seen
 everything; the heat was simply unendurable, and the little room where
 I could enjoy privacy for about six hours a day, and jot my notes
 down, was a perfect little oven.[7]

 "I slowly wended my way with a Caravan to Jeddah, with donkeys and
 Mohammed; I must say that the sight of the sea and the British flag
 was a pleasant tonic. I went to the British Consulate, but the
 Dragomans were not very civil to the unfortunate Afghan.

 [Sidenote: _His Safe Return._]

 "So I was left kicking my heels at the Great Man's Gate for a long
 time, and heard somebody say, 'Let the dirty nigger wait.' Long inured
 to patience, however, I did wait, and when the Consul consented to see
 me, I presented him with a bit of paper, as if it were a money order.
 On it was written, 'Don't recognize me; I am Dick Burton, but I am
 not safe yet. Give me some money' (naming the sum), 'which will be
 returned from London, and don't take any notice of me.' He, however,
 frequently afterwards, when it was dark, sent for me, and, once safe
 in his private rooms, showed me abundance of hospitality. Necessity
 compelled me living with Shayk Nur in a room (to myself), swept,
 sprinkled with water, and spread with mats.

 [Sidenote: _On Board an English Ship._]

 "When I went out in gay attire, I was generally mistaken for the Pasha
 of El Medinah. After about ten days' suspense, an English ship was
 sent by the Bombay Steam Navigation Company to convey pilgrims from
 El Hejaz to India, so one day the Afghan disappeared--was supposed to
 have departed with other dirty pilgrims, but in reality, had got on
 board the _Dwárká_,[8] an English ship, with a first-class passage; he
 had emerged from his cabin, after washing all his colouring off, in
 the garb of an English gentleman; experienced the greatest kindness
 from the Commander and Officers, which he much needed, being worn out
 with fatigue and the fatal fiery heat, and felt the great relief to
 his mind and body from being able to take his first complete rest in
 safety on board an English ship; but was so changed that the Turkish
 pilgrims, who crowded the deck, never recognized their late companion
 pilgrim."

He ends his personal narrative of his sojourn in El Hejaz thus:--

 "I have been exposed to perils, and I have escaped from them; I have
 traversed the sea, and have not succumbed under the severest fatigues;
 but they with fatal fiery heat have worn me out, and my heart is moved
 with emotions of gratitude that I have been permitted to effect the
 objects I had in view."

An Irish missionary wrote of my husband after he was dead:--

 "At Damascus Burton began a new chapter, but he was not permitted
 to start with a clean page. Two incidents in his previous record
 foreshadowed him, and hampered him in his efforts to make the best of
 his new Consulate. He had offended the religious susceptibilities of
 both Mohammedans and Christians, and he found himself confronted with
 bitter, unreasoning prejudice.

 "It is a question of how far Burton's Oriental disguise concealed
 the Englishman in his pilgrimage to Mecca. I never conversed with a
 Mohammedan who had accompanied Burton on that journey, but I have
 seen Arabs who saw Palgrave on his way to Nejd, and his attempts to
 pose as a native were a constant source of amusement to all with whom
 he came in contact. Burton's Oriental cast of face helped him when
 putting on the outward appearance of a Bedawin, but at no period of
 his life could he have passed for an Arab one second after he began
 to speak.[9] On the pilgrimage to Mecca, Burton would be known as a
 devout British Mohammedan, just as easily as we recognize an Arab
 convert on a missionary platform, notwithstanding the efforts of the
 schoolmaster and the tailor to transform him into an Englishman. And
 as a perverted Englishman, Burton would be as welcome in the Hajj as a
 converted Arab would be in Exeter Hall."

This is a ridiculous paragraph, and spoils an otherwise splendid
article. The writer speaks fairly good Syrian Christian Arabic with
an Irish accent, but he is not conversant with the Arabic of scholars
and high-class Mohammedans, and he does not know a word of Persian,
Hindostani, Afghani, Turkish, or any of the other ten Oriental
languages, in which my husband passed his pilgrimages. I think native
testimony is best. I can remember, at a reception at Lady Salisbury's,
the Persian Ambassador and his suite following Richard about the
whole evening, and when I joked them about it, they said, "It is such
an extraordinary thing to us, to see any foreigner, especially an
Englishman, speaking our language like ourselves. He might have never
been out of Teheran; he even knows all the slang of the market-place as
well as we do." When he arrived in Damascus, his record was perfectly
clean with the Mohammedans, and the only bitter, unreasoning prejudice
was in the breast of Christian missionaries, and Christian Foreign
Office employés, whose friends wanted the post. Burton and Palgrave
were quite two different men, as silver and nickel. I know exactly the
_sort_ of Arabic Palgrave spoke.

In the days that Richard went to Mecca, _no_ converted Englishman
would have been received as _now_. As to his Arabic, Abd el Kadir told
me--and, mind, he was _the_ highest cultivated and the most religious
Moslem in Damascus; the only Sufi, I believe--that there were only
two men in Damascus whose Arabic was worth listening to; one was my
husband, and the other was Shaykh Mijwal El Mezrab, Lady Ellenborough's
Bedawin husband. We may remember that at Jeddah his life was saved
by being mistaken for the Pasha of El Medinah, and when he went to
the departure of the Haj at Damascus, as he rode down the lines in
frock-coat and fez, he was accosted by more than one as the Pasha of
the Haj; and when the mistake was explained, and he told them who he
was, they only laughed and said, "Why don't you come along with us
again to Mecca, as you did before?" He was looked upon by _all_ as a
friend to the Moslem. He _never_ profaned the sanctuaries of Mecca and
Medina, and so far from being unpopular with the Moslems, he received
almost yearly an invitation to go back with the Haj, and no opposition
would have been made to him had he made another pilgrimage to the
jealously guarded Haramayn or the holy Cities of the Moslems. Even _I_
am always admitted to the Mosques with the women for _his_ sake.

There was no tinsel and gingerbread about anything Richard did; it was
always true and real.

[Sidenote: _Interesting Letters._]

In further support of the above I quote two letters, one from _Sporting
Truth_.

 "I had the pleasure of a slight acquaintance with the late Sir Richard
 Burton, familiarly known among his friends as 'Ruffian Dick.' Not
 that there was anything offensive meant by that epithet. Indeed, in
 his case, it had a playfully complimentary significance. There were,
 in the old days, as many readers of _Sporting Truth_ will recollect,
 two familiar pugilists who went by the nicknames respectively of the
 'Old' and 'Young Ruffian.' The term referred purely to their style of
 fighting, and was not intended to convey the idea that they were any
 less decent or civilized members of society than their neighbours.
 For much the same reason was Sir Richard Burton dubbed 'Ruffian
 Dick' by his pals. He was, without doubt, a terrible fighter, and
 fought in single combat more enemies than perhaps any man of his
 time. A man of peculiar temper, too, and strong individuality, with
 a wholesome contempt for Mrs. Grundy and all her ways. But his great
 distinguishing feature was his courage. No braver man than 'Ruffian
 Dick' ever lived. His daring was of that romantic order which revels
 in danger for danger's sake. No crisis, however appalling, could shake
 his splendid nerve. He was as cool when his life hung on a hair's
 breadth, as when he sat smoking in his own snuggery.

 "I know of nothing in the annals of adventure to surpass his memorable
 journey to Mecca with the Mohammedan pilgrims. None but a follower of
 the true Prophet had ever penetrated the shrine where the coffin of
 Mohammed swings between earth and heaven. No eyes but those of the
 faithful were permitted to gaze upon that holy of holies. Certain and
 speedy death awaited any infidel who should profane with his footsteps
 those sacred precincts, or seek to pry into those hidden mysteries.
 There were secret passwords among the pilgrims, by which they could
 detect at once any one who was not of the true faith; and detection
 meant instant death at the hands of the enraged fanatics. Yet all
 these difficulties and dangers--apparently insurmountable--did not
 deter Ruffian Dick from undertaking the perilous enterprise. He went
 through a long course of preparation, studied all the minute ways of
 the Arabs--he already spoke their language like a native--professed
 the Mohammedan religion, acquired the secret passwords, and then
 boldly joined the great annual procession of pilgrims to the shrine of
 the Prophet.

 "How perfect his disguise was, the following anecdote will show. On
 his return from the pilgrimage to Mecca, his leave had expired, and
 he had to return to India at once without time to rig himself out
 with a fresh outfit. One evening a party of officers were lounging
 outside Shepherd's Hotel, at Cairo. As they sat talking and smoking,
 there passed repeatedly in front of them an Arab in his loose flowing
 robes, with head proudly erect, and the peculiar swinging stride of
 those sons of the desert. As he strode backwards and forwards he
 drew nearer and nearer to the little knot of officers, till at last,
 as he swept by, the flying folds of his burnous brushed against one
 of the officers. 'Damn that nigger's impudence!' said the officer;
 'if he does that again I'll kick him.' To his surprise the dignified
 Arab suddenly halted, wheeled round, and exclaimed, 'Well, damn it,
 Hawkins, that's a nice way to welcome a fellow after two years'
 absence.' 'By G--d, it's Ruffian Dick,' cried Hawkins. And Ruffian
 Dick it was, but utterly transformed out of all resemblance to a
 European. His complexion was burned by the sun to a deep umber tint,
 and his cast of features was more Oriental than English, so that in
 the robes of an Arab he might well pass for one of that nomad race."

Here is the second, from _Allen's Indian Mail_.


 "THE LATE SIR RICHARD BURTON.

 "To the Editor of the _Times_ of India.


 "SIR,

 "Unlike your correspondent, Mr. Levick (of Suez), questioning Sir
 Richard's visit to Medinah in 1853, I merely want to say that in Sir
 Richard the scientific world has lost a bright star. In linguistic
 attainments there was not his equal in the world. He could not only
 speak the languages, but act so well that his most intimate friends
 were often deceived. I was often witness to this feat of his while
 at Kurrachee in 1847, as I happened to be employed under Dr. Stocks,
 botanist, in Sind, as his botanical draughtsman. Sir Richard (then
 a lieutenant) and the doctor occupied the same bungalow. I had
 necessarily to work in the hall, and consequently had the opportunity
 of seeing and admiring his ways. He was on special duty, which in his
 case meant to perfect himself for some political duty, by mastering
 the languages of the country. When I knew him he was master of half
 a dozen languages, which he wrote and spoke so fluently that a
 stranger who did not see him and heard him speaking would fancy he
 heard a native. His domestic servants were--a Portuguese, with whom
 he spoke Portuguese and Goanese, an African, a Persian, and a Sindi
 or Belochee. These spoke their mother tongue to Sir Richard as he
 was engaged in his studies with _moonshees_, who relieved each other
 every two hours, from ten to four daily. The _moonshees_ would read
 an hour and converse the next, and it was a treat to hear Sir Richard
 talk; one would scarcely be able to distinguish the Englishman from a
 Persian, Arabian, or a Scindian.

 "His habits at home were perfectly Persian or Arabic. His hair was
 dressed _à la Persian_--long and shaved from the forehead to the top
 of the head; his eyes, by some means or other he employed, resembled
 Persian or Arabian; he used the Turkish bath and wore a cowl; and when
 he went out for a ride he used a wig and goggles. His complexion was
 also thorough Persian, so that Nature evidently intended him for the
 work he afterwards so successfully performed, namely, visiting the
 shrine of the Prophet Mohammed--a work very few would have undertaken
 unless he was a complete master of himself.

 "I was a witness to his first essay in disguising himself as a poor
 Persian, and taking in his friend Moonshee Ali Akbar (the father of
 Mirza Hossein, solicitor of this City). The _moonshee_ was seated
 one evening in an open space in front of his bungalow in the town of
 Kurrachee, with a lot of his friends enjoying the evening breeze, and
 chatting away as Persians are wont to do. Sir Richard, disguised as a
 Persian traveller, approached them, and after the usual compliments,
 inquired for the rest-house, and, as a matter of course, gave a long
 rigmarole account of his travels and of people the _moonshee_ knew,
 and thus excited his curiosity and got him into conversation; and
 when he thought he acted his part to perfection, bid him the time and
 left him, but did not go far when he called out to the _moonshee_ in
 English if he did not know him. The _moonshee_ was completely taken
 aback; he did not know where the voice (his friend Burton's) came
 from, till he was addressed again, and a recognition took place, to
 the great astonishment of the _moonshee_ and his friends. Such a
 jovial companion Sir Richard was, that his bungalow was the resort of
 the learned men of the place, amongst whom I noticed Major (afterwards
 General) Walter Scott, Lieutenant (and now General) Alfred De Lisle,
 Lieutenant Edward Dansey of Mooltan notoriety, Dr. Stocks, and many
 others, but who, with the exception of General De Lisle, are all gone
 to their home above, where Sir Richard has now followed. May their
 souls rest in peace!

 "Some time or other Lady Burton may write a memoir of Sir Richard's
 life, and a slight incident as the one I have related may be of use to
 her, and if you think as I do, and consider it worth inserting in a
 corner of your paper, I shall be very much obliged to you if you will
 do so.

 "Yours, etc.,

 "WALTER ABRAHAM.

 "October 31, 1891."

On the return journey from Mecca, when Richard could secure any
privacy, he composed the most exquisite gem of Oriental poetry, that
I have ever heard or imagined, nor do I believe it has its equal,
either from the pen of Hafiz, Saadi, Shakespeare, Milton, Swinburne,
or any other. It is quite unique; it is called the Kasîdah, or the
"Lay of the Higher Law," by Haji Abdu el-Yezdi. It will ride over the
heads of most, it will displease many, but it will appeal to all large
hearts and large brains for its depth, height, breadth, for its heart,
nobility, its pathos, its melancholy, its despair. It is the very
perfection of romance, it seems the cry of a Soul wandering through
space, looking for what it does not find. I have read it many times
during my married life, and never without bitter tears, and when I read
it now, it affects me still more; he used to take it away from me, it
impressed me so. I give you the poem here in full.

It reminds me more than any other thing of the Rubáiyát of Omar
Khayyâm, the astronomer-poet of Khorasán, known as the tent-maker,
written in the eleventh century, which poem was made known by Mr.
Edward Fitzgerald in about 1861, to Richard Burton, to Swinburne, and
Dante Rossetti. Richard at once claimed him as a brother Sufi, and said
that all his allusions are purely typical, and particularly in the
second verse--

                      II.
    "Before the phantom of False morning died,
    Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried,
      'When all the temple is prepared within,
    Why nods the drowsy Worshipper outside?'"

Yet the "Kasîdah" was written in 1853--the Rubáiyát he did not know
till eight years later.

[Sidenote: _The Kasîdah._]

I shall reproduce the "Kasîdah" in its entirety, with its fifteen pages
of copious annotations, in the Uniform Library of Sir Richard's works
which I am editing. I give the annotations in the Appendix.

It is a poem of extraordinary power on the nature and destiny of Man,
anti-Christian and Pantheistic. So much wealth of Oriental learning has
rarely been compressed into so small a compass.

                             "Let his page
   Which charms the chosen spirits of the age,
   Fold itself for a serener clime
   Of years to come, and find its recompense
   In that just expectation."
                           ----SHELLEY.

"Let them laugh at me for speaking of things which they do not
understand; and I must pity them while they laugh at me."----ST.
AUGUSTINE.

          *       *       *       *       *

                            TO THE READER.

The Translator has ventured to entitle a "Lay of the Higher Law" the
following Composition, which aims at being in advance of its time; and
he has not feared the danger of collision with such unpleasant forms
as the "Higher Culture." The principles which justify the name are as
follows:--

The Author asserts that Happiness and Misery are equally divided and
distributed in the world.

He makes Self-cultivation, with due regard to others, the sole and
sufficient object of human life.

He suggests that the affections, the sympathies and the "divine gift
of Pity" are man's highest enjoyments.

He advocates suspension of judgment, with a proper suspicion of
"Facts, the idlest of superstitions."

Finally, although destructive to appearance, he is essentially
reconstructive.

For other details concerning the Poem and the Poet, the curious reader
is referred to the end of the volume (_i.e._ the Appendix).


       THE KASÎDAH (COUPLETS) OF HAJI ABDU EL-YEZDI.

                  A LAY OF THE HIGHER LAW.


   The hour is nigh; the waning Queen walks forth to rule the later night;
   Crown'd with the sparkle of a Star, and throned on orb of ashen light:

   The Wolf-tail[10] sweeps the paling East to leave a deeper gloom behind,
   And Dawn uprears her shining head, sighing with semblance of a wind:

   The highlands catch yon Orient gleam, while purpling still the lowlands lie;
   And pearly mists, the morning-pride, soar incense-like to greet the sky.

   The horses neigh, the camels groan, the torches gleam, the cressets flare;
   The town of canvas falls, and man with din and dint invadeth air:

   The Golden Gates swing right and left; up springs the Sun with flamy brow;
   The dew-cloud melts in gush of light; brown Earth is bathed in morning-glow.

   Slowly they wind athwart the wild, and while young Day his anthem swells,
   Sad falls upon my yearning ear the tinkling of the Camel-bells:

   O'er fiery waste and frozen wold, o'er horrid hill and gloomy glen,
   The home of grisly beast and Ghoul,[11] the haunts of wilder, grislier men;--

   With the brief gladness of the Palms, that tower and sway o'er seething plain,
   Fraught with the thoughts of rustling shade, and welling spring, and rushing rain;

   With the short solace of the ridge, by gentle zephyrs played upon,
   Whose breezy head and bosky side front seas of cooly celadon;--

   'Tis theirs to pass with joy and hope, whose souls shall ever thrill and fill
   Dreams of the Birthplace and the Tomb,--visions of Allah's Holy Hill.[12]

   But we? Another shift of scene, another pang to rack the heart;
   Why meet we on the bridge of Time to 'change one greeting and to part?

   We meet to part; yet asks my sprite, Part we to meet? Ah! is it so?
   Man's fancy-made Omniscience knows, who made Omniscience nought can know.

   Why must we meet, why must we part, why must we bear this yoke of MUST,
   Without our leave or askt or given, by tyrant Fate on victim thrust?

   That Eve so gay, so bright, so glad, this Morn so dim, and sad, and grey;
   Strange that life's Registrar should write this day a day, that day a day!

   Mine eyes, my brain, my heart, are sad,--sad is the very core of me;
   All wearies, changes, passes, ends; alas! the Birthday's injury!

   Friends of my youth, a last adieu! haply some day we meet again;
   Yet ne'er the self-same men shall meet; the years shall make us other men:

   The light of morn has grown to noon, has paled with eve, and now farewell!
   Go, vanish from my Life as dies the tinkling of the Camel's bell.

          *       *       *       *       *

   In these drear wastes of sea-born land, these wilds where none may dwell but He,
   What visionary Pasts revive, what process of the Years we see:

   Gazing beyond the thin blue line that rims the far horizon-ring,
   Our sadden'd sight why haunt these ghosts, whence do these spectral shadows spring?

   What endless questions vex the thought, of Whence and Whither, When and How?
   What fond and foolish strife to read the Scripture writ on human brow;

   As stand we percht on point of Time, betwixt the two Eternities,
   Whose awful secrets gathering round with black profound oppress our eyes.

   "This gloomy night, these grisly waves, these winds and whirlpools loud and dread:
   What reck they of our wretched plight who Safety's shore so lightly tread?"
   Thus quoth the Bard of Love and Wine,[13] whose dream of Heaven ne'er could rise
   Beyond the brimming Kausar-cup and Houris with the white-black eyes;

   Ah me! my race of threescore years is short, but long enough to pall
   My sense with joyless joys as these, with Love and Houris, Wine and all.

   Another boasts he would divorce old barren Reason from his bed,
   And wed the Vine-maid in her stead;--fools who believe a word he said![14]

   And "'Dust thou art to dust returning,' ne'er was spoke of human soul"
   The Soofi cries, 'tis well for him that hath such gift to ask its goal.

   "And this is all, for this we're born to weep a little and to die!"
   So sings the shallow bard whose life still labours at the letter "I."

   "Ear never heard, Eye never saw the bliss of those who enter in
   My heavenly Kingdom," Isâ said, who wailed our sorrows and our sin:

   Too much of words or yet too few! What to thy Godhead easier than
   One little glimpse of Paradise to ope the eyes and ears of man?

   "I am the Truth! I am the Truth!" we hear the God-drunk gnostic cry
   "The microcrosm abides in ME; Eternal Allah's nought but I!"

   Mansûr[15] was wise, but wiser they who smote him with the hurled stones;
   And, though his blood a witness bore, no wisdom-might could mend his bones.

   "Eat, drink, and sport; the rest of life's not worth a fillip," quoth the King;
   Methinks the saying saith too much: the swine would say the self-same thing?

   Two-footed beasts that browse through life, by Death to serve as soil design'd,
   Bow prone to Earth whereof they be, and there the proper pleasures find:

   But you of finer, nobler stuff, ye, whom to Higher leads the High,
   What binds your hearts in common bond with creatures of the stall and sty?

   "In certain hope of Life-to-come I journey through this shifting scene"
   The Zâhid[16] snarls and saunters down his Vale of Tears with confi'dent mien.

   Wiser than Amrân's Son[17] art thou, who ken'st so well the world-to-be,
   The Future when the Past is not, the Present merest dreamery;

   What know'st thou, man, of Life? and yet, for ever 'twixt the womb, the grave,
   Thou pratest of the Coming Life, of Heav'n and Hell thou fain must rave.

   The world is old and thou art young; the world is large and thou art small;
   Cease, atom of a moment's span, to hold thyself an All-in-All!

          *       *       *       *       *

   Fie, fie! you visionary things, ye motes that dance in sunny glow,
   Who base and build Eternities on briefest moment here below;

   Who pass through Life like cagèd birds, the captives of a despot will;
   Still wond'ring How and When and Why, and Whence and Whither, wond'ring still;

   Still wond'ring how the Marvel came because two coupling mammals chose
   To slake the thirst of fleshly love, and thus the "Immortal Being" rose;

   Wond'ring the Babe with staring eyes, perforce compell'd from night to day,
   Gript in the giant grasp of Life like gale-borne dust or wind-wrung spray;

   Who comes imbecile to the world 'mid double danger, groans, and tears;
   The toy, the sport, the waif and stray of passions, error, wrath and fears;

   Who knows not Whence he came nor Why, who kens not Whither bound and When,
   Yet such is Allah's choicest gift, the blessing dreamt by foolish men;

   Who step by step perforce returns to countless youth, wan, white and cold,
   Lisping again his broken words till all the tale be fully told:

   Wond'ring the Babe with quenched orbs, an oldster bow'd by burthening years,
   How 'scaped the skiff an hundred storms; how 'scaped the thread a thousand shears;

   How coming to the Feast unbid, he found the gorgeous table spread
   With the fair-seeming Sodom-fruit, with stones that bear the shape of bread:

   How Life was nought but ray of sun that clove the darkness thick and blind,
   The ravings of the reckless storm, the shrieking of the ravening wind;

   How lovely visions 'guiled his sleep, aye fading with the break of morn,
   Till every sweet became a sour, till every rose became a thorn;

   Till dust and ashes met his eyes wherever turned their saddened gaze;
   The wrecks of joys and hopes and loves, the rubbish of his wasted days;

   How every high heroic Thought that longed to breathe empyrean air,
   Failed of its feathers, fell to earth, and perisht of a sheer despair;

   How, dower'd with heritage of brain, whose might has split the solar ray,
   His rest is grossest coarsest earth, a crown of gold on brow of clay;

   This House whose frame be flesh and bone, mortar'd with blood and faced with skin,
   The home of sickness, dolours, age; unclean without, impure within;

   Sans ray to cheer its inner gloom, the chambers haunted by the Ghost,
   Darkness his name, a cold dumb Shade stronger than all the heav'nly host.

   This tube, an enigmatic pipe, whose end was laid before begun,
   That lengthens, broadens, shrinks and breaks;--puzzle, machine, automaton;

   The first of Pots the Potter made by Chrysorrhoas' blue-green wave;[18]
   Methinks I see him smile to see what guerdon to the world he gave!

   How Life is dim, unreal, vain, like scenes that round the drunkard reel;
   How "Being" meaneth not to be; to see and hear, smell, taste and feel.

   A drop in Ocean's boundless tide, unfathom'd waste of agony;
   Where millions live their horrid lives by making other millions die.

   How with a heart that would through love, to Universal Love aspire,
   Man woos infernal chance to smite, as Min'arets draw the Thunder-fire.

   How Earth on Earth builds tow'er and wall, to crumble at a touch of Time;
   How Earth on Earth from Shinar-plain the heights of Heaven fain would climb.

   How short this Life, how long withal; how false its weal, how true its woes,
   This fever-fit with paroxysms to mark its opening and its close.

   Ah! gay the day with shine of sun, and bright the breeze, and blithe the throng
   Met on the River-bank to play, when I was young, when I was young:

   Such general joy could never fade; and yet the chilling whisper came
   One face had paled, one form had failed; had fled the bank, had swum the stream;

   Still revellers danced, and sang, and trod the hither bank of Time's deep tide,
   Still one by one they left and fared to the far misty thither side;

   And now the last hath slipt away yon drear Death-desert to explore,
   And now one Pilgrim worn and lorn still lingers on the lonely shore.

   Yes, Life in youth-tide standeth still; in Manhood streameth soft and slow;
   See, as it nears th abysmal goal how fleet the waters flash and flow!

   And Deaths are twain; the Deaths we see drop like the leaves in windy Fall;
   But ours, our own, are ruined worlds, a globe collapst, last end of all.

   We live our lives with rogues and fools, dead and alive, alive and dead,
   We die 'twixt one who feels the pulse and one who frets and clouds the head:

   And,--oh, the Pity!--hardly conned the lesson comes its fatal term;
   Fate bids us bundle up our books, and bear them bod'ily to the worm:

   Hardly we learn to wield the blade before the wrist grows stiff and old;
   Hardly we learn to ply the pen ere Thought and Fancy faint with cold:

   Hardly we find the path of love, to sink the Self, forget the "I,"
   When sad suspicion grips the heart, when Man, _the_ Man, begins to die:

   Hardly we scale the wisdom-heights, and sight the Pisgah-scene around,
   And breathe the breath of heav'enly air, and hear the Spheres' harmonious sound;

   When swift the Camel-rider spans the howling waste, by Kismet sped,
   And of his Magic Wand a wave hurries the quick to join the dead.[19]

   How sore the burden, strange the strife; how full of splendour, wonder, fear;
   Life, atom of that Infinite Space that stretches 'twixt the Here and There.

   How Thought is imp'otent to divine the secret which the gods defend,
   The Why of birth and life and death, that Isis-veil no hand may rend.

   Eternal Morrows make our Day; our _Is_ is aye _to be_ till when
   Night closes in; 'tis all a dream, and yet we die,--and then and THEN?

   And still the Weaver plies his loom, whose warp and woof is wretched Man
   Weaving th' unpattern'd dark design, so dark we doubt it owns a plan.

   Dost not, O Maker, blush to hear, amid the storm of tears and blood,
   Man say Thy mercy made what is, and saw the made and said 'twas good?

   The marvel is that man can smile dreaming his ghostly ghastly dream;--Better
   the heedless atomy that buzzes in the morning beam!

   O the dread pathos of our lives! how durst thou, Allah, thus to play
   With Love, Affection, Friendship, all that shows the god in mortal clay?

   But ah! what 'vaileth man to mourn; shall tears bring forth what smiles ne'er brought;
   Shall brooding breed a thought of joy? Ah hush the sigh, forget the thought!

   Silence thine immemorial quest, contain thy nature's vain complaint
   None heeds, none cares for thee or thine;--like thee how many came and went?

   Cease, Man, to mourn, to weep, to wail; enjoy thy shining hour of sun;
   We dance along Death's icy brink, but is the dance less full of fun?

          *       *       *       *       *

   What Truths hath gleaned that Sage consumed by many a moon that waxt and waned?
   What Prophet-strain be his to sing? What hath his old Experience gained?

   There is no God, no man-made God; a bigger, stronger, crueller man;
   Black phantom of our baby-fears, ere Thought, the life of Life, began.

   Right quoth the Hindu Prince of old,[20] "An Ishwara for one I nill,
   Th' almighty everlasting Good who cannot 'bate th' Eternal Ill:"

   "Your gods may be, what shows they are?" Hear China's Perfect Sage declare;[21]
   "And being, what to us be they who dwell so darkly and so far?"

   "All matter hath a birth and death; 'tis made, unmade and made anew;
   "We choose to call the Maker 'God':"--such is the Zâhid's owly view.

   "You changeful finite Creatures strain" (rejoins the Drawer of the Wine)[22]
   "The dizzy depths of Inf'inite Power to fathom with your foot of twine;"

   "Poor idols of man's heart and head with the Divine Idea to blend;
   "To preach as 'Nature's Common Course' what any hour may shift or end."

   "How shall the Shown pretend to ken aught of the Showman or the Show?
   "Why meanly bargain to believe, which only means thou ne'er canst know?

   "How may the passing Now contain the standing Now--Eternity?--
   "An endless _is_ without a _was_, the _be_ and never the _to-be?_

   "Who made your Maker? If Self-made, why fare so far to fare the worse?
   "Sufficeth not a world of worlds, a self-made chain of universe?

   "Grant an Idea, Primal Cause, the Causing Cause, why crave for more?
   "Why strive its depth and breadth to mete, to trace its work, its aid to 'implore?

   "Unknown, Incomprehensible, whate'er you choose to call it, call;
   "But leave it vague as airy space, dark in its darkness mystical.

   "Your childish fears would seek a Sire, by the non-human God defin'd,
   "What your five wits may wot ye weet; what _is_ you please to dub 'design'd;'

   "You bring down Heav'en to vulgar Earth; your Maker like yourselves you make,
   "You quake to own a reign of Law, you pray the Law its laws to break;

   "You pray, but hath your thought e'er weighed how empty vain the prayer must be,
   "That begs a boon already giv'en, or craves a change of Law to see?

   "Say, Man, deep learnèd in the Scheme that orders mysteries sublime,
   "How came it this was Jesus, that was Judas from the birth of Time?

   "How I the tiger, thou the lamb; again the Secret, prithee, show
   "Who slew the slain, bowman or bolt or Fate that drave the man, the bow?

   "Man worships self: his God is Man; the struggling of the mortal mind
   "To form its model as 'twould be, the perfect of itself to find.

   "The God became sage, priest and scribe where Nilus' serpent made the vale;
   "A gloomy Brahm in glowing Ind, a neutral something cold and pale:

   "Amid the high Chaldean hills a moulder of the heavenly spheres;
   "On Guebre steppes the Timeless-God who governs by his dual peers:

   "In Hebrew tents the Lord that led His leprous slaves to fight and jar;
   "Yahveh,[23] Adon or Elohim, the God that smites, the Man of War.

   "The lovely Gods of lib'ertine Greece, those fair and frail humanities
   "Whose homes o'erlooked the Middle Sea, where all Earth's beauty cradled lies,

   "Ne'er left its blessèd bounds, nor sought the barb'arous climes of barb'arous gods
   "Where Odin of the dreary North o'er hog and sickly mead-cup nods:

   "And when, at length, 'Great Pan is dead' uprose the loud and dol'orous cry
   "A glamour wither'd on the ground, a splendour faded in the sky.

   "Yea, Pan was dead, the Nazar'ene came and seized his seat beneath the sun,
   "The votary of the Riddle-god, whose one is three and three is one;

   "Whose sadd'ening creed of herited Sin split o'er the world its cold grey spell;
   "In every vista showed a grave, and 'neath the grave the glare of Hell;

   "Till all Life's Po'esy sinks to prose; romance to dull Real'ity fades;
   "Earth's flush of gladness pales in gloom and God again to man degrades.

   "Then the lank Arab foul with sweat, the drainer of the camel's dug,
   "Gorged with his leek-green lizard's meat, clad in his filthy rag and rug,

   "Bore his fierce Allah o'er his sands and broke, like lava-burst upon
   "The realms where reigned pre-Adamite Kings, where rose the grand Kayânian throne.[24]

   "Who now of ancient Kayomurs, of Zâl or Rustam cares to sing,
   "Whelmed by the tempest of the tribes that called the Camel-driver King?

   "Where are the crown of Kay Khusraw, the sceptre of Anûshirwân,
   "The holy grail of high Jamshîd, Afrâsiyab's hall?--Canst tell me, man?

   "Gone, gone, where I and thou must go, borne by the winnowing wings of Death,
   "The Horror brooding over life, and nearer brought with every breath:

   "Their fame hath filled the Seven Climes, they rose and reigned, they fought and fell,
   "As swells and swoons across the wold the tinkling of the Camel's bell."

          *       *       *       *       *

   There is no Good, there is no Bad; these be the whims of mortal will:
   What works me weal that call I 'good,' what harm and hurts I hold as 'ill:'

   They change with place, they shift with race; and, in the veriest span of Time,
   Each Vice has worn a Virtue's crown; all Good was banned as Sin or Crime:

   Like ravelled skeins they cross and twine, while this with that connects and blends;
   And only Khizr[25] his eye shall see where one begins, where other ends:

   What mortal shall consort with Khizr, when Musâ turned in fear to flee?
   What man foresees the flow'er or fruit whom Fate compels to plant the tree?

   For Man's Free-will immortal Law, Anagkê, Kismet, Des'tiny read
   That was, that is, that aye shall be, Star, Fortune, Fate, Urd, Norn or Need.

   "Man's nat'ural State is God's design"; such is the silly sage's theme;
   "Man's primal Age was Age of Gold"; such is the Poet's waking dream:

   Delusion, Ign'orance! Long ere Man drew upon earth his earli'est breath
   The world was one contin'uous scene of anguish, torture, prey and Death;

   Where hideous Theria of the wild rended their fellows limb by limb;
   Where horrid Saurians of the sea in waves of blood were wont to swim:

   The "fair young Earth" was only fit to spawn her frightful monster-brood;
   Now fiery hot, now icy frore, now reeking wet with steamy flood.

   Yon glorious Sun, the greater light, the "Bridegroom" of the royal Lyre,
   A flaming, boiling, bursting mine; a grim black orb of whirling fire:

   That gentle Moon, the lesser light, the Lover's lamp, the Swain's delight,
   A ruined world, a globe burnt out, a corpse upon the road of night.

   What reckt he, say, of Good or Ill who in the hill-hole made his lair,
   The blood-fed rav'ening Beast of prey, wilder than wildest wolf or bear?

   How long in Man's pre-Ad'amite days to feed and swill, to sleep and breed,
   Were the Brute-biped's only life, a perfect life sans Code or Creed?

   His choicest garb a shaggy fell, his choicest tool a flake of stone;
   His best of orn'aments tattoo'd skin and holes to hang his bits of bone;

   Who fought for female as for food when Mays awoke to warm desire;
   And such the lust that grew to Love when Fancy lent a purer fire.

   Where _then_ "Th' Eternal nature-law by God engraved on human heart"?
   Behold his simiad sconce and own the Thing could play no higher part.

   Yet, as long ages rolled, he learnt from Beaver, Ape and Ant to build
   Shelter for sire and dam and brood, from blast and blaze that hurt and killed;

   And last came Fire; when scrap of stone cast on the flame that lit his den,
   Gave out the shining ore, and made the Lord of beasts a Lord of men.

   The "moral sense," your Zâhid-phrase, is but the gift of latest years;
   Conscience was born when man had shed his fur, his tail, his pointed ears.

   What conscience has the murderous Moor, who slays his guest with felon blow,
   Save sorrow he can slay no more, what prick of pen'itence can he know?

   You cry the "Cruelty of Things" is myst'ery to your purblind eye,
   Which fixed upon a point in space the general project passes by:

   For see! the Mammoth went his ways, became a mem'ory and a name;
   While the half-reasoner with the hand[26] survives his rank and place to claim.

   Earthquake and plague, storm, fight and fray, portents and curses man must deem
   Since he regards his self alone, nor cares to trace the scope, the scheme;

   The Quake that comes in eyelid's beat to ruin, level, 'gulf and kill,
   Builds up a world for better use, to general Good bends special Ill:

   The dreadest sound man's ear can hear, the war and rush of stormy Wind
   Depures the stuff of human life, breeds health and strength for humankind:

   What call ye them or Goods or Ills, ill-goods, good-ills, a loss, a gain,
   When realms arise and falls a roof; a world is won, a man is slain?

   And thus the race of Being runs, till haply in the time to be
   Earth shifts her pole and Mushtari-men[27] another falling star shall see:

   Shall see it fall and fade from sight, whence come, where gone no Thought can tell,--
   Drink of yon mirage-stream and chase the tinkling of the Camel-bell!

          *       *       *       *       *

   All Faith is false, all Faith is true: Truth is the shattered mirror strown
   In myriad bits; while each believes his little bit the whole to own.

   What is the Truth? was askt of yore. Reply all object Truth is one
   As twain of halves aye makes a whole; the moral Truth for all is none.

   Ye scantly-learned Zâhids learn from Aflatûn and Aristû,[28]
   While Truth is real like your good: th' Untrue, like ill, is real too;

   As palace mirror'd in the stream, as vapour mingled with the skies,
   So weaves the brain of mortal man the tangled web of Truth and Lies.

   What see we here? Forms, nothing more! Forms fill the brightest strongest eye,
   We know not substance; 'mid the shades shadows ourselves we live and die.

   "Faith mountains move" I hear: I see the practice of the world unheed
   The foolish vaunt, the blatant boast that serves our vanity to feed.

   "Faith stands unmoved"; and why? Because man's silly fancies still remain,
   And will remain till wiser man the day-dreams of his youth disdain.

   "'Tis blessèd to believe"; you say: The saying may be true enow
   An it can add to Life a light:--only remains to show us how.

   E'en if I could I nould believe your tales and fables stale and trite,
   Irksome as twice-sung tune that tires the dullèd ear of drowsy wight.

   With God's foreknowledge man's free will! what monster-growth of human brain,
   What pow'ers of light shall ever pierce this puzzle dense with words inane?

   Vainly the heart on Providence calls, such aid to seek were hardly wise
   For man must own the pitiless Law that sways the globe and sevenfold skies.

   "Be ye Good Boys, go seek for Heav'en, come pay the priest that holds the key;"
   So spake, and speaks, and aye shall speak the last to enter Heaven,--he.

   Are these the words for men to hear? yet such the Church's general tongue,
   The horseleech-cry so strong so high her heav'enward Psalms and Hymns among.

   What? Faith a merit and a claim, when with the brain 'tis born and bred?
   Go, fool, thy foolish way and dip in holy water burièd dead![29]

   Yet follow not th' unwisdom-path, cleave not to this and that disclaim;
   Believe in all that man believes; here all and naught are both the same.

   But is it so? How may we know? Happily this Fate, this Law may be
   A word, a sound, a breath; at most the Zâhid's moonstruck theory.

   Yes Truth may be, but 'tis not Here; mankind must seek and find it There,
   But Where nor _I_ nor _you_ can tell, nor aught earth-mother ever bare.

   Enough to think that Truth can be: come sit we where the roses glow,
   Indeed he knows not how to know who knows not also how to 'unknow.

          *       *       *       *       *

   Man hath no Soul, a state of things, a no-thing still, a sound, a word
   Which so begets substantial thing that eye shall see what ear hath heard.

   Where was his Soul the savage beast which in primeval forests strayed,
   What shape had it, what dwelling-place, what part in nature's plan it played?

   This Soul to ree a riddle made; who wants the vain duality?
   Is not myself enough for me? what need of "I" within an "I"?

   Words, words that gender things! The soul is a new-comer on the scene;
   Sufficeth not the breath of Life to work the matter-born machine?

   We know the Gen'esis of the Soul; we trace the Soul to hour of birth;
   We mark its growth as grew mankind to boast himself sole Lord of Earth:

   The race of Be'ing from dawn of Life in an unbroken course was run;
   What men are pleased to call their Souls was in the hog and dog begun:

   Life is a ladder infinite-stepped, that hides its rungs from human eyes;
   Planted its foot in chaos-gloom, its head soars high above the skies:

   No break the chain of Being bears; all things began in unity;
   And lie the links in regular line though haply none the sequence see.

   The Ghost, embodied natural Dread of dreary death and foul decay,
   Begat the Spirit, Soul and Shade with Hades' pale and wan array.

   The Soul required a greater Soul, a Soul of Souls, to rule the host:
   Hence spirit-powers and hierarchies, all gendered by the savage Ghost.

   Not yours, ye Peoples of the Book, these fairy visions fair and fond,
   Got by the gods of Khemi-land[30] and faring far the seas beyond!

   "Th' immortal mind of mortal man"! we hear yon loud-lunged Zealot cry;
   Whose mind but means his sum of thought, an essence of atomic "I."

   Thought is the work of brain and nerve, in small-skulled idiot poor and mean;
   In sickness sick, in sleep asleep, and dead when Death lets drop the scene.

   "Tush!" quoth the Zâhid, "well we ken the teaching of the school abhorr'd
   "That maketh man automaton, mind a secretion, soul a word."

   "Of molecules and protoplasm you matter-mongers prompt to prate;
   "Of jelly-speck, development and apes that grew to man's estate."

   Vain cavil! all that is hath come either by Mir'acle or by Law;--
   Why waste on this your hate and fear, why waste on that your love and awe?

   Why heap such hatred on a word, why "Prototype" to type assign,
   Why upon matter spirit mass? wants an appendix your design?

   Is not the highest honour his who from the worst hath drawn the best;
   May not your Maker make the world from matter, an it suit His best?

   Nay more, the sordider the stuff the cunninger the workman's hand:
   Cease, then, your own Almighty Power to bind, to bound, to understand.

   "Reason and Instinct!" How we love to play with words that please our pride;
   Our noble race's mean descent by false forged titles seek to hide!

   For "gift divine" I bid you read the better work of higher brain,
   From Instinct diff'ering in degree as golden mine from leaden vein.

   Reason is Life's sole arbiter, the magic Laby'rinth's single clue:
   Worlds lie above, beyond its ken; what crosses it can ne'er be true.

   "Fools rush where Angels fear to tread!" Angels and Fools have equal claim
   To do what Nature bids them do, sans hope of praise, sans fear of blame!

          *       *       *       *       *

   There is no Heav'en, there is no Hell; these be the dreams of baby minds;
   Tools of the wily Fetisheer, to 'fright the fools his cunning blinds.

   Learn from the mighty Spi'rits of old to set thy foot on Heav'en and Hell;
   In life to find thy hell and heav'en as thou abuse or use it well.

   So deemed the doughty Jew who dared by studied silence low to lay
   Orcus and Hades, lands of shades, the gloomy night of human day.

   Hard to the heart is final death: fain would an _Ens_ not end in _Nil_;
   Love made the senti'ment kindly good: the Priest perverted all to ill.

   While Reason sternly bids us die, Love longs for life beyond the grave:
   Our hearts, affections, hopes and fears for Life-to-be shall ever crave.

   Hence came the despot's darling dream, a Church to rule and sway the State;
   Hence sprang the train of countless griefs in priestly sway and rule innate.

   For future Life who dares reply? No witness at the bar have we;
   Save what the brother Potsherd tells,--old tales and novel jugglery.

   Who e'er return'd to teach the Truth, the things of Heaven and Hell to limn?
   And all we hear is only fit for grandam-talk and nursery-hymn.

   "Have mercy, man?" the Zâhid cries, "of our best visions rob us not!
   "Mankind a future life must have to balance life's unequal lot."

   "Nay," quoth the Magian, "'tis not so; I draw my wine for one for all.
   "A cup for this, a score for that, e'en as his measure's great or small:

   "Who drinks one bowl hath scant delight; to poorest passion he was born;
   "Who drains the score must e'er expect to rue the headache of the morn."

   Safely he jogs along the way which "Golden Mean" the sages call;
   Who scales the brow of frowning Alp must face full many a slip and fall.

   Here èxtremes meet, anointed Kings whose crowned heads uneasy lie,
   Whose cup of joy contains no more than tramps that on the dunghill die.

   To fate-doomed Sinner born and bred for dangling from the gallows-tree;
   To Saint who spends his holy days in rapturous hope his God to see;

   To all that breathe our upper air the hands of Dest'iny ever deal,
   In fixed and equal parts, their shares of joy and sorrow, woe and weal.

   "How comes it, then, our span of days in hunting wealth and fame we spend?
   "Why strive we (and all humans strive) for vain and visionary end?"

   Reply; mankind obeys a law that bids him labour, struggle, strain;
   The Sage well knowing its unworth, the Fool a-dreaming foolish gain.

   And who, 'mid e'en the Fools, but feels that half the joy is in the race
   For wealth and fame and place, nor sighs when comes success to crown the chase?

   Again: In Hind, Chin, Franguestân that accident of birth befell,
   Without our choice, our will, our voice: Faith is an accident as well.

   What to the Hindu saith the Frank: "Denier of the Laws divine!
   However godly-good thy Life, Hell is the home for thee and thine."

   "Go strain the draught before 'tis drunk, and learn that breathing every breath,
   "With every step, with every gest, some thing of life thou do'est to death."

   Replies the Hindu: "Wend thy way for foul and foolish Mlenchhas fit;
   "Your Pariah-par'adise woo and win; at such dog-Heav'en I laugh and spit.

   "Cannibals of the Holy Cow! who make your rav'ening maws the grave
   "Of Things with self-same right to live;--what Fiend the filthy license gave?"

   What to the Moslem cries the Frank? "A polygamic Theist thou!
   "From an impostor-Prophet turn; thy stubborn head to Jesus bow."

   Rejoins the Moslem: "Allah's one tho' with four Moslemahs I wive,
   "One-wife-men ye and (damnèd race!) you split your God to Three and Five."

   The Buddhist to Confucians thus: "Like dogs ye live, like dogs ye die;
   "Content ye rest with wretched earth; God, judgment, Hell ye fain defy."

   Retorts the Tartar: "Shall I lend mine only ready-money 'now,'
   For vain usurious 'Then' like thine, avaunt, a triple idiot Thou!"

   "With this poor life, with this mean world I fain complete what in me lies;
   I strive to perfect this my me; my sole ambition's to be wise."

   When doctors differ who decides amid the milliard-headed throng?
   Who save the madman dares to cry: "'Tis I am right, you all are wrong"?

   "You all are right, you all are wrong," we hear the careless Soofi say,
   "For each believes his glimm'ering lamp to be the gorgeous light of day."

   "_Thy_ faith why false, _my_ faith why true? 'tis all the work of Thine and Mine,
   "The fond and foolish love of self that makes the Mine excel the Thine."

   Cease then to mumble rotten bones; and strive to clothe with flesh and blood
   The skel'eton; and to shape a Form that all shall hail as fair and good.

   "For gen'erous youth," an Arab saith. "Jahim's[31] the only genial state;
   "Give us the fire but not the shame with the sad, sorry blest to mate."

   And if your Heav'en and Hell be true, and Fate that forced me to be born
   Force me to Heav'en or Hell--I go, and hold Fate's insolence in scorn.

   I want not this, I want not that, already sick of Me and Thee;
   And if we're both transform'd and changed, what then becomes of Thee and Me?

   Enough to think such things may be; to say they are not or they are
   Were folly: leave them all to Fate, nor wage on shadows useless war.

   Do what thy manhood bids thee do, from none but self expect applause;
   He noblest lives and noblest dies who makes and keeps his self-made laws.

   All other Life is living Death, a world where none but Phantoms dwell,
   A breath, a wind, a sound, a voice, a tinkling of the Camel-bell.

          *       *       *       *       *

   How then shall man so order life that when his tale of years is told,
   Like sated guest he wend his way; how shall his even tenour hold?

   Despite the Writ that stores the skull; despite the Table and the Pen;[32]
   Maugre the Fate that plays us down, her board the world, her pieces men?

   How when the light and glow of life wax dim in thickly gath'ering gloom,
   Shall mortal scoff at sting of Death, shall scorn the victory of the Tomb?

   One way, two paths, one end the grave. This runs athwart the flow'ery plain,
   That breasts the bush, the steep, the crag, in sun and wind and snow and rain:

   Who treads the first must look adown, must deem his life an all in all;
   Must see no heights where man may rise, must sight no depths where man may fall.

   Allah in Adam form must view; adore the Maker in the made
   Content to bask in Mâyâ's smile,[33] in joys of pain, in lights of shade,

   He breaks the Law, he burns the Book, he sends the Moolah back to school;
   Laughs at the beards of Saintly men; and dubs the Prophet dolt and fool.

   Embraces Cypress' taper-waist; cools feet on wavy breast of rill;
   Smiles in the Nargis' love-lorn eyes, and 'joys the dance of Daffodil;

   Melts in the saffron light of Dawn to hear the moaning of the Dove;
   Delights in Sundown's purpling hues when Bulbul woos the Rose's love.

   Finds mirth and joy in Jamshid-bowl; toys with the Daughter of the vine;
   And bids the beauteous cup-boy say, "Master I bring thee ruby wine!"[34]

   Sips from the maiden's lips the dew; brushes the bloom from virgin brow:--
   Such is his fleshly bliss that strives the Maker through the Made to know.

   I've tried them all, I find them all so same and tame, so drear, so dry;
   My gorge ariseth at the thought; I commune with myself and cry:--

   Better the myriad toils and pains that make the man to manhood true,
   This be the rule that guideth life; these be the laws for me and you:

   With Ignor'ance wage eternal war, to know thy self for ever strain,
   Thine ignorance of thine ignorance is thy fiercest foe, thy deadliest bane;

   That blunts thy sense, and dulls thy taste; that deafs thine ears, and blinds thine eyes;
   Creates the thing that never was, the Thing that ever is defies.

   The finite Atom infinite that forms thy circle's centre-dot,
   So full-sufficient for itself, for other selves existing not,

   Finds the world mighty as 'tis small; yet must be fought the unequal fray;
   A myriad giants here; and there a pinch of dust, a clod of clay.

   Yes! maugre all thy dreams of peace still must the fight unfair be fought;
   Where thou may'st learn the noblest law, to know that all we know is nought.

   True to thy Nature, to Thyself, Fame and Disfame nor hope nor fear:
   Enough to thee the small still voice aye thund'ering in thine inner ear.

   From self-approval seek applause: What ken not men thou kennest, thou!
   Spurn ev'ry idol others raise: Before thine own Ideal bow:

   Be thine own Deus: Make self free, liberal as the circling air:
   Thy Thought to thee an Empire be; break every prison'ing lock and bar:

   Do Thou the Ought to self aye owed; here all the duties meet and blend,
   In widest sense, withouten care of what began, for what shall end.

   Thus, as thou view the Phantom-forms which in the misty Past were thine,
   To be again the thing thou wast with honest pride thou may'st decline;

   And, glancing down the range of years, fear not thy future self to see;
   Resign'd to life, to death resign'd, as though the choice were nought to thee.

   On Thought itself feed not thy thought; nor turn from Sun and Light to gaze,
   At darkling cloisters paved with tombs, where rot the bones of bygone days:

   "Eat not thy heart," the Sages said; "nor mourn the Past, the buried Past;"
   Do what thou dost, be strong, be brave; and, like the Star, nor rest nor haste.

   Pluck the old woman from thy breast: Be stout in woe, be stark in weal;
   Do good for Good is good to do: Spurn bribe of Heav'en and threat of Hell.

   To seek the True, to glad the heart, such is of life the HIGHER LAW,
   Whose difference is the Man's degree, the Man of gold, the Man of straw.

   See not that something in Mankind that rouses hate or scorn or strife,
   Better the worm of Izrâil[35] than Death that walks in form of life.

   Survey thy kind as One whose wants in the great Human Whole unite;[36]
   The Homo rising high from earth to seek the Heav'ens of Life-in-Light;

   And hold Humanity one man, whose universal agony
   Still strains and strives to gain the goal, where agonies shall cease to be.

   Believe in all things; none believe; judge not nor warp by "Facts" the thought;
   See clear, hear clear, tho' life may seem Mâyâ and Mirage, Dream and Naught.

   Abjure the Why and seek the How: the God and gods enthroned on high,
   Are silent all, are silent still; nor hear thy voice, nor deign reply.

   The Now, that indivis'ible point which studs the length of infinite line
   Whose ends are nowhere, is thine all, the puny all thou callest thine.

   Perchance the law some Giver hath: Let be! let be! what canst thou know?
   A myriad races came and went; this Sphinx hath seen them come and go.

   Haply the Law that rules the world allows to man the widest range;
   And haply Fate's a Theist-word, subject to human chance and change.

   This "I" may find a future Life, a nobler copy of our own.
   Where every riddle shall be ree'd, where every knowledge shall be known;

   Where 'twill be man's to see the whole of what on Earth he sees in part;
   Where change shall ne'er surcharge the thought; nor hope deferr'd shall hurt the heart.

   But!--faded flow'er and fallen leaf no more shall deck the parent tree;
   And man once dropt by Tree of Life what hope of other life has he?

   The shatter'd bowl shall know repair; the riven lute shall sound once more;
   But who shall mend the clay of man, the stolen breath to man restore?

   The shiver'd clock again shall strike; the broken reed shall pipe again:
   But we, we die, and Death is one, the doom of brutes, the doom of men.

   Then, if Nirwânâ[37] round our life with nothingness, 'tis haply best;
   Thy toils and troubles, want and woe at length have won their guerdon--Rest.

   Cease, Abdû, Cease! Thy song is sung, nor think the gain the singer's prize;
   Till men hold Ignor'ance deadly sin, till man deserves his title "Wise:"[38]

   In Days to come, Days slow to dawn, when Wisdom deigns to dwell with men,
   These echoes of a voice long stilled haply shall wake responsive strain;

   Wend now thy way with brow serene, fear not thy humble tale to tell;--
   The whispers of the Desert-wind; the Tinkling of the Camel's bell.

                             טלם


[Sidenote: _The End of the Kasîdah--Christian Poetry._]

But then, again, a year later I find amongst his writings:--

    "Man wendeth to his long, long home,
      About the streets the mourners go;
    Behold the tomb, and hereby mete
      The length and depth of mortal woe.
    Thou hast nor lover, kin, nor friend!
      The deepest grief hath shallows.

    "Ah yes, thou hast; but close thine eyes
      Upon this world and gaze above.
    There, and there only, shalt thou find
      Unchanging and unmeasured love.
    Then dare the way, and meekly bend
      Thy footsteps t'ward the heavenly Friend.

                      "Dies Iræ!
    Lord, Saviour, God, my only stay,
    Desert me not that dreadful day."

Richard's idea was that every man, by doing all the good he could in
this life, always working for others, for the human race, always acting
"Excelsior," should leave a track of light behind him on this World as
he passes through. His idea of God was so immeasurably grander than
anything people are _usually_ taught to think about God. It always
seemed to him that we dwindled God down to our own mean imaginations;
that we made something like ourselves, only bigger, and far crueller.
There is some truth in this; we are always talking about God just as
if we understood Him. His idea of a Divine Being was so infinite, so
great, that to pray to Him was an impertinence; that it was monstrous
that we should expect Him to alter one of His decrees, because _we_
prayed for it; that He was a God of big universal love, but so far off,
as to be far above anything we can understand. These were the _utmost_
extent of his _own_ Agnostic fits.

Almost contemporary with these sentiments, I find the following
verses:--

    1.
    "Bright imaged in the glassy lake below,
      Crisped by the zephyrs' nimble run,
    I saw two sister stars appear.
      I looked above, there shone but one;
    Then fled the zephyrs, and my eye
    The sole reflection could descry.

    2.
    "Then rising high, the crescent skiff
      Thro' the deep azure rolled its way;
    On earth a misty shadow lay,
      While all of heaven was bright and gay.
    Then waxed the night cloud thin and rare,
    And died within its home, the air.

    3.
    "Thus senses that improve the soul
      To deadliest error oft give birth;
    Dust-born, they grovel and apply
      To highest heaven low rubs of earth,
    Fell fatal masters where they sway,
    Obedient slaves when taught t' obey.

    4.
    "Nor let th' immortal "I" depend
      On Reason, blind and faithless guide,
    Who knowing nothing knoweth all
      Of mortal folly--human pride;
    Not thus may truth be wooed and won--
    A _reasonable_ creed is none.

    5.
    "Who then thy falt'ring steps may lead
      O'er the wild waste of doubt and fear,
    Where sense and reason shed no ray?
      The marks and glooms what light may clear?
    Shall nature tread a law-girt course,
    While man walks earth a living corpse?

    6.
    "Ah, no! there is a heavenly guide
      That leads, directs this fragile clay;
    We call it spirit, soul, and life,
      Let mortal call it as he may;
    Man, go not far, seek not elsewhere;
    Search that within--Truth dwelleth _there_."

He was always in one of the two extremes, meaning _All_ or _Nothing_.
It is what we Catholics call "resisting of Divine grace;" it is
what Agnostics would call "resisting a temptation," or the correct
shibboleth, I believe, is "upholding his integrity," _i.e._
disbelieving in God and another _world_, which he _never did_ at any
time of his life.

[1] He was so broad and muscular that he did not look more than five
feet nine--but he really was two inches taller, and the one complaint
of his life was not to be able to grow another inch to make six feet.

[2] "The _Tayyárah_, or 'Flying Caravan,' is lightly laden, and travels
by forced marches."

[3] "The _Rakb_ is a dromedary-caravan, in which each person carries
only his saddle-bags. It usually descends by the road called El Khabt,
and makes Mecca on the fifth day."

[4] "By the term 'fatted ass' the intellectual lady alluded to her
royal husband."

[5] N.B.--I have still got some of Richard's bottles of this holy
water, if any one would wish to analyze it.--I. B.

[6] N.B.--I found in later years he had recently copied into this part
of his journal, from some paper, "The Meditations of a Hindu Prince and
Sceptic," by the author of "The Old Pindaree"--

     "All the world over, I wonder, in lands that I never have trod,
     Are the people eternally seeking for the signs and steps of a God?
     Westward across the ocean, and Northward ayont the snow,
     Do they all stand gazing, as ever? and what do the wisest know?

     "Here, in this mystical India, the deities hover and swarm,
     Like the wild bees heard in the treetops, or the gusts of a gathering storm;
     In the air men hear their voices, their feet on the rocks are seen,
     Yet we all say, 'Whence is the message? and what may the wonders mean?'

     "Shall I list to the word of the English, who came from the uttermost sea?
     'The secret, hath it been told you? and what is your message to me?'
     It is nought but the wide-world story how the earth and the heavens began;
     How the gods are glad and angry, and a Deity once a man.

     "I had thought, 'Perchance in the cities where the rulers of India dwell,
     Whose orders flash from the far land, who girdle the earth with a spell,
     They have fathomed the depths we float on, or measured the unknown main:'
     Sadly they turn from the venture, and say that the quest is vain.

     "Is life, then, a dream and delusion? and where shall the dreamer awake?
     Is the world seen like shadows on water? and what if the mirror break?
     Shall it pass, as a camp that is struck, as a tent that is gathered and gone,
     From the sands that were lamp-lit at eve, and at morning are level and lone?

     "Is there nought in the heavens above, whence the hail and the levin are hurled,
     But the wind that is swept around us by the rush of the rolling world?--
     The wind that shall scatter my ashes, and bear me to silence and sleep
     With the dirge, and the sounds of lamenting, and the voices of women who weep."

[7] I have only given the barest outlines of what took place, referring
my readers to the original, because, as there were between fifty and
fifty-five mosques, besides other places, and various interesting
ceremonies to be performed in each one, there would be no room for
anything else; and the same may be said of El Medinah.--I. B.

[8] On the _Dwárká_, before he had time to go down to the cabin and
change his clothes, one of his English brother officers, who was on
board the ship, gave him a sly kick, and said, "Get out of the way,
you dirty nigger." He often told me how he longed to hit him, but did
not dare to betray himself. He was also part of the way in the Red Sea
with my cousin William Strickland, a priest, and he used to tease him
by sitting opposite to him, reciting his Korán out loud, while William
was saying his breviary also out loud. At last one day Strickland got
up, saying, "Oh, my God, I can't stand this much more," and afterwards
these two became great friends.--I. B.

[9] This is absolutely untrue. Since Richard's death, two Englishmen,
out of jealousy, have made this remark--one only knew Syrian Christian
Arabic; the other, the dialect of Suez.

[10] The false dawn.

[11] The Demon of the Desert.

[12] Arafât, near Mecca.

[13] Hâfiz of Shirâz.

[14] Omar-i-Khayyâm, the tent-maker poet of Persia.

[15] A famous Mystic stoned for blasphemy.

[16] The "Philister" of "respectable" belief.

[17] Moses in the Korán.

[18] The Abana, River of Damascus.

[19] Death in Arabia rides a Camel, not a pale horse.

[20] Buddha.

[21] Confucius.

[22] The Soofi or Gnostic opposed to the Zâhid.

[23] Jehovah.

[24] Kayâni--of the race of Cyrus; old Guebre heroes.

[25] Supposed to be the Prophet Elijah.

[26] The Elephant.

[27] Mushtari: the Planet Jupiter.

[28] Plato and Aristotle.

[29] I think he is alluding, though he has not expressed it, to the
Marcionites' heresy of baptizing for the dead. The Marcionites were
heretics who lived at Sinope, A.D. 150. Marcian came to Rome and
believed in principles similar to the Manichæans. When a man died,
one of the Marcionites sat on his coffin, and another asked him if he
were willing to be baptised, and he answered, "Yes," upon which he was
baptised. These heretics quoted Paul (1 Cor. xv. 29): "Else what shall
they do which are baptised for the dead, if the dead do not rise at
all? why are they then baptised for the dead?"--ISABEL BURTON.

[30] Egypt; Kam, Kem, Khem (hierogl.), in the Demotic Khemi.

[31] Jehannum, Gehenna, Hell.

[32] Emblems of Kismet, or Destiny.

[33] Illusion.

[34] That all the senses, even the ear may enjoy.

[35] The Angel of Death.

[36] The "Great Man" of the Enochites and the Mormons.

[37] Comparative annihilation.

[38] "Homo sapiens."




CHAPTER IX.

HARAR--THE MOSLEM ABYSSINIA--THE TIMBUCTOO OF EAST AFRICA, THE
EXPLORATION OF WHICH HAD BEEN ATTEMPTED IN VAIN BY SOME THIRTY
TRAVELLLERS.


Richard returned up the Red Sea to Egypt, and much enjoyed the rest
and safety for a short time, and then returned to Bombay, his leave
being up; but the wandering fever was still upon him, and as the most
difficult place for a white man to enter was Harar, in Somali-land,
Abyssinia, he determined that that should be his object. It is
inhabited by a very dangerous race to deal with, and no white man had
ever penetrated to Harar. The first white man who went to Abyssinia
was kept prisoner till he died. The East India Company had long wished
to explore it, because Berberah, the chief port of Somali-land, is the
safest and best harbour on the western side of the Indian Ocean--far
better than Aden. They went to work with that strange mixture of
caution and generosity with which they treated those of their servants
who stepped out of what Richard calls their "quarter-deck" routine,
that is, to let him go as a private traveller, and the Government to
give him no protection, but would allow him to retain the same pay that
he would enjoy whilst on leave. Dr. Carter and others refused to do
more than to coast along in a cruiser.

Richard applied for Lieutenant Herne, of the 1st Bombay Fusiliers,
Lieutenant Stroyan, Indian Navy, and Lieutenant Speke, 46th Bengal
Native Infantry. Herne was distinguished by his surveys, photography,
and mechanics on the west coast of India, in Scinde, and on the Punjaub
rivers; Stroyan as amateur surveyor; and Speke, collector of the Fauna
of Tibet and the Himalayas and sportsman. Assistant-Surgeon Ellerton
Stocks, botanist, traveller, and a first-rate man in all ways, died
before the expedition started.

Jealousy, as usual, immediately rose up in opposition. First, Sir
James Outram, Political Resident at Aden, called it a tempting of
Providence, and Dr. Buist, the editor of the _Bombay Times_, was told
to run down the Somali Expedition, in which task he was assisted by the
unpopular chaplain. This was not very gratifying to four high-spirited
men; so, instead of using Berberah as a base of operations, then
westward to Harar, and then south-east to Zanzibar, the Resident
changed the whole scheme and made it fail. Herne was to go to Berberah,
where he was joined later by Stroyan. Speke was to land in a small
harbour called Bunder Guray, and to trace the watershed of the Wady
Nogal, to buy horses and camels, and collect red earth with gold in it;
but his little expedition failed through his guide's treachery. Herne
and Stroyan succeeded. Richard reserved for himself the post of danger.
Harar was as difficult to enter as Mecca. It is the southernmost
masonry-built settlement in North Equatorial Africa. He would go as an
Arab merchant. Harar had never been visited, has its own language, its
own unique history and traditions. The language was unwritten, but he
wrote a grammar, and a vocabulary in which the etymology is given, and
there he had enough savage anthropology to interest him. He writes--

 "In the first place, Berberah is the true key of the Red Sea, the
 centre of East African traffic, and the only safe place for shipping
 upon the Western Erythræan shore, from Suez to Guardafui, backed by
 lands capable of cultivation, and by hills covered with pine and other
 valuable trees, enjoying a comparatively temperate climate, with a
 regular, though thin monsoon. This harbour has been coveted by many a
 foreign conqueror. Circumstances have thrown it into our arms, and if
 we refuse a chance, another and a rival nation will not be so blind.
 [We have since given it away, and kept the far inferior Aden.] We are
 bound to protect the lives of subjects on this coast. In 1825 the crew
 of the _Mary Ann_ brig was treacherously murdered by the Somal. They
 continued in that state, and if to-morrow a Peninsular and Oriental
 Company steamer by any chance fell into their power, it would be
 the same history. Harar, scarcely three hundred miles distance from
 Aden, is a counterpart of the ill-famed Timbuctoo. A tradition exists
 that with the entrance of the first Christian, Harar will fall. All
 therefore who have attempted it were murdered. It was therefore a
 point of honour with me to utilize my title of Haji, by entering this
 City, visiting its Ruler, and returning in safety, after breaking the
 Guardian's spell."

[Sidenote: _He starts for Harar in Somali-land._]

This exploration of Harar was one of Richard's most splendid and
dangerous expeditions, and, for some reason or other, the least
known; the reason being, as I think, that his pilgrimage to Mecca was
still making a great noise, and that the Crimean War had cropped
up, deadening the interest in all _personal_ adventure. He therefore
thought himself fortunate in being able to persuade Lord Elphinstone,
Governor of Bombay, to patronize an expedition into Somali-land.

He was away four months. The journey was useful; at least, it has
proved so to the Egyptians, to the English, and now to the Italians.
He sailed away, leaving Herne, Stroyan, and Speke, each engaged on his
respective work, and arrived at Zayla.

 "My ship companions," he writes, "were the wildest of the wild, and
 as we came into port Zayla a barque came up to give us the bad news.
 Friendship between the Amir of Harar and the Governor of Zayla had
 been broken; the road through the Eesa Somal had been closed by the
 murder of Masúd, a favourite slave and adopted son of Sharmarkay;
 all strangers had been expelled the City for some misconduct by the
 Harar chief; moreover, small-pox was raging there with such violence
 that the Galla peasantry would allow neither ingress nor egress. The
 tide was out, and we waded a quarter of a mile amongst giant crabs,
 who showed gristly claws, sharp coralline, and seaweed so thick as to
 become almost like a mat. In the shallower pacts the sun was painfully
 hot even to my well-tried feet. I was taken immediately to the
 Governor at Zayla, a fellow Haji, who gave me hospitality.

 "The well-known sounds of El Islam returned from memory. Again the
 melodious chant of the _muezzin_--no evening bell can compare with it
 for solemnity and beauty--and in the neighbouring Mosque, the loudly
 intoned 'Amin' and 'Allaho Akbar,' far superior to any organ, rang in
 my ear. The evening gun of camp was represented by the _nakkarah_, or
 kettle-drum, which sounded about seven p.m. at the southern Gate; and
 at ten a second drumming warned the paterfamilias that it was time
 for home, and thieves and lovers, that it was the hour for bastinado.
 Nightfall was ushered in by the song, the dance, and the marriage
 festival--here no permission is required for 'native music in the
 lines'--and muffled figures flitted mysteriously through the dark
 alleys.

       *       *       *       *       *

 "After a peep through the open window, I fell asleep, feeling once
 more at home.

 [Sidenote: _Preparations at Zayla._]

 "I was too much of an Arab to weary of the endless preparations for
 forming a caravan. I used to provide myself with a Korán and sit
 receiving visitors, and would occasionally go into the Mosque, my
 servant carrying the prayer carpet, three hundred pair of eyes staring
 at me, and after reciting the customary two-bow prayer, in honour of
 the Mosque, I would place a sword and rosary before me, and, taking
 the Korán, read the cow-chapter, No. 18, in a loud and twanging voice.
 This is the character I adopted. You will bear in mind, if you please,
 that I am a Moslem merchant, a character not to be confounded with the
 notable individuals seen on ''Change.' Mercator, in the East, is a
 compound of tradesmen, divine, and T.G. Usually of gentle birth, he is
 everywhere welcomed and respected; and he bears in his mind and manner
 that, if Allah please, he may become Prime Minister a month after he
 has sold you a yard of cloth. Commerce appears to be an accident, not
 an essential, with him, yet he is by no means deficient in acumen.
 He is a grave and reverend seignior, with rosary in hand and Korán
 on lip; is generally a pilgrim; talks at dreary length about Holy
 Places; writes a pretty hand; has read and can recite much poetry;
 is master of his religion; demeans himself with respectability; is
 perfect in all points of ceremony and politeness, and feels equally at
 home whether Sultan or slave sit upon his counter. He has a wife and
 children in his own country, where he intends to spend the remnant of
 his days; but 'the world is uncertain'--'Fate descends, and man's eyes
 seeth it not'--'the earth is a charnel-house;' briefly, his many old
 saws give him a kind of theoretical consciousness that his bones may
 moulder in other places but his fatherland.

 "For half a generation we have been masters of Aden, filling Southern
 Arabia with our calicos and rupees--what is the present state of
 affairs there? We are dared by the Bedouins to come forth from behind
 our stone walls and fight like men in the plain,--British _protégés_
 are slaughtered within the range of our guns,--our allies' villages
 have been burned in sight of Aden,--our deserters are welcomed and
 our fugitive felons protected,--our supplies are cut off, and the
 garrison is reduced to extreme distress, at the word of a half-naked
 bandit,--the miscreant Bhagi, who murdered Captain Mylne in cold
 blood, still roams the hills unpunished,--gross insults are the sole
 acknowledgements of our peaceful overtures,--the British flag has been
 fired upon without return, our cruisers being ordered to act only on
 the defensive,--and our forbearance to attack is universally asserted
 and believed to arise from mere cowardice. Such is, and such will be,
 the opinion and the character of the Arab!

 "I stayed here for twenty-six days, rising at dawn; then went to
 the Terrace to perform my devotions, and make observation of my
 neighbours; breakfast at six, then coffee, pipe, and a nap; then
 receive visitors, who come by dozens with nothing to do or say. When
 they were only Somal, I wrote Arabic, or extracted from some useful
 book. When Arabs were there, I would recite tales from the 'Arabian
 Nights,' to their great delight. At eleven, dinner, more coffee and
 pipes; then the natives would go to sleep, and I wrote my journals and
 studies. At about two p.m. more visitors would come, and at sunset
 again to the Terrace, or walk to a mosque, where games are going on,
 or stroll to a camp of Bedawi. The Gates are locked at sunset, and the
 keys are carried to the Haji. It is not safe to be without the City
 later. Then comes supper.

 "After it we repair to the roof to enjoy the prospect of the far
 Tajarrah Hills and the white moonbeams sleeping upon the nearer sea.
 The evening star hangs like a diamond upon the still horizon; around
 the moon a pink zone of light mist, shading off into turquoise blue
 and a delicate green-like chrysopraz, invests the heavens with a
 peculiar charm. The scene is truly suggestive; behind us, purpling in
 the night air and silvered by the radiance from above, lie the wolds
 and mountains tenanted by the fiercest of savages, their shadowy
 mysterious forms exciting vague alarms in the traveller's breast.
 Sweet as the harp of David, the night-breeze and the music of the
 water comes up from the sea; but the ripple and the rustling sound
 alternate with the hyæna's laugh, and the jackal's cry, and the wild
 dog's lengthened howl.

 [Sidenote: _Desert Journey._]

 "This journey, which occupied nearly four months, was to be through a
 savage, treacherous, ferocious, and bloodthirsty people, whose tribes
 were in a constant state of blood-feud. The party consisted of nine,
 an _abban_ or guide, three Arab matchlock men, two women cooks, who
 were called Shehrazade and Deenarzade after the 'Arabian Nights,' a
 fourth servant, and a Bedawin woman to drive a donkey, which camels
 will follow and which is the custom. We had four or five mules,
 saddled and bridled, and camels for the baggage. Every one wept over
 us, and considered us dead men. The _abban_ objected to some routes on
 account of avoiding tribes with which he had a blood-feud."

This was, as I have said, far the most dangerous of Richard's
explorations, quite as difficult as Mecca, and far more difficult than
anything Stanley has ever done, with his advantages of men, money,
and luxuries. The women seemed to be much hardier than the men; they
carried the pipe and tobacco, led the camels, adjusted the burdens, at
the halt unloaded the cattle, disposed the baggage, covered them with a
mat tent, cooked the food, made tea and coffee, and bivouacked outside
the tent.

He writes--

 "The air was fresh and clear; and the night breeze was delicious
 after the stormy breath of day. The weary confinement of walls made
 the weary expanse a luxury to the sight, whilst the tumbling of the
 surf upon the near shore, and the music of the jackal, predisposed to
 sweet sleep. We now felt that at length the die was cast. Placing my
 pistols by my side, with my rifle butt for a pillow, and its barrel as
 a bed-fellow, I sought repose with none of the apprehension which even
 the most stout-hearted traveller knows before the start. It is the
 difference between fancy and reality, between anxiety and certainty;
 to men gifted with any imaginative powers the anticipation must ever
 be worse than the event. Thus it happens, that he who feels a thrill
 of fear before engaging in a peril, exchanges it for a throb of
 exultation when he finds himself hand to hand with the danger."

The description of the journey is filled in his notes by being hindered
and almost captured by Bedawi, lamed with thorns, the camels casting
themselves down from fatigue, famishing from hunger, and, worse, from
thirst--the only water being sulphurous, which affected both man and
beast--and attacks from lions, sleep being disturbed by large ants,
three-quarters of an inch long, with venomous stings. Everywhere
they went, everybody wept over them, as dead men. He finds time,
nevertheless, to remark, that at the height of 3350 feet he found a
buttercup and heard a woodpecker tapping, that reminded him of home. He
describes a sham attack of twelve Bedawi, who, when they saw what his
revolver could do, said they were only in fun.

At one of the kraals he gives an account of how, being surrounded by
Somals, they were boasting of their shooting, and of the skill with
which they used the shield, but they seemed not to understand the
proper use of the sword.

 "Thinking it was well to impress them with the superiority of arms, I
 requested them to put up one of their shields as a mark. They laughed
 very much, but would not comply. The Somal hate a vulture, because it
 eats the dead and dying; so, seeing a large brown bare-necked vulture
 at twenty paces distance, I shot it with my revolver; then I loaded a
 gun with swan-shot, which they had never seen, and, aiming at a bird
 that they considered far out of gunshot distance, I knocked it over
 flying. Fresh screams followed this marvellous feat, and they said,
 'Lo! he bringeth down the birds from heaven.' Their Chief, putting his
 forefinger in his mouth, praised Allah, and prayed to be defended from
 such a calamity; and always after, when they saw me approach, they
 said, 'Here comes the Shaykh who knows knowledge.' I then gave a stick
 to the best man; I provided myself in the same way, and allowed him
 to cut at me as much as ever he liked, easily warding off the blows
 with a parry. After repeated failures, and tiring himself enormously,
 he received a sounding blow from me upon the least bony part of his
 person. The crowd laughed long and loud, and the knight-at-arms
 retired in confusion.

 "Every now and then we got into difficulties with the Bedawi, who
 would not allow us to proceed, declaring the land was theirs. We
 did not deny the claim, but I threatened sorcery, death, and wild
 beasts, and foraging parties to their camels, children, and women.
 It generally brought them to their senses. They would spit on us for
 good luck, and let us depart. Once a Chief was smitten by Shehrazade's
 bulky charms, and wanted to carry her off. Once in the evening we came
 upon the fresh trail of a large Habr Awal cavalcade, which frightened
 my companions dreadfully. We were only nine men and two women, to
 contend against two hundred horsemen, and all, except the Hammal and
 Long Guled, would have run away at the first charge. The worst of the
 ride was over rough and stony road, the thorns tearing their feet and
 naked legs, and the camels slipping over the rounded pebbles.

 "The joy of coming to a kraal was great, where the Chiefs of the
 village appeared, bringing soft speech, sweet water, new milk, fat
 sheep and goats, for a _tobe_ of Cutch canvas. We passed a quiet,
 luxurious day of coffee and pipes, fresh cream and roasted mutton.
 After the great heats and dangers from horsemen on the plain, we
 enjoyed the cool breeze of the hills, cloudy skies, and the verdure of
 the glades which refreshed our beasts. Here I shot a few hawks, and
 was rewarded with loud exclamations of 'Allah preserve thy hand! may
 thy skill never fail thee before the foe.' A woman ran away from my
 steam kettle, thinking it was a weapon. They looked upon my sunburnt
 skin with a favour they denied to the lime-white face. The Somali
 Bedawi gradually affiliated me to their tribes.

 "At one village the people rushed out, exclaiming, 'Lo! let us look at
 the Kings;' at others, 'Come and see the white man; he is the Governor
 of Zayla.' My fairness (for, brown as I am, I am fair to them) and the
 Arab dress made me sometimes the ruler of Aden, the Chief of Zayla,
 the Haji's son, a boy, an old woman, a man painted white, a warrior in
 silver armour, a merchant, a pilgrim, a head priest, Ahmed the Indian,
 a Turk, an Egyptian, a Frenchman, a Banyan, a Sheríf, and, lastly, a
 calamity sent down from heaven to weary out the lives of the Somal.
 Every kraal had its own conjecture.

 "On December 9th, I rode a little off my way to visit some ruins,
 Darbíyah Kola, or Kola's Fort, so called on account of its Galla
 queen. There were once two cities, Aububah, and they fought like the
 Kilkenny cats till both were eaten up. This was about three hundred
 years ago, and the substantial ruins have fought a stern fight with
 Time.

 "Remnants of houses cumber the soil, and the carefully built wells are
 filled with rubbish. The palace was pointed out to me, with its walls
 of stone and clay, intersected by layers of woodwork. The Mosque is
 a large, roofless building, containing twelve square pillars of rude
 masonry, and the _mihrab_, or prayer niche, is denoted by a circular
 arch of tolerable construction. But the voice of the _muezzin_ is
 hushed for ever, and creepers now twine around the ruined fane. The
 scene was still and dreary as the grave; for a mile and a half in
 length all was ruins--ruins--ruins.

 "Leaving this Dead City, we rode towards the south-west between two
 rugged hills. Topping the ridge, we stood for a few minutes to observe
 the view before us. Beneath our feet lay a long grassy plain--the
 sight must have gladdened the hearts of our starving mules--and for
 the first time in Africa horses appeared grazing free amongst the
 bushes. A little further off lay the Aylonda Valley, studded with
 graves and dark with verdure. Beyond it stretched the Wady Haráwwah,
 a long gloomy hollow in the general level. The background was a bold
 sweep of blue hill, the second gradient of the Harar line, and on its
 summit, closing the western horizon, lay a golden streak, the Marar
 Prairie. Already I felt at the end of my journey.

 "It was not an unusual thing in the dusk to see a large animal
 following us with quick stealthy strides, and that I, sending a rifle
 ball as correctly as I could in the direction, put to flight a large
 lion.

 "The nearer I got to Harar, the more I was stopped by parties of
 Gallas, and some went on to report evil of me, and many threats were
 uttered. The 'End of Time' in the last march turned tail. 'Dost thou
 believe me to be a coward, O Pilgrim?' 'Of a truth I do,' I answered.
 Nothing abashed, and with joy at his heart, he hammered his mule with
 his heel, and rode off, saying, 'What hath man but a single life, and
 he who throweth it away, what is he but a fool?'"

He gives a good account of elephant-hunting, but they did not get
near any. The water was in some places so hard it raised lumps like
nettle-stings, and they had to butter themselves. At one place the
inhabitants flocked out to stare at them. He fired his rifle by way
of salute over the head of the prettiest girl. The people, delighted,
exclaimed, "Mod! Mod! honour to thee!" and he replied with shouts of
"Kulliban! may Heaven aid thee!"

 "When there is any danger a Somali watchman sings and addresses
 himself in dialogue, with different voices, to persuade thieves that
 several men are watching. Ours was a spectacle of wildness as he
 sat before the blazing fire. The 'End of Time' conceived the jocose
 idea of crowning me King of the country, with loud cries of 'Buh!
 Buh! Buh!' while showering leaves from a gum tree and water from a
 prayer-bottle over my head, and then with all solemnity bound on my
 turban. I was hindered and threatened in no end of places, and my
 companions threatened to desert me, saying, 'They will spoil that
 white skin of thine at Harar.' Still I pushed on. The Guda Birsi
 Bedawi number ten thousand spears.

 "One night we came upon a sheet of bright blaze, a fire threatening
 the whole prairie.

 "At last came the sign of leaving the Desert. The scene lifted, and we
 came to the second step of the Ethiopian highlands. In the midst of
 the valley beneath ran a serpentine of shining waters, the gladdest
 spectacle we had yet witnessed. Further in front, masses of hill
 rose abruptly from shady valleys, encircled on the far horizon by
 a straight blue line of ground resembling a distant sea. Behind us
 glared the desert. We had now reached the outskirts of civilization,
 where man, abandoning his flocks and herds, settles, cultivates, and
 attends to the comforts of life.

 "We saw fields, with lanes between, the daisy, the thistle, and the
 sweet-briar, settled villages, surrounded by strong _abatis_ of
 thorns, which stud the hills everywhere, clumps of trees, to which
 the beehives are hung, and yellow crops of holcus, or grain. The
 Harvest-Home-song sounded pleasant to my ears, and, contrasting with
 the silent desert, the hum of man's habitation was music. They
 flocked out to gaze upon us, unarmed, and welcomed us. We bathed in
 the waters, on whose banks were a multitude of huge Mantidæ, pink and
 tender green. I now had ample time to see the manners and customs of
 the settled Somali, as I was conducted to the cottage of the Gerad's
 pretty wife, and learned the home, and the day, and the food. They
 spoke Harari, Somali, Galla, Arabic, and dialects. My kettle seems to
 have created surprise everywhere.

 "Here the last preparations were made for entering this dreadful
 City. All my people, and my camels, and most of my goods, had to be
 left here for the return journey, and it was the duty of this Chief
 (Gerad) to accompany me. I happened to hear one of them say, 'Of what
 use is his gun? Before he could fetch fire I should put this arrow
 through him.' I wheeled round, and discharged a barrel over their
 heads, which threw them into convulsions of terror. The man I had now
 to depend upon was Adan bin Kaushan, a strong wiry Bedawin. He was
 tricky, ambitious, greedy of gain, fickle, restless, and treacherous,
 a cunning idiot, always so difficult to deal with. His sister was
 married to the father of the Amir of Harar, but he said, 'He would as
 soon walk into a crocodile's mouth as go into the walls of Harar.'
 He received a sword, a Korán, a turban, an Arab waistcoat of gaudy
 satin, about seventy _tobes_, and a similar proportion of indigo-dyed
 stuff--he privily complained to me that the Hammal had given him but
 twelve cloths. A list of his wants will best explain the man. He
 begged me to bring him from Berberah a silver-hilted sword and some
 soap, one thousand dollars, two sets of silver bracelets, twenty guns
 with powder and shot, snuff, a scarlet cloth coat embroidered with
 gold, some poison that would not fail, and any other little article
 of luxury which might be supposed to suit him. In return he was to
 present me with horses, mules, slaves, ivory, and other valuables: he
 forgot, however, to do so before he departed.

 "Whilst we were discussing the project, and getting on satisfactorily,
 five strangers well mounted rode in. Two were citizens, and three were
 Habr Awal Bedawi, high in the Amir's confidence; they had been sent to
 settle blood-money with Adan. They then told him that I, the Arab, was
 not one who bought and sold, but a spy; that I and my party should be
 sent prisoners to Harar. Adan would not give us up, falsely promising
 to present our salaams to the Amir. When they were gone he told me how
 afraid he was, and that it was impossible for him to conduct me to the
 City. I then relied upon what has made many a small man Great, my good
 star and audacity.

 "Driven to bay, I wrote an English letter from the Political Agent
 at Aden, to the Amir of Harar, intending to deliver it in person; it
 was 'neck or nothing.' I only took what was necessary, Sherwa the son
 of Adan, the Bedawi Actidon and Mad Said, and left everything behind
 me, excepting some presents for the Amir, a change of clothes, an
 Arab book or two, a few biscuits, ammunition, and a little tobacco.
 I passed through a lovely country, was stopped by the Gallas, and by
 the Habr Awal Bedawi, who offered, if we could wait till sunrise, to
 take us into the City; so I returned a polite answer, leading them
 to expect that I should wait till eight a.m. for them. I left my
 journals, sketches, and books in charge of Adan.

 [Sidenote: _He enters the City in Triumph._]

 "The journey was hard, and I encountered a Harar Grandee, mounted
 upon a handsomely caparisoned mule, and attended by servants. He was
 very courteous, and, seeing me thirsty, ordered me a cup of water.
 Finally arriving, at the crest of a hill, stood the City--the end
 of my present travel--a long, sombre line, strikingly contrasting
 with the white-washed towns of the East. The spectacle, materially
 speaking, was a disappointment; nothing conspicuous appeared but two
 grey minarets of rude shape; many would have grudged exposing three
 lives to win so paltry a prize. But of all that have attempted it,
 none ever succeeded in entering that pile of stones; the thoroughbred
 traveller will understand my exultation, although my two companions
 exchanged glances of wonder. Stopping while my companions bathed, I
 retired to the wayside and sketched the town. We arrived at three
 p.m., and advancing to the gate, Mad Said accosted a warder whom he
 knew, sent our salaams to the Amir, saying we came from Aden, and
 requested the honour of audience. The Habr Awal collected round me
 _inside_ the town, and scowling, inquired why we had not apprised them
 of our intention of entering the City; but it was 'war to the knife,'
 and I did not deign to answer.


 TEN DAYS AT HARAR--THE MOST EXCITING TRIAL OF ALL.


 "We were kept waiting half an hour, and were told by the warder to
 pass the threshold. Long Guled gave his animal to the two Bedawi,
 every one advising my attendants to escape with the beasts, as we
 were going to be killed, on the road to this African St. James. We
 were ordered to run, but we leisurely led our mules in spite of the
 guide's wrath, entered the gate, and strolled down the yard, which was
 full of Gallas with spears, and the waiting gave me an opportunity to
 inspect the place. I walked into a vast hall, a hundred feet long,
 between two long rows of Galla spearmen, between whose lines I had
 to pass. They were large half-naked savages, standing like statues,
 with fierce movable eyes, each one holding, with its butt end on the
 ground, a huge spear, with a head the size of a shovel. I purposely
 sauntered down them coolly with a swagger, with my eyes fixed upon
 their dangerous-looking faces. I had a six-shooter concealed in my
 waist-belt, and determined, at the first show of excitement, to run up
 to the Amir, and put it to his head, if it were necessary, to save my
 own life.

 [Sidenote: _Interview with the Amir._]

 "The Amir was like a little Indian Rajah, an etiolated youth about
 twenty-four or twenty-five years old, plain, thin bearded, with a
 yellow complexion, wrinkled brows, and protruding eyes. His dress was
 a flowing robe of crimson cloth, edged with snowy fur, and a narrow
 white turban tightly twisted round a tall conical cap of red velvet,
 like the old Turkish headgear of our painters. His throne was a
 common Indian _kursi_, or raised cot, about five feet long, with back
 and sides supported by a dwarf railing; being an invalid, he rested
 his elbow upon a pillow, under which appeared the hilt of a Cutch
 sabre. Ranged in double line, perpendicular to the Amir, stood the
 'Court,' his cousins and nearest relations, with right arms bared
 after the fashion of Abyssinia.

 "I entered this second avenue of Galla spearsmen with a loud 'Peace
 be upon ye!' to which H.H. replying graciously, and extending a hand,
 bony and yellow as a kite's claw, snapped his thumb and middle finger.
 Two chamberlains stepping forward, held my forearms, and assisted me
 to bend low over the fingers, which, however, I did not kiss, being
 naturally averse to performing that operation upon any but a woman's
 hand. My two servants then took their turn: in this case, after the
 back was saluted, the palm was presented for a repetition.[1] These
 preliminaries concluded, we were led to, and seated upon a mat in
 front of the Amir, who directed towards us a frowning brow and an
 inquisitive eye.

 "I made some inquiries about the Amir's health: he shook his head
 captiously, and inquired our errand. I drew from my pocket my own
 letter: it was carried by a chamberlain, with hands veiled in his
 _tobe_, to the Amir, who, after a brief glance, laid it upon the
 couch, and demanded further explanation. I then represented in Arabic
 that we had come from Aden, bearing the compliments of our _Daulah_,
 or Governor, and that we had entered Harar to see the light of
 H.H.'s countenance: this information concluded with a little speech
 describing the changes of Political Agents in Arabia, and alluding to
 the friendship formerly existing between the English and the deceased
 Chief Abubakr.

 "The Amir smiled graciously.

 "This smile, I must own, was a relief. We had been prepared for
 the worst, and the aspect of affairs in the Palace was by no means
 reassuring.

 "Whispering to his Treasurer, a little ugly man with a baldly shaven
 head, coarse features, pug nose, angry eyes, and stubbly beard, the
 Amir made a sign for us to retire. The _baisé main_ was repeated,
 and we backed out of the audience-shed in high favour. According to
 grandiloquent Bruce, 'the Court of London and that of Abyssinia are,
 in their principles, one;' the loiterers in the Harar palace-yard, who
 had before regarded us with cut-throat looks, now smiled as though
 they loved us. Marshalled by the guard, we issued from the precincts,
 and, after walking a hundred yards, entered the Amir's second palace,
 which we were told to consider our home. There we found the Bedawi,
 who, scarcely believing that we had escaped alive, grinned in the joy
 of their hearts, and we were at once provided from the Chief's kitchen
 with a dish of _shabta_, holcus cakes soaked in sour milk, and thickly
 powdered with red pepper, the salt of this inland region.

 "When we had eaten, the Treasurer reappeared, bearing the Amir's
 command that we should call upon his Wazir, the Gerad Mohammad. We
 found a venerable old man, whose benevolent countenance belied the
 reports current about him in Somali-land. Half rising, although his
 wrinkled brow showed suffering, he seated me by his side upon the
 carpeted masonry-bench, where lay the implements of his craft--reeds,
 inkstands, and whitewashed boards for paper--politely welcomed me,
 and, gravely stroking his cotton-coloured beard, desired to know my
 object in good Arabic.

 "I replied almost in the words used to the Amir, adding, however, some
 details, how in the old day one Madar Faríh had been charged by the
 late Sultan Abubakr with a present to the Governor of Aden, and that
 it was the wish of our people to re-establish friendly relations and
 commercial intercourse with Harar.

 "'Khayr Inshallah! it is well, if Allah please!' ejaculated the Gerad.
 I then bent over his hand, and took leave.

 "Returning, we inquired anxiously of the Treasurer about my servants'
 arms, which had not been returned, and were assured that they had
 been placed in the safest of storehouses, the Palace. I then sent a
 common six-barrelled revolver as a present to the Amir, explaining its
 use to the bearer, and we prepared to make ourselves as comfortable
 as possible. The interior of our new house was a clean room, with
 plain walls, and a floor of tamped earth; opposite the entrance were
 two broad steps of masonry, raised about two feet, and a yard above
 the ground, and covered with hard matting. I contrived to make upon
 the higher ledge a bed with the cushions which my companions used
 as _shabracques_, and after seeing the mules fed and tethered, lay
 down to rest, worn out by fatigue and profoundly impressed with the
 _poésie_ of our position. I was under the roof of a bigoted prince
 whose least word was death; amongst a people who detest foreigners;
 the only European that had ever passed over their inhospitable
 threshold; and, more than that, I was _the fated instrument of their
 future downfall_."

He gives a very detailed account of the City of Harar, its inhabitants,
and all he saw during his ten days there, for which I refer people to
"First Footsteps in East Africa," one large volume, 1856. He says--

 "The explorer must frequently rest satisfied with descrying from
 his Pisgah, the knowledge which another more fortunate is destined
 to acquire. _Inside_ Harar, I was so closely watched, that it was
 impossible to put pen to paper. It was only when I got back to Wilensi
 that I hastily collected the grammatical forms, and a vocabulary which
 proves that the language is not Arabic; that it _has_ an affinity with
 the Amharic. Harar has its own tongue, unintelligible to any save the
 citizens. Its little population of eight thousand souls is a distinct
 race. A common proverb is, 'Hard as the heart of Harar.' They are
 extremely bigoted, especially against Christians, and are fond of a
 religious war, or _jehád_, with the Gallas. They hold foreigners in
 hate and contempt, and divide them into two classes, Arabs and Somal.

 "The Somals say that the State dungeon is beneath the palace, and
 that he who once enters it lives with unkempt beard and untrimmed
 nails till the day when death sets him free. There is nothing more
 terrible; the captive is heavily ironed, lies in a filthy dungeon, and
 receives no food, except what he can obtain from his own family, or
 buy or beg from his guards. The Amir has bad health; I considered him
 consumptive. It is something in my favour that, as soon as I departed,
 he wrote to the acting Political Resident at Aden, earnestly begging
 to be supplied with a Frank physician, and offering protection to any
 European who might be persuaded to visit his dominions. His rule was
 severe, if not just, and it has all the prestige of secrecy. Even the
 Gerad Mohammad, even the Queen Dowager, are threatened with fetters if
 they offer uncalled-for advice. His principal occupation is spying his
 many stalwart cousins, indulging in vain fears of the English and the
 Turks, amassing treasure by commerce and cheating.

 "The Amir Ahmed is alive to the fact that some State should hedge in
 a Prince. Neither weapons nor rosaries are allowed in his presence;
 a chamberlain's robe acts as spittoon; whenever anything is given
 to or taken from him his hand must be kissed; even on horseback two
 attendants fan him with the hems of their garments. Except when
 engaged on the Haronic visits, which he, like his father, pays to
 the streets and byways at night, he is always surrounded by a strong
 body-guard. He rides to Mosque escorted by a dozen horsemen, and a
 score of footmen with guns and whips precede him; by his side walks
 an officer, shading him with a huge and heavily fringed red-satin
 umbrella--from India to Abyssinia the sign of princely dignity. Even
 at his prayers, two or three chosen matchlockmen stand over him with
 lighted fusees. When he rides forth in public, he is escorted by a
 party of fifty men; the running footmen crack their whips and shout,
 'Let! Let!' (Go! go!), and the citizens avoid stripes by retreating
 into the nearest house, or running into another street.

 [Sidenote: _Has Great Success._]

 "Immediately on our arrival we were called upon by all sorts of Arabs;
 they were very civil to me at first, but when the Amir ceased to send
 for me, just as at civilized Courts, they prudently cut me. The moment
 the Amir sent for me, my Habr Awal enemies, seeing the tide of fortune
 setting in my favour, changed their tactics, and proposed themselves
 as my escort to return to Berberah, which I politely refused. They
 did me all the harm they could, but my good star triumphed. After one
 day's rest, I was summoned to wait upon the Gerad Mohammad, who was
 Prime Minister. Sword in hand, and, followed by my two attendants, I
 walked to the Palace, and found him surrounded by six counsellors;
 they were eating _jat_, which has somewhat the effect of hashish.

 "He sat me by his right hand on the dais, where I ate _jat_, being,
 fortunately, used to these things, and fingered the rosary. Then
 followed prayer, and then a theological discussion, in which,
 fortunately, I was able to distinguish myself. My theology won general
 approbation and kind glances from the elders. In a very short time I
 was sent for by the Amir, and this time was allowed to approach the
 outer door with covered feet. I entered as ceremoniously as before,
 and the prince motioned me to sit near the Gerad, on a Persian rug to
 the right of the throne; my attendants on humble mats at a greater
 distance. After sundry inquiries of what was going on at Aden, the
 Resident's letter was suddenly produced by the Amir, who bade me
 explain its contents, and wished to know if it was my intention to buy
 and sell at Harar. I replied, 'We are neither buyers nor sellers; we
 have become your guests to pay our respects to the Amir, who may Allah
 preserve, and that the friendship between the two Powers may endure.'
 The Amir was pleased, and I therefore ventured to hope that the Prince
 would soon permit me to return, as the air of Harar was too dry for
 me, and that we were in danger of small-pox, then raging in the town,
 and through the Gerad, the Amir said, 'The reply will be vouchsafed,'
 and the interview was over.

 "I sent my salaam to one of the Ulema, Shaykh Jámi; he accepted the
 excuse of health and came to see me. He was remarkably well read in
 the religious sciences, and a great man at Mecca, with much influence
 with the Sultan, and employed on political Missions amongst the
 Chiefs. He started with the intention of winning the Crown of Glory by
 murdering the British Resident at Aden, but he was so struck with the
 order of justice of our rule, he offered El Islam to that officer, who
 received it so urbanely, that the simple Eastern, instead of cutting
 the Kaffir's throat, began to pray fervently for his conversion. We
 were kindly looked upon by a sick and decrepid eunuch, named Sultán. I
 used to spend my evenings preaching to the Gallas.

 [Sidenote: _Damaging Reports._]

 "The Gerad Mohammad was now worked upon by the Habr Awal, my enemies,
 to make inquiries about me, and one of the Ayyal Gedíd clan came up
 and reported that three brothers[2] had landed in the Somal country,
 that two of them were anxiously waiting at Berberah the return of
 the fourth from Harar, and that, though dressed like Moslems, they
 were really English spies in Government employ, and orders were
 issued for cutting off Caravans. We, however, were summoned to the
 Gerad's, where, fortunately for me, I found him suffering badly from
 bronchitis. I saw my chance. I related to him all its symptoms, and
 told him that if I could only get down to Aden, I could send him
 all the right remedies, with directions. He clung to the hope of
 escaping his sufferings, and begged me to lose no time. Presently
 the Amir sent for him, and in a few minutes I was sent for alone.
 A long conversation ensued about the state of Aden, of Zayla, of
 Berberah, and of Stamboul. The Chief put a variety of questions about
 Arabia, and every object there; the answer was that the necessity of
 commerce, confined us to the gloomy rock Aden. He used some obliging
 expressions about desiring our friendship, and having considerable
 respect for a people who built, he understood, large ships. I took the
 opportunity of praising Harar in cautious phrase, and especially of
 regretting that its coffee was not better known amongst the Franks.
 The small wizen-faced man smiled, as Moslems say, the smile of
 Umar;[3] seeing his brow relax for the first time, I told him that,
 being now restored to health, we requested his commands for Aden. He
 signified consent with a nod, and the Gerad, with many compliments,
 gave me a letter addressed to the Political Resident, and requested me
 to take charge of a mule as a present. I then arose, recited a short
 prayer, the gist of which was that the Amir's days and reign might be
 long in the land, and that the faces of his foes might be blackened
 here and hereafter, bent over his hand, and retired. Returning to the
 Gerad's levée-hut, I saw by the countenances of my two attendants that
 they were not a little anxious about the interview, and comforted them
 with the whispered word, 'Achha!' (all right!)

 "Presently appeared the Gerad, accompanied by two men, who brought
 my servants' arms, and the revolver which I had sent to the prince.
 This was a _contretemps_. It was clearly impossible to take back the
 present; besides which, I suspected some _finesse_ to discover my
 feelings towards him. The other course would ensure delay. I told the
 Gerad that the weapon was intended especially to preserve the Amir's
 life, and, for further effect, snapped caps in rapid succession, to
 the infinite terror of the august company. The Minister returned to
 his Master, and soon brought back the information that, after a day or
 two, another mule should be given to me. With suitable acknowledgments
 we arose, blessed the Gerad, bade adieu to the assembly, and departed
 joyful; the Hammal, in his glee, speaking broken English, even in the
 Amir's courtyard.

 "Shaykh Jámi was rendered joyful by the news he told me when I
 arrived; he had been informed that in the Town was a man who had
 brought down the birds from heaven, and the citizens had been thrown
 into a great excitement by my probable intentions. One of the
 principal Ulema, and a distinguished Haji, had been dreaming dreams in
 my favour, and sent their salaams. My long residence in the East had
 made me grateful to the learned, whose influence over the people, when
 unbiased by bigotry, is for the good. On January 11th, I was sent for
 by the Gerad, and given the second mule; he begged me not to forget
 his remedies as soon as I reached Aden, and I told him that I would
 start on the morrow. I scarcely had got in, when there were heavy
 showers and thunder. When I got up to mount early on Friday morning,
 of course a mule had strayed; then Shaykh Jámi would not go till
 Monday. Now, as I had been absent from my goods and chattels a whole
 fortnight, as the people at Harar are immensely fickle, as you never
 know the moment that the Amir may change his mind, for all African
 Cities are prisons on a large scale--you enter by your own will, but
 you leave by another's--I longed to start; however, the storms warned
 me to be patient, and I deterred my departure till next morning.

 [Sidenote: _He leaves Harar safely._]

 "Long before dawn on Saturday, January 13th, the mules were saddled,
 bridled, and charged with our scanty luggage. After a hasty breakfast
 we shook hands with old Sultán, the eunuch, mounted and pricked
 through the desert streets. Suddenly my weakness and sickness left
 me--so potent a drug is joy--and, as we passed the Gates, loudly
 salaaming to the warders, who were crouching over the fire inside, a
 weight of care and anxiety fell from me like a cloak of lead.

 "Yet I had time, on the top of my mule, for musing upon how melancholy
 a thing is Success. Whilst failure inspirits a man, attainment reads
 the sad prosy lesson that all our glories

    'Are shadows, not substantial things.'

 Truly said the _sayer_, 'Disappointment is the salt of life'--a
 salutary bitter which strengthens the mind for fresh exertion, and
 gives a double value to the prize.

 "This shade of melancholy soon passed away. We made in a direct line
 for Kondura. At one p.m. we safely threaded the Gallas' pass, and
 about an hour afterwards we exclaimed, 'Alhamdulillah,' at the sight
 of Sagharrah and the distant Marar Prairie. Entering the village,
 we discharged our firearms. The men gave cordial _poignées de
 mains_--some danced with joy to see us return alive; they had heard
 of our being imprisoned, bastinadoed, slaughtered; they swore that
 the Gerad was raising an army to rescue or revenge us--in fact, had
 we been their kinsmen, more excitement could not have been displayed.
 Lastly, in true humility, crept forward the "End of Time," who, as he
 kissed my hand, was upon the point of tears.

 "A pleasant evening was spent in recounting our perils, as travellers
 will do, and complimenting one another upon the power of our star.

 "At eight next morning we rode to Wilensi, and as we approached, all
 the villagers and wayfarers inquired if we were the party that had
 been put to death by the Amir of Harar.

 "Loud congratulations and shouts of joy awaited our arrival. The
 Kalendar was in a paroxysm of delight; both Shehrazade and Deenarzade
 were affected with giggling and what might be blushing. We reviewed
 our property and found that the One-eyed had been a faithful steward,
 so faithful indeed that he had wellnigh starved the two women.
 Presently appeared the Gerad and his sons, bringing with them my
 books; the former was at once invested with a gaudy Abyssinian
 _tobe_ of many colours, in which he sallied forth from the cottage
 the admired of all admirers. The pretty wife, Sudíyah, and the good
 Khayrah were made happy by sundry gifts of huge Birmingham ear-rings,
 brooches and bracelets, scissors, needles, and thread. The evening as
 usual ended in a feast.

 "We were obliged to halt a week at Wilensi to feed, for both man and
 beast to lay in a stock of strength for the long desert march before
 us, to buy onions, tobacco, spices, wooden platters, and a sort of
 bread called _karanji_. Here I made my grammar and vocabulary of the
 Harari tongue, under the supervision of Mad Said and Ali the poet, a
 Somali educated at Harar, who knew Arabic, Somali, Galla, and Harar
 languages.

 "On January 21st I wanted to start, but Shaykh Jámi appeared with
 all the incurables of the country. Nobody can form an idea of the
 difficulties that an Eastern will put in your way when you want to
 start, and unfortunately in nine cases out of ten the ruses they have
 resort to, _do_ prevent your starting. Now, in this case, I decided
 that talismans were the best and safest medicines in these mountains.
 The Shaykh doubted them, but when I exhibited my diploma as a
 Master-Sufi, a new light broke in upon him and his attendants. 'Verily
 he hath declared himself this day!' whispered each to his neighbour,
 sorely mystified. Shaykh Jámi carefully inspected the document, raised
 it reverently to his forehead, muttered prayers, and owned himself my
 pupil.

 [Sidenote: _A Fearful Desert Journey._]

 "Now, however, all my followers had got some reason why they could
 not go, so I sauntered out alone, attended only by the Hammal, and,
 in spite of the Chief summoning me to halt, I took an abrupt leave
 and went off, and entered the Marar Prairie with pleasure. The
 truants joined us later on, and we met a party whose Chief, a Somali,
 expressed astonishment at our escaping from Harar, told us that the
 Berberi were incensed with us for leaving the direct road, advised us
 to push on that night, to 'ware the bush, whence the Midjans would
 use their poisoned arrows. The Berberi had offered a hundred cows
 for our person dead or alive. Then my party sat down to debate; they
 palavered for three hours. They said that the camels could not walk,
 that the cold of the prairies was death to man, till darkness came on.
 Experience had taught me that it was waste of time to debate overnight
 about dangers to be faced next day, so I ate my dates, drank my milk,
 and lay down to enjoy sweet sleep in the tranquil silence of the
 desert. Although I did not know it till after my return from Berberah,
 Gerad Adan was my greatest danger. If his plotting had succeeded it
 would have cost him dear, but would also have proved fatal to me.
 The 23rd of January passed in the same manner, and the explanation
 I had with my men was, that on the morrow at dawn I would cross the
 Marar Prairie by myself; and we started at dawn on the 24th, giving a
 wide berth to the Berberis, whose camp-fires were quite visible at a
 distance. As we were about to enter the lands of the Habr Awal, our
 enemies, a week would elapse before we could get protection. We had
 resolved to reach the coast within the fortnight, instead of which a
 month's march was in prospect. Suddenly Beuh appeared, and I proposed
 to him that he should escort the Caravans to Zayla, and that I and the
 two others who had accompanied me to Harar would mount our mules, only
 carrying arms and provisions for four days. I pushed through the land
 of our enemies the Habr Awal. In the land we were to traverse every
 man's spear would be against us, so I chose the desert roads, and
 carefully avoided all the kraals. It was with serious apprehension
 that I pocketed all my remaining provisions--five biscuits, a few
 limes, a few lumps of sugar. Any accident to our mules, any delay
 would starve us; we were traversing a desert where no one would sell
 us meat or milk, and only one water-bottle in the whole party.

 [Sidenote: _Want of Water._]

 "We rode thirty-five miles over awful tracks. Our toil was rendered
 doubly dreadful by the Eastern traveller's dread--the demon of Thirst
 rode like Care behind us--for twenty-four hours we did not taste
 water, the sun parched our brains, the mirage mocked us at every
 turn, and the effect was a species of monomania. As I jogged along
 with eyes closed against the fiery air, no image unconnected with the
 want suggested itself. Water ever lay before me, water lying deep in
 the shady well, water in streams bubbling icy from the rock, water in
 pellucid lakes inviting me to plunge and revel in their treasures. Now
 an Indian cloud was showering upon me fluid more precious than molten
 pearl, then an invisible hand offered a bowl for which the mortal part
 would gladly have bartered years of life. Then--drear contrast!--I
 opened my eyes to a heat-reeking plain, and a sky of that eternal
 metallic blue so lovely to painter and poet, so blank and death-like
 to us, whose χαλον [Greek: chalon] was tempest, rain-storm, and the
 huge purple nimbus. I tried to talk--it was in vain; to sing--in vain;
 vainly to think; every idea was bound up in one subject--water.[4]

 "As a rule, twelve hours without water in the desert during hot
 weather kill a man. We had another frightful journey to the next
 water. I never suffered severely from thirst but on this expedition;
 probably it was in consequence of being at the time but in weak health
 so soon after Mecca. A few more hours and the little party would have
 been food for the desert beasts. We were saved by a bird. When we
 had been thirty-six hours without water we could go no further, and
 we were prepared to die the worst of all deaths. The short twilight
 of the tropics was drawing in, I looked up and saw a _katta_, or
 sand-grouse, with its pigeon-like flight, making for the nearer hills.
 These birds must drink at least once a day, and generally towards
 evening, when they are safe to carry water in their bills to their
 young. I cried out, 'See, the _katta_! the _katta_!' All revived at
 once, took heart, and followed the bird, which suddenly plunged down
 about a hundred yards away, showing us a charming spring, a little
 shaft of water, about two feet in diameter, in a margin of green. We
 jumped from our saddles, and men and beasts plunged their heads into
 the water and drank till they could drink no more. I have never since
 shot a _katta_.

 "With unspeakable delight, after another thirty hours, we saw in the
 distance a patch of lively green: our animals scented the blessing
 from afar, they raised their drooping ears, and started with us at
 a canter, till, turning a corner, we suddenly sighted sundry little
 wells. To spring from the saddle, to race with our mules, who now
 feared not the crumbling sides of the pits, to throw ourselves into
 the muddy pools, to drink a long slow draught, and to dash the water
 over our burning faces, took less time to do than to recount. A calmer
 inspection showed a necessity for caution; the surface was alive with
 tadpoles and insects: prudence, however, had little power at that
 time--we drank, and drank, and then drank again. As our mules had
 fallen with avidity upon the grass, I proposed to pass a few hours
 near the wells. My companions, however, pleading the old fear of
 lions, led the way before dark to a deserted kraal upon a neighbouring
 hill. We had marched this time about thirty hours _eastward_, and had
 entered a safe country belonging to the Bahgoba, our guide's clan.

 "There is nothing so dreadful as crossing a country full of blocks
 and boulders piled upon one another in rugged steps, and it was such
 a ravine, the Splügen of Somali-land, that we had to dismount. To a
 laden camel it is almost impossible; the best-fed horses, mules, or
 asses, having to perform the work of goats instead of their own, are
 worn out by it after a few hours; and this was what I and my party
 had to do, and often the boulders were covered with thorns two inches
 long, tipped with wooden points as sharp as a needle. After three days
 of hard travelling in this way we saw the face of man--some shepherds,
 who fled at our approach. We then followed an undulating growth of
 parched grass, shaping our course for Jebel Almis, to sailors the
 chief landmark of this coast, and for a certain thin blue stripe
 on the far horizon,--the sea,--upon which we gazed with gladdened
 eyes. That night we arrived at a kraal, unsaddled, and began to make
 ourselves comfortable, when we found we had fallen upon the Ayyal
 Shirdon, our bitterest enemies. They asked, 'What tribe be ye?' I
 boldly answered, 'Of Habr Gerhagis.' Thereupon ensued a war of words;
 they rudely insisted on knowing what had taken us to Harar, when a
 warrior armed with two spears came forward, recognized the 'End of
 Time,' and they retired but spoke of fighting. So we made ready with
 our weapons and bade them come on; but while they were considering,
 we saddled our mules and rode off. We stopped at three villages, and
 the Hammal failed to obtain even a drop of water from his relations.
 It was most distressful, as men and beasts were faint from thirst,
 so I determined to push forward for water that night. Many times the
 animals stopped,--a mute hint that they could go no further;--but
 _I_ pushed on, and the rest had learned to follow without a word.
 The moon arose, and still we tottered on. About midnight--delightful
 sound!--the murmur of the distant sea. Revived by the music, we pushed
 on more cheerily. At three in the morning we found some holes which
 supplied us with bitter water, truly delicious after fifteen hours'
 thirst. Repeated draughts of this element, and coarse stubbly grass,
 saved us and our mules. Rain came on, but we slept like the dead.
 At six, we resumed our march, going slowly along the seacoast, and
 at noon we were able to sit on the sands and bathe in the sea. Our
 beasts could hardly move, and slippery mud added to their troubles.
 At three p.m. we again got a patch of grass, and halted the animals
 to feed; and a mile further some wells, where we again rested them,
 watered them, finished our last mouthful of food, and prepared for a
 long night march.

 [Sidenote: _They reach Berberah--Join Speke, Herne, Stroyan._]

 "We managed to pass all our enemies in the dark, and they cursed the
 star that had enabled us to slip unhurt through their hands. I was
 obliged to call a halt within four miles of Berberah; the animals
 could not move, neither could the men, except the Hammal and I, and
 they all fell fast asleep on the stones. As soon as we could go on,
 a long dark line appeared upon the sandy horizon, the silhouettes of
 shipping showing against sea and sky. A cry of joy burst from every
 mouth. 'Cheer, boys, cheer! our toils here touch their end.' The 'End
 of Time' still whispered anxiously lest enemies might arise; we wound
 slowly and cautiously round the southern portion of the sleeping town,
 through bone-heaps, and jackals tearing their unsavoury prey, straight
 into the quarter of the Ayyal Gedíd, our protectors. Anxiously I
 inquired if my comrades had left Berberah, and heard with delight that
 they were there. It was two o'clock in the morning, and we had marched
 forty miles.

 "I dismounted at the huts where my comrades were living. A glad
 welcome, a dish of rice, and a glass of strong waters made amends for
 past privations and fatigue. The servants and the wretched mules were
 duly provided for, and I fell asleep, conscious of having performed a
 feat which, like a certain ride to York, will live in local annals for
 many and many a year.

 "Great fatigue is seldom followed by long sleep. Soon after sunrise
 I woke, hearing loud voices, seeing masses of black faces, and tawny
 wigs. The Berberah people, who had been informed of our five-day ride,
 swore that the thing was impossible, that we _had_ never, _could_
 never have been near Harar, but were astonished when they found it
 was true. I then proceeded to inspect my attendants and cattle. The
 former were delighted, having acquitted themselves of their trust;
 the poor mules were by no means so easily restored. Their backs were
 cut to the bone by the saddle, their heads drooped sadly, their hams
 showed dread marks of the spear-point. I directed them to be washed in
 the sea, to be dressed with cold-water bandages, and copiously fed.
 Through a broad gap, called Duss Malablay, appear in fine weather the
 granite walls of Wagar and Gulays, 5700 feet above the level of the
 sea. Lieutenant Herne found it would make an admirable sanitarium.
 The emporium of Eastern Africa has a salubrious climate, abundance
 of sweet water, a mild monsoon, a fine open country, an excellent
 harbour, a highly productive soil, is the meeting-place of commerce,
 has few rivals, and for half the money wasted on Aden, might have
 been covered with houses, gardens, and trees. My companions and I,
 after a day's rest, made some excursions. We had a few difficulties
 about our _Abans_, or protectors. We did not choose to be dictated
 to, so there was a general council of the elders. It took place upon
 the shore, each Chief forming a semicircle with his followers,
 all squatting on the sand, with shield and spear planted upright
 in the ground. I entered the circle sword in hand, and sat down in
 their midst. After much murmuring had gone on the Chief asked, in a
 loud voice, 'Who is thy protector?' The reply was, 'Burhale Nuh,'
 followed by an Arabic speech as long as an average sermon, and then,
 shouldering my blade, I left the circle abruptly. It was a success;
 they held a peace conference, and the olive waved over the braves of
 Berberah. On the 5th of February, 1855, I left my comrades _pro tem._,
 and went on board _El Kásab_, or the Reed, the ill-omened name of our
 cranky craft, and took with me the Hammal, Long Guled, and the 'End
 of Time,' who were in danger, and rejoiced at leaving Berberah with
 sound skins. I met with opposition at landing. I could not risk a
 quarrel so near Berberah, and was returning to moralize on the fate
 of Burckhardt--after a successful pilgrimage refused admittance to
 Aaron's tomb at Sinai--when a Bedawin ran to tell us that we might
 wander where we pleased.

 [Sidenote: _He sails for Aden._]

 "The captain of the _Reed_ drew off a great deal further than I
 ordered, and when I went down to go on board, the vessel was a mere
 speck upon the sea horizon. He managed to cast anchor at last, after
 driving his crazy craft through a bad sea. I stood on the shore making
 signs for a canoe, but he did not choose to see me till about one p.m.
 As soon as I found myself on quarter-deck--

 "'Dawwír el farmán!' (Shift the yard!) I shouted, with a voice of
 thunder.

 "The answer was a general hubbub. 'He surely will not sail in a sea
 like this?' asked the trembling captain of my companions.

 "'He will!' sententiously quoth the Hammal, with a Burleigh nod.

 "'It blows wind,' remonstrated the _rais_.

 "'And if it blew fire?' asked the Hammal, with the air _goguenard_,
 meaning that from the calamity of Frankish obstinacy there was no
 refuge.

 "A kind of death-wail rose, during which, to hide untimely laughter,
 I retreated to a large drawer in the stern of the vessel, called a
 cabin. There my ears could distinguish the loud entreaties of the
 crew, vainly urging my attendants to propose a day's delay. Then one
 of the garrison, accompanied by the Captain, who shook as with fever,
 resolved to act forlorn hope, and bring a _feu d'enfer_ of phrases to
 bear upon the Frank's hard brain. Scarcely, however, had the head of
 the sentence been delivered, before he was playfully upraised by his
 bushy hair and a handle somewhat more substantial, carried out of the
 cabin, and thrown, like a bag of biscuit, on the deck.

 "The case was hopeless. All strangers plunged into the sea--the
 popular way of landing in East Africa--the anchor was weighed, the ton
 of sail shaken out, and the _Reed_ began to dip and rise in the yeasty
 sea laboriously, as an alderman dancing a polka.

 "For the first time in my life I had the satisfaction of seeing the
 Somal unable to eat--unable to eat mutton!! In sea-sickness and
 needless terror, the Captain, crew, and passengers abandoned to us
 all the baked sheep, which we three, not being believers in the Evil
 Eye, ate from head to trotters with especial pleasure. That night the
 waves broke over us. The 'End of Time' occupied himself in roaring
 certain orisons which are reputed to calm stormy seas; he desisted
 only when Long Guled pointed out that a wilder gust seemed to follow,
 as in derision, each more emphatic period. The Captain, a noted
 reprobate, renowned on shore for his knowledge of erotic verse and
 admiration of the fair sex, prayed with fervour; he was joined by
 several of the crew, who apparently found the charm of novelty in the
 edifying exercise. About midnight a _sultan el bahr_, or sea-King--a
 species of whale--appeared close to our counter; and as these animals
 are famous for upsetting vessels in waggishness, the sight elicited a
 yell of terror, and a chorus of religious exclamations.

 "On the morning of Friday, the 9th of February, 1855, we hove in
 sight of Jebel Shamsan, the loftiest peak on the Aden crater. And ere
 evening fell, I had the pleasure of seeing the faces of friends and
 comrades once more.

       *       *       *       *       *

 [Sidenote: _Returns with Forty Men._]

 "If I had 'let well alone,' I should have done well; but I wanted
 to make a new expedition Nile-wards, _viâ_ Harar, on a larger and
 more imposing scale. For that I went back to Aden. On April 7th,
 1855, I returned successful. Lieutenant King, Indian Navy, commanded
 the gunboat _Mahi_, and entered the harbour of Berberah with us on
 board. I was in command of a party of forty-two men, armed, and we
 established an agency, and selected the site of our camp in a place
 where we could have the protection of the gunboat; but the Commander
 of the schooner had orders to relieve another ship, and so could not
 remain and superintend the departure of the Expedition. It was the
 time after the Fair, and one might say that Berberah was empty, and
 that there was scarcely any one but ourselves. Our tents were pitched
 in one line--Stroyan's to the right, Herne and myself in the middle,
 and Speke on the left. The baggage was placed between our tents, the
 camels were in front, the horses and mules behind us. Two sentries
 all night were regularly relieved and visited by ourselves. We were
 very well received, and they listened with respectful attention to a
 letter, in which the Political Resident at Aden enjoined them to treat
 us with consideration and hospitality. We had purchased fifty-six
 camels; Ogadayn Caravan was anxious for our escort. If we had departed
 then, perhaps all would have been well; but we expected instruments
 and other necessaries by the mid-April mail from Europe. Three days
 afterwards, a craft from Aden came in with a dozen Somals, who wanted
 to accompany us, and fortunately I feasted the Commander and the crew,
 which caused them to remain. We little knew that our lives hung upon
 a thread, and that had the vessel departed, as she would otherwise
 have done, the night before the attack, nothing could have saved us.
 Between two and three a.m. of April 19th, there was a cry that the
 enemy was upon us, three hundred and fifty strong. Hearing a rush of
 men, like a stormy wind, I sprang up, and called for my sabre, and
 sent Herne to ascertain the force of the foray. Armed with a 'Colt,'
 he went to the rear and left of the camp, the direction of danger,
 collecting some of the guards--others having already disappeared--and
 fired two shots into the assailants. Then finding himself alone, he
 turned hastily towards the tent; in so doing, he was tripped up by
 the ropes, and, as he arose, a Somali appeared in the act of striking
 at him with a club. Herne fired, floored the man, and, rejoining me,
 declared that the enemy was in great force and the guard nowhere.
 Meanwhile, I had aroused Stroyan and Speke, who were sleeping in the
 extreme right and left tents. The former, it is presumed, arose to
 defend himself, but, as the sequel shows, we never saw him alive.
 Speke, awakened by the report of firearms, but supposing it to be the
 normal false alarm--a warning to plunderers--remained where he was;
 presently, hearing clubs rattling upon his tent, and feet shuffling
 around, he ran to my _rowtie_, which we prepared to defend as long as
 possible.

 [Sidenote: _They are attacked--A Desperate Fight._]

 "The enemy swarmed like hornets, with shouts and screams, intending to
 terrify, and proving that overwhelming odds were against us. It was by
 no means easy to avoid in the shades of night the jobbing of javelins,
 and the long, heavy daggers thrown at our legs from under and through
 the opening of the tent. We three remained together; Herne knelt by
 my right, on my left was Speke guarding the entrance, I stood in the
 centre, having nothing but a sabre. The revolvers were used by my
 companions with deadly effect; unfortunately there was but one pair.
 When the fire was exhausted, Herne went to search for his powder-horn,
 and, that failing, to find some spears usually tied to the tent-pole.
 Whilst thus engaged, he saw a man breaking into the rear of our
 _rowtie_, and came back to inform me of the circumstance.

 "At this time, about five minutes after the beginning of the affray,
 the tent had been almost beaten down--an Arab custom, with which we
 were all familiar--and had we been entangled in its folds, like mice
 in a trap, we should have been speared with unpleasant facility. I
 gave the word for escape, and sallied out, closely followed by Herne,
 with Speke in the rear. The prospect was not agreeable. About twenty
 men were kneeling and crouching at the tent entrance, whilst many
 dusky figures stood further off, or ran about shouting the war-cry,
 or with shouts and blows drove away our camels. Among the enemy were
 many of our friends and attendants; the coast being open to them,
 they naturally ran away, firing a few useless shots, and receiving a
 modicum of flesh-wounds.

 "After breaking through the mob at the tent entrance, imagining
 that I saw the form of Stroyan lying upon the sand, I cut my way
 with my sabre towards it amongst dozens of Somal, whose war-clubs
 worked without mercy, whilst the Balyuz, who was violently pushing
 me out of the fray, rendered the strokes of my sabre uncertain.
 This individual was cool and collected. Though incapacitated by a
 sore right thumb from using the spear, he did not shun danger, and
 passed unhurt through the midst of the enemy. His efforts, however,
 only illustrated the venerable adage, 'Defend me from my friends.'
 I mistook him in the dark and turned to cut him down; he cried
 out in alarm. The well-known voice stopped me, and that instant's
 hesitation allowed a spearman to step forward, and leave his javelin
 in my mouth, and retire before he could be punished. Escaping as by
 a miracle, I sought some support. Many of our Somal and servants
 lurking in the darkness offered to advance, but 'tailed off' to a man
 as we approached the foe. Presently the Balyuz reappeared, and led
 me towards the place where he believed my three comrades had taken
 refuge. I followed him, sending the only man that showed presence of
 mind, one Golab of the Yusuf tribe, to bring back the _Aynterad_ craft
 from the Spit into the centre of the harbour. Again losing the Balyuz
 in the darkness, I spent the interval before dawn wandering in search
 of my comrades, and lying down when overpowered with faintness and
 pain. As the day broke, with my remaining strength I reached the head
 of the creek, was carried into the vessel, and persuaded the crew to
 arm themselves and visit the scene of our disasters.

 "Meanwhile, Herne, who had closely followed me, fell back, using the
 butt-end of his discharged six-shooter upon the hard heads around
 him. In so doing he came upon a dozen men, who, though they loudly
 vociferated, 'Kill the Franks who are killing the Somal!' allowed him
 to pass uninjured.

 "He then sought his comrades in the empty huts of the town, and at
 early dawn was joined by the Balyuz, who was similarly employed. When
 day broke, he also sent a negro to stop the native craft, which was
 apparently sailing out of the harbour, and in due time he came on
 board. With the exception of sundry stiff blows with the war-club,
 Herne had the fortune to escape unhurt.

 "On the other hand, Speke's escape was in every way wonderful.
 Sallying from the tent, he levelled his 'Dean and Adams' close to an
 assailant's breast. The pistol refused to revolve. A sharp blow of a
 war-club upon the chest felled our comrade, who was in the rear and
 unseen. When he fell, two or three men sprang upon him, pinioned his
 hands behind, felt him for concealed weapons--an operation to which he
 submitted in some alarm--and led him towards the rear, as he supposed,
 to be slaughtered. There, Speke, who could scarcely breathe from the
 pain of the blow, asked a captor to tie his hands before instead of
 behind, and begged a drop of water to relieve his excruciating thirst.
 The savage defended him against a number of the Somal who came up
 threatening and brandishing their spears. He brought a cloth for the
 wounded man to lie upon, and lost no time in procuring a draught of
 water.

 "Speke remained upon the ground till dawn. During the interval he
 witnessed the war-dance of the savages--a scene striking in the
 extreme; the tallest and largest warriors marching with the deepest
 and most solemn tones, the song of thanksgiving. At a little distance
 the grey uncertain light disclosed four or five men lying desperately
 hurt, whilst their kinsmen kneaded their limbs, pouring water upon
 their wounds, and placing lumps of dates in their stiffening hands.[5]
 As day broke, the division of plunder caused angry passions to rise.
 The dead and dying were abandoned. One party made a rush upon the
 cattle, and with shouts and yells drove them off towards the wilds.
 Some loaded themselves with goods; others fought over pieces of
 cloth, which they tore with hand and dagger; whilst the disappointed,
 vociferating with rage, struck at one another and brandished their
 spears. More than once during these scenes a panic seized them; they
 moved off in a body to some distance; and there is little doubt that,
 had our guard struck one blow, we might still have won the day.

 [Sidenote: _Richard and Speke desperately wounded._]

 "Speke's captor went to seek his own portion of the spoil, when a
 Somal came up and asked in Hindostani what business the Frank had in
 their country, and added that he would kill him if a Christian, but
 spare the life of a brother Moslem. The wounded man replied that he
 was going to Zanzibar, that he was still a Nazarene, and therefore
 that the work had better be done at once. The savage laughed, and
 passed on. He was succeeded by a second, who, equally compassionate,
 whirled a sword round his head, twice pretending to strike, but
 returning to the plunder without doing damage. Presently came another
 manner of assailant. Speke, who had extricated his hands, caught the
 spear levelled at his breast, but received at the same moment a blow
 which, paralyzing his arm, caused him to lose his hold. In defending
 his heart from a succession of thrusts, he received severe wounds
 on the back of his hand, his right shoulder, and his left thigh.
 Pausing a little, the wretch crossed to the other side, and suddenly
 passed his spear clean through the right leg of the wounded man.
 The latter, 'smelling death,' then leapt up, and, taking advantage
 of his assailant's terror, rushed headlong towards the sea. Looking
 behind, he avoided the javelin hurled at his back, and had the good
 fortune to run, without further accident, the gauntlet of a score of
 missiles. When pursuit was discontinued, he sat down, faint from loss
 of blood, upon a sandhill. Recovering strength by a few minutes' rest,
 he staggered on to the town, where some old women directed him to us.
 Then, pursuing his way, he fell in with the party sent to seek him,
 and by their aid reached the craft, having walked and run at least
 three miles, after receiving eleven wounds, two of which had pierced
 his thighs. A touching lesson how difficult it is to kill a man in
 sound health![6] My difficulty was, with my comrades' aid, to extract
 the javelin which transfixed my jaws. It destroyed my palate and four
 good back teeth, and left wounds on my two cheeks.

 "When we three survivors had reached the craft, Yusuf, the Captain,
 armed his men with muskets and spears, landed them near the camp,
 and ascertained that the enemy, expecting a fresh attack, had fled,
 carrying away our cloth, tobacco, swords, and other weapons. The
 corpse of Stroyan was then brought on board. Our lamented comrade
 was already stark and cold. A spear had traversed his heart, another
 had pierced his abdomen, and a frightful gash, apparently of a
 sword, had opened the upper part of his forehead. The body had been
 bruised with war-clubs, and the thighs showed marks of violence after
 death. This was the severest affliction that befell us. We had lived
 together like brothers. Stroyan was a universal favourite, and his
 sterling qualities of manly courage, physical endurance, and steady
 perseverance had augured for him a bright career, thus prematurely cut
 off. Truly melancholy to us was the contrast between the evening when
 he sat with us full of life and spirits, and the morning when we saw
 amongst us a livid corpse.

 "We had hoped to preserve the remains of our friend for interment at
 Aden. But so rapid were the effects of exposure that we were compelled
 most reluctantly, on the morning of the 20th of April, to commit them
 to the deep, Herne reading the Funeral Service.

 "Then, with heavy hearts, we set sail for the near Arabian shore,
 and, after a tedious two days, carried our friends the news of the
 unexpected disaster.

 "RICHARD F. BURTON."

When Speke wrote the manuscript of this affair, and in _Blackwood_, and
also in his book on the "Sources of the Nile," he said that _he_ was
the Head of the Expedition; _he_ had given the order for the night, it
was before _him_ the spies were brought, _he_ was the first to turn
out, and no one but _he_ had the courage to defend himself. It is
hardly worth while to contradict it. It is obvious that this expedition
could only be commanded by a man who knew Arabic and some of the other
languages, of which he was perfectly ignorant.

So the results of this Expedition, to sum up in short, were, that they
barely escaped being caught like mice in a trap, by having their tents
thrown down upon them, the four fought bravely against three hundred
and fifty Bedawi, poor Stroyan was killed, Herne was untouched, Richard
and Speke were desperately wounded, though they all cut their way
gallantly through the enemy. Poor Speke had eleven wounds, and Richard,
with a lance transfixing his jaws, which carried away four back teeth
and part of his palate, wandered up and down the coast suffering from
his wounds, fever, hunger, and thirst consequent on the wounds; but
they met, they carried off the dead body of their comrade, and were
taken on board the native dhow or boat, which the fortunate accident
of Richard's hospitality had retained there just half an hour, long
enough to save them, and the natives sacked their property. They were
so badly wounded, he had to return to England, and here his wounds
soon healed and he picked up health. He rendered an account of his
explorations before the Royal Geographical Society.[7] After a month's
rest, he obtained leave to volunteer for the Crimea. Here I would
rather give his own original manuscript word for word, because it is so
fresh, and, in a few pages, gives a better insight into outspoken truth
than many other large volumes.

[1] In Abyssinia, according to the Lord of Geesh, this is a mark of
royal familiarity and confidence.

[2] "Speke, Herne, and Stroyan."

[3] "Because it was reported that he had never smiled but once."

[4] I often thought Grant Allen, in the third volume of "The Devil's
Die," drew his account of the journey of Mohammed Ali and Ivan Royle
from Eagle City through the desert to Carthage on the edge of the
desert from Richard's journey from Harar; it is so like it--but he told
me he did not.--I. B.

[5] "The Somal place dates in the hands of the fallen to ascertain the
extent of injury. He that cannot eat that delicacy is justly decided to
be _in articulo_."

[6] "In less than a month after receiving such injuries, Speke was on
his way to England. He never felt the least inconvenience from the
wounds, which closed up like indiarubber."

[7] He began to prepare his public account of Harar in "First Footsteps
in East Africa," one large volume, which, however, did not see the
light till 1856. It might have been called "Harar," to distinguish it
from the trial trip previous to the Great Lake Expedition.




CHAPTER X.

WITH BEATSON'S HORSE.


[Sidenote: _The Crimea._]

The Crimean War is an affair of the last generation; thirty years'
distance has given it a certain perspective, and assigned its proper
rank and place in the panorama of the nineteenth century. Estimates
of its importance, of course, vary; while one man would vindicate its
_péripéties_ on the plea of being the first genuine attempt to develop
the European Concert, to create an International tribunal for the
discouragement of the modern revival of _La Force prime le droit_,
and for the protection of the weak minority, others, like myself,
look upon it as an unmitigated evil to England. It showed up all her
characteristic unreadiness, all her defects of organization. It proved
that she could not _then_ produce a single great _sailor_ or _soldier_.
It washed her dirty linen in public, to the disgust and contempt of
Europe; and, lastly, it taught her the wholly novel and unpleasant
lesson of "playing second fiddle" (as the phrase is) to France.
Considered with regard to her foreign affairs, this disastrous blunder
lost us for ever the affection of Russia, our oldest and often our only
friend amongst the continentals of Europe. It barred the inevitable
growth of the northern Colossus in a southern direction, and encouraged
her mighty spread to the south-east, India-wards, at the same time
doubling her extent by the absorption of Turcomania.

The causes which led to the war are manifold enough. Some are trivial
enough, like the indiscreet revelation of Czar Nicholas' private talk,
talk anent the "Sick Man," by the undiplomatic indiscretion of the
diplomatist, Sir Hamilton Seymour. Others are vital, especially the
weariness caused by a long sleep of peace which made England, at once
the most unmilitary and the most fighting of peoples, "spoil for a
row." The belief in the wretched Turk's power of recuperation and even
of progress had been diffused by such authorities as Lords Palmerston
and Stratford de Redcliffe, and, _en route_ to the war, I often
heard, to my disgust, British officers exclaim, "If there ever be a
justifiable campaign (in support of the unspeakable Turk!) it is this."

Outside England, the main moving cause was our acute ally Louis
Napoleon, whose ambition was to figure arm-in-arm in the field with
the nation which annihilated his uncle. But he modestly proposed
that France should supply the army, England the navy, an arrangement
against which, even now, little can be said. Here, however, our jaunty
statesman stepped in; Cupidon (Lord Palmerston), the man with the straw
in his mouth, the persistent "Chaffer" of wiser men that appreciated
the importance of the Fenian movement, the opposer of the Suez
Canal,[1] the Minister who died one day and was forgotten the next,
refused to give up the wreath of glory; and, upon the principle that
one Englishman can fight three Frenchmen, sent an utterly inadequate
force and enabled the French to "revenge Waterloo." French diplomatists
were heavily backed against English; a nervous desire to preserve the
_entente cordiale_ made English Generals and Admirals (as at Alma and
the bombardment of Sebastopol) put up with the jockeying and bullying
measures of French officers. And the alliance ended not an hour too
soon.

After French successes and our failures the _piou-piou_ would cry
aloud, "Malakoff--yes, yes; Redan--no, no;" whereto Tommy Atkins
replied with a growl, "Waterloo, ye beggars!" And the English medal
distributed to the _troupier_ was pleasantly known as the "Médaille de
Sauvetage." At the end of the disastrous year '56 England had come up
smiling, after many a knock-down blow, and was ready to go in and win.
But Louis Napoleon had obtained all _he_ wanted, the war was becoming
irksome to _his_ fickle lieges; so an untimely peace was patched up,
and England was left to pay the piper by the ever-increasing danger to
India.

After the disastrous skirmish with the Somali at Berberah, it is no
wonder that I returned to England on sick certificate, wounded and
sorely discomfited. The Crimean War seemed to me some opportunity
of recovering my spirits, and, as soon as my health permitted, I
applied myself to the ungrateful task of volunteering. London then
was in the liveliest state of excitement about the Crimean bungles,
and the ladies pitilessly cut every officer who shirked his duty. So
I read my paper about Harar before the Royal Geographical Society,
and had the pleasure of being assured by an ancient gentleman, who
had never _smelt_ Africa, that when approaching the town Harar I had
crossed a large and rapid river. It was in vain for me to reject this
information. Every one seemed to think he must be right.[2]

Having obtained a few letters of introduction, and remembering that
I had served under General James Simpson, at Sakhar, in Sind, I
farewelled my friends, and my next step was to hurry through France,
and to embark at Marseille on board one of the Messageries Impériales,
bound for Constantinople. Very imperial was the demeanour of her
officers. They took command of the passengers in most absolute style,
and soundly wigged an Englishman, a Colonel, for opening a port, and
shipping a sea. I was ashamed of my fellow-countryman's tameness, and
yet I knew him to be a brave man. The ship's surgeon was Dr. Nicora,
who afterwards became a friend of ours at Damascus, where he died
attached to the French sanitary establishment; he talked much, and
could not conceal his Anglophobia and hatred of the English. The only
pleasant Frenchman on board was General MacMahon, then fresh from his
Algerian campaign, and newly transferred to the Crimea, where his
fortunes began.

It was a spring voyage on summer seas, and in due time we stared at
the Golden Horn, and lodged ourselves at Missiri's Hôtel. The owner,
who had been a dragoman to Eöthen, presumed upon his reputation, and
made his house unpleasant. His wine, called "Tenedos," was atrocious,
his cookery third rate, and his prices first rate. He sternly forbade
"gambling," as he called card-playing, in his house, private as well
as public; and we had periodically to kick downstairs the impudent
dragomans who brought us his insolent messages. However, he had
some excuse. Society at Missiri's was decidedly mixed; "bahaduring"
was the rule, and the extra military swagger of the juveniles,
assistant-surgeons, commissariats, and such genus, booted to the
crupper, was a caution to veterans.

At Stamboul, I met Fred Wingfield, who was bound to Balaclava, as
assistant under the unfortunate Mr. Commissary-General Filder, and had
to congratulate myself upon my good fortune. We steamed together over
the inhospitable Euxine, which showed me the reason for its sombre name.

The waters are in parts abnormally sweet, and they appear veiled in a
dark vapour. Utterly unknown the blues, amethyst and turquoise, of that
sea of beauty, the Mediterranean; the same is the case with the smaller
Palus Meotis--Azoff. After the normal three days we sighted the Tauric
Chersonese, the land of the Cimmerians and Scythians, the colony of the
Greek, the conquest of Janghiz and the Khans of Turkey, and finally
annexed by Russia after the wars, in which Charles XII. had taught the
Slav to fight. We then made Balaclava (Balik-liwa, "Fish town"), with
its dwarf fjord, dug out of dove-coloured limestones, and forming a
little port stuffed to repletion with every manner of craft.

But it had greatly improved since October 17, 1854, when we first
occupied it and formally opened the absurdly so-called siege, in which
we were as often the besieged as the besiegers. Under a prodigiously
fierce-looking provost-marshal, whose every look meant "cat," some
cleanliness and discipline had been introduced amongst the suttlers and
scoundrels who populated the townlet. Store-ships no longer crept in,
reported cargoes which were worth their weight of gold to miserables,
living

    "On coffee raw and potted cat,"

and crept out again without breaking bulk. A decent road had been run
through Kadikeui (Kazi's village) to camp and to the front, and men no
longer sank ankle-deep in dust, or calf-deep in mud. In tact, England
was, in the parlance of the "ring," getting her second wind, and was
settling down to her work!

The unfortunate Lord Raglan, with his _courage antique_, his
old-fashioned excess of courtesy, and his nervous dread of prejudicing
the _entente cordiale_ (!) between England and France, had lately died.
He was in one point exactly the man _not_ wanted. At his age and with
one arm and many infirmities, he could not come up to the idea of Sir
Charles Napier's model officer under the same circumstances, "eternally
on horseback, with a sword in his hand, eating, sleeping, and drinking
in the saddle."

But with more energy and fitness for command he might have deputed
others to take his place. A good ordinary man, placed by the folly of
his aristocratic friends in extraordinary circumstances, he was fated,
temporarily, to ruin the prestige of England. He began by allowing
himself to be ignobly tricked by that shallow intriguer, Maréchal de
Saint Arnaud (_alias_ Leroy). At Alma he was persuaded to take the
worst and the most perilous position; his delicacy in not disturbing
the last hours of his fellow Commander-in-Chief prevented his capturing
the northern forts of Sebastopol, which Todleben openly declared were
to be stormed by a _coup de main_; and allowed Louis Napoleon, in
the _Moniteur_, to blame England only for the _lâches_ of the French,
after the "last of European battles fought on the old lines," etc. At
Inkermann, where the Guards defended themselves, like prehistoric men,
with stones, Lord Raglan allowed his whole army to be surprised by the
Russians, and to be saved by General Bosquet, with a host of Zouaves,
Chasseurs, and Algerian rifles. No wonder that a Russian general
declared, "The French saved the English at Inkermann as the Prussians
did at Waterloo, and all Europe believed that France would conquer both
Russia and England, the first by arms and the second by contrast." The
"thin red line" of Balaclava allowed some national chauvinism, but that
was all to be said in its favour, except that the gallantry of the men
was to be equalled only by the incompetency of their Chiefs.

I passed a week with Wingfield and other friends, in and about
Balaclava, in frequent visits to the front and camp. A favourite
excursion from the latter was to the Monastery of St. George, classic
ground where Iphigenia was saved from sacrifice. There was a noble view
from this place, a foreground of goodly garden, a deep ravine clad with
glorious trees, a system of cliffs and needles studding a sandy beach,
and a lovely stretch of sparkling sea. No wonder that it had been
chosen by a hermit, whose little hut of unhewn blocks lay hard by; he
was a man upwards of sixty apparently, unknown to any one, and was fed
by the black-robed monks. At Kadikeui also I made the acquaintance of
good Mrs. Seacole, Jamaican by origin, who did so much for the comfort
of invalids, and whom we afterwards met with lively pleasure at Panámá.

The British cavalry officers in the Crimea were still violently excited
by reports that Lord Cardigan was about returning to command; and I
heard more than one say, "We will not serve under him." And after
a long experience of different opinions on the spot, I came to the
following conclusion:--The unhappy charge of the "Six Hundred" was
directly caused by my old friend, Captain Nolan of the 15th Hussars. An
admirable officer and swordsman, bred in the gallant Austrian Cavalry
of that day, he held, and advocated through life, the theory that
mounted troops were an overmatch for infantry, and wanted only good
leading to break squares and so forth. He was burning also to see the
Lights outrival the Heavies, who, under General Scarlett, had charged
down upon Russians said to be four times their number. Lord Lucan
received an order to take a Russian 12-gun battery on the Causeway
Heights, from General Liprandi, and he sent a verbal message by Nolan
(General Airey's aide-de-camp) to his brother-in-law, Lord Cardigan,
there being bad blood between the two.

Nolan, who was no friend to the hero of the Black Bottle, delivered
the order disagreeably, and when Lord Cardigan showed some hesitation,
roughly cut short the colloquy with, "You have your commands, my Lord,"
and prepared, as is the custom, to join in the charge. Hardly did it
begin, than he was struck by a shot in the breast, and, as he did not
fall at once, some asked Lord Cardigan where he was, and the reply
came, "I saw him go off howling to the rear." During the fatal charge
Lord Cardigan lost his head, and had that _moment de peur_ to which
the best soldiers are at times subject. He had been a fire-eater with
the "Saw-handles," and the world expected too much of him; again, a
man of ordinary pluck, he was placed in extraordinary circumstances,
and how few there are who are _born_ physically fearless. I can count
those known to me on the fingers of my right hand. Believing that his
force was literally mown down, he forgot his duty as a Commanding
Officer, and instead of rallying the fugitives, he thought only of
_sauve qui peut_. Galloping wildly to the rear, he rushed up to many
a spectator, amongst others to my old Commander, General Beatson,
nervously exclaiming, "You saw me at the guns?" and almost without
awaiting a reply, rode on. Presently returning to England, he had not
the sound sense and good taste to keep himself in the background; but
received a kind of "ovation," as they call it, the ladies trying to
secure hairs from his charger's tail by way of keepsake. Of course he
never showed his face in the Crimea again. The tale of this ill-fated
and unprofessional charge has now changed complexion. It is held up
as a _beau fait d'armes_, despite the best bit of military criticism
that ever fell from soldier's lips: "_c'est beau, mais ce n'est pas la
guerre_," the words of General Bosquet, who saved the poor remnants of
the Lights.

At head-quarters I called upon the Commander-in-Chief, General Simpson,
whom years before I had found in charge of Sakhar, Upper Sind, held by
all as wellnigh superannuated. He was supposed to be one of Lever's
heroes, the gigantic Englishman who, during the occupation of Paris,
broke the jaw of the duelling French officer, and spat down his throat.
But age had told upon him, mentally as well as bodily, and he became
a mere plaything in the hands of the French, especially of General
Pélissier, the typical Algerian officer, who well knew when to browbeat
and when to cajole. "Jimmy Simpson," as the poor old incapable was
called, could do nothing for me, so I wrote officially at once to
General Beatson, whom I had met at Boulogne, volunteering for the
Irregular Cavalry then known as "Beatson's Horse," and I was delighted
when my name appeared in orders. Returning to Constantinople, I called
upon the Embassy, then in summer quarters at Therapia, where they had
spent an anxious time. The gallant Vukados, Russianized in Boutákoff,
a Greek, who, in the nineteenth century, belonged to the heroic days
of Thermopylæ and Marathon, and who was actually cheered by his
enemies, with the little merchant-brig the _Wladimir_, alias _Arciduca
Giovanni_, had shown himself a master-breaker-of-blockades, and might
readily have taken into his head to pay the Ambassador a visit.

I looked forward to a welcome and found one; a man who had married
my aunt, Robert Bagshaw, of Dovercourt, M.P., and quondam Calcutta
merchant, who had saved from impending bankruptcy the house of
Alexander and Co., to which Lady Stratford belonged.

Nothing quainter than the contrast between that highly respectable
middle-class British peer and the extreme wildness of his surroundings.
There were but two exceptions to the general rule of eccentricity--one,
Lord Napier and Ettrick with his charming wife, and the other, Odo
(popularly called "O don't!") Russell, who died as Lord Ampthill,
Ambassador to Berlin. It was, by-the-by, no bad idea to appoint this
high-bred and average talented English gentleman to the Court of Prince
Bismarck, who disliked and despised nothing more thoroughly than the
pert little political, the "Foreign Office pet" of modern days.

Foremost on the roll stood Alison, who died Minister at Teheran.
He was in character much more a Greek than an Englishman, with a
peculiar _finesse_, not to put too fine a point upon it, which made
him highly qualified to deal with a certain type of Orientals. He knew
Romaic perfectly, Turkish well, Persian a little, and a smattering of
Arabic; so that, most unlike the average order of ignorant secretaries
and attachés, he was able to do good work. He seemed to affect
eccentricity, went out walking with a rough coat with a stick torn
from a tree, whence his cognomen "The Bear with the Ragged Staff," and
at his breakfasts visitors were unpleasantly astonished by a weight
suddenly mounting their shoulders in the shape of a bear-cub with cold
muzzle and ugly claws. He managed to hold his own with his testy and
rageous old Chief, and the following legend was told of him:--"Damn
your eyes, Mr. Alison, why was not that despatch sent?" "Damn your
Excellency's eyes, it went this morning." Miladi also seemed to regard
his comical figure with much favour. At Teheran he did little good,
having become unhappily addicted to "tossing the elbow," which in an
evil hour was reported home by my late friend Edward Eastwick; and
he married a wealthy Levantine widow, who predeceased him. On this
occasion he behaved uncommonly well, by returning all her large fortune
to her family.

Next to him in office, and far higher in public esteem, ranked Percy
Smythe, who succeeded his brother as Lord Strangford. Always of the
weakest possible constitution, and so purblind that when reading he
drew the paper across his nose, he fulfilled my idea of the typical
linguist in the highest sense of the word; in fact, I never saw his
equal except, perhaps, Professor Palmer, who was murdered by Arábi's
orders almost within sight of Suez. Strangford seemed to take in a
language through every pore, and to have time for all its niceties and
eccentricities: for instance, he could speak Persian like a Shirázi,
and also with the hideous drawl of a Hindostani. Yet his health sent
him to bed every night immediately after dinner, for which he was more
than once taken severely to task by Lady Stratford. He dressed in the
seediest of black frock-coats, and was once mightily offended by a
Turkish officer, who, overhearing us talking in Persian about "Tasáwaf"
(Sufi-ism), joined in the conversation. He treated me with great regard
because I was in the gorgeous Bashi-Bazouk uniform, blazing with gold,
but looked upon Lord Strangford with such contempt that the latter
exclaimed, "Hang the fellow! Can't he see that I am a gentleman?" I
then told him that an Eastern judges _entirely_ by dress, and that,
as I was gorgeous, I was supposed to be the swell, and that, as his
coat was very shabby, he was taken for a poor interpreter, probably my
dragoman, and induced him to change for the future.

Some years afterwards, when he came to the title, he married Emily
Beaufort, the result of reviewing her book "Syrian Shrines," etc. The
choice was a mistake; she was far too like him in body and mind, with
a strong dash of Israelitish blood, to be a success matrimonially
speaking. Had he taken to wife a comely "crummy" little girl with
blue eyes, barley-sugar hair, and the rest to match, he might have
lived much longer. But the lady was an overmatch for him. When she
was a little tot of twelve I saw her at the head of her father's, the
hydrographer's table, laying down the law of professional matters to
grey-headed Admirals. The last of the Staff was General Mansfield,
an ill-conditioned and aggressive man, who held General Beatson in
especial dislike for "prostitution of military rank." I have the most
unpleasant remembrance of him; he afterwards became Commander-in-Chief
of the Army in India, and his conduct in the "Affair of the Pickles"
ought to have caused the recall of "Lord Sandhurst."

The Ambassador, whose name was at that time in every mouth, was as
remarkable in appearance as in character and career. When near sixty
years of age he had still the clear-cut features and handsome face
of his cousin, whom he loved to call the "Great Canning," and under
whom, he, like Lord Palmerston, had began official life as private
secretary. One of the cleanest and smoothest shaven of old men, he had
a complexion white and red as a Westphalia ham, and his silver locks
gave him a venerable and pleasing appearance; whilst his chin, that
most characteristic feature, showed, in repose, manliness, and his
"Kaiser-blue" eye was that of the traditional Madonna, only at excited
moments the former tilted up with an expression of reckless obstinacy,
and the latter flashed fire like an enraged feline's. The everyday look
of the face was diplomatic, an icy impassibility (evidently put on, and
made natural by long habit); but it changed to the scowl of a Medusa in
fits of rage, and in joyous hours, such as sitting at dinner near the
beautiful Lady George Paget--whose like I never saw--it was harmonious
and genial as a day in spring.

Such was the personal appearance of the man who, together with the
Emperor Nicholas, one equally, if not more remarkable, both in body and
in mind, set the whole Western World in a blaze. I heard the origin
of the blood-feud minutely told by the late Lord Clanricarde, one of
the most charming _raconteurs_ and original conversationalists ever
met at a London dinner-table. Mr. Stratford Canning became, in early
manhood, _Chargé d'affaires_ at Constantinople, and took a prominent
part in the Treaty of Bucharest, which the Czar found, to speak mildly,
unpalatable. However, some years after, when the Embassy at St.
Petersburg fell vacant, the Emperor refused to receive this _personâ
ingrata_, and aroused susceptibilities which engendered a life-long
hatred and a lust for revenge. Lastly, after the affair of 1848, the
"Eltchi" persuaded his unhappy tool, the feeble-minded Sultan, Abd
Al-Majid, whom he scolded and abused like a naughty schoolboy, now by
threats then by promises, to refuse giving up the far-famed Hungarian
refugees. This again became well known to all the world, and thus
a private and personal pique between two elderly gentlemen of high
degree, involved half Europe in hideous war, and was one of the worst
disasters ever known to English history, by showing the world how
England could truckle to France, and allow her to play the leading part.

Lord Stratford had, as often happens to shrewder men, completely
mistaken his vocation. He told me more than once that his inclination
was wholly to the life of a _littérateur_, and he showed himself unfit
for taking any, save the humblest, _rôle_ among the third-rates. He
had lived his life in the East without learning a word of Turkish,
Persian, or Arabic.

He wrote "poetry," and, amid the jeers of his staff, he affixed to a
rustic seat near Therapia, where once Lady Stratford had sat, a copy of
verses beginning--

    "A wife, a mother to her children dear,"

with rhyme "rested here," and reason to match. After his final return
home he printed a little volume of antiquated "verse or _worse_" with
all the mediocrity which the gods and the columns disallow, and which
would hardly have found admittance to the poet's corner of a country
paper. His last performance in this line was a booklet entitled, "Why
I am a Christian" (he of all men!), which provoked a shout of laughter
amongst his friends. They owned that, mentally, he was a fair modern
Achilles--

    "Impiger, iracundus, inexorabilis acer;"

but of his "Christianity," the popular saying was, "He is a Christian,
and he never forgives." His characteristic was vindictiveness; he could
not forget (and here he was right), but also he could not forgive (and
here he was wrong). One instance: he tried to hunt out of the service
Grenville Murray, whose "Roving Englishman" probably owed much of its
charm to Dickens's staff in _Household Words_. Yet Murray, despite
all his faults, was a capable man, and a Government more elastic and
far-seeing and less "respectable" than that of England, would have
greatly profited by his services. Lord Stratford could not endure
badinage, he had no sense for and of humour; witness the scene between
him and Louis Napoleon's Ambassador, General Baraguay d'Hilliers,
recorded by Mr. Consul Skene in his "Personal Reminiscences." He
abhorred difference of opinion, and was furious with me for assuring
him that "Habash" and "Abyssinia" are by no means equivalent and
synonymous terms; he had been enlightening the "Porte" with information
that Turkey had never held a foot of ground in "Habash," when the
Turk, as my visit to Harar showed, had been an occupant, well hated,
as he was well known. And when in a rage he was not pleasant; his eyes
flashed fury, his venerable locks seemed to rise like the quills of
a fretful porcupine, he would rush round the room like a lean maniac
using frightful language--in fact, "langwidge," as the sailor hath
it--with his old dressing-gown working hard to keep pace with him,
and when the fit was at its worst, he would shake his fist in the
offender's face.

The famous Ambassador struck me as a weak, stiff-necked, and violent
old man, whose strength physically was in his obstinate chin,
together with a "pursed-up mouth and beak in a pet," and morally in
an exaggerated "respectability," iron-bound prejudices, and profound
self-esteem. He had also a firm respect for rank and the divine right
of Kings; witness his rage, when the young naval lieutenant, Prince of
Leiningen, was ordered by a superior officer to "swab decks." He lived
long enough to repent the last step of his official life. After peace
was concluded, a visit to the Crimea greatly disgusted him. With a kind
of bastard repentance, he quoted John Bright and the Peace Party in his
sorrow at having brought about a Campaign whose horrors contrasted so
miserably with its promised advantages.

In the next Russian-Turkish War he remembered that some ten thousand
English lives and £80,000,000 had been sacrificed to humble Russia,
whose genius and heroism had raised her so high in the opinion of
Europe, only to serve the selfish ends of Louis Napoleon, to set up
Turkey and the Sultan ("Humpty-dumpty," who refused to be set up),
and to humour the grudges of two rancorous old men. So he carefully
preached non-intervention to England. He took his seat in the House of
Lords, but spoke little, and when he spoke he mostly broke down. Of
his literary failures I have already spoken. Yet this was the "Great
Eltchi" of Eöthen, a man who gained a prodigious name in Europe,
chiefly by living out of it.

After seeing all that was to be seen at Therapia and Constantinople, I
embarked on an Austrian Lloyd steamer, and ran down to the Dardanelles,
then the head-quarters of the Bashi-Bazouks. The little town shared in
the factitious importance of Gallipoli, and other places more or less
useful during the war; it had two Pashas, Civil and Military, with a
large body of Nizam or Regulars, whilst the hillsides to the north were
dotted with the white tents of the Irregulars. General Beatson had
secured fair quarters near the old windmills, and there had established
himself with his wife and daughters. I at once recognized my old
Boulogne friend, although slightly disguised by uniform. He looked like
a man of fifty-five, with bluff face and burly figure, and probably
grey hair became him better than black. He always rode English chargers
of good blood, and altogether his presence was highly effective.

There had been much silly laughing at Constantinople, especially
amongst the grinning idiot tribe, about his gold coat, which was said
to stand upright by force of embroidery. But here he was perfectly
right, and his critics perfectly wrong. He had learnt by many
years' service to recognize the importance of show and splendour
when dealing with Easterns. And no one had criticised the splendid
Skinner or General Jacob of the Sind Horse, for wearing a silver
helmet and a diamond-studded sabretache. General Beatson had served
thirty-five years in the Bengal army, and was one of the few amongst
his contemporaries who had campaigned in Europe during the long peace
which followed the long war. In his subaltern days he had volunteered
into the Spanish Legion, under the Commander, General Sir de Lacy
Evans. After some hard fighting there, and seeing not a few adventures,
he had returned to India. When the Crimean War broke out he went to
Head-quarters at once, and, for the mere fun of the thing, joined in
the Heavy Cavalry charge.

In October, 1854, the Duke of Newcastle, then Minister of War,
addressed him officially, directing him to organize a Corps of
Bashi-Bazouks, not exceeding in number four thousand, who were to
be independent of the Turkish Contingent, consisting of twenty-five
thousand Regulars under General Vivian. So, unfortunately for himself,
he had made the Dardanelles his Head-quarters, and there he seemed to
be settled with his wife and family. Mrs. Beatson was a quiet-looking
little woman, who was reputed to rule her spouse with a rod of iron in
a velvet case; and the two daughters were charming girls who seemed
to have been born on horseback, and who delighted in setting their
terriers at timid aides-de-camp, and teaching their skittish little
Turkish nags to lash out at them when within kicking distance. General
Beatson at once introduced me to his Staff and officers, amongst whom
I found some most companionable comrades. There were two ex-Guardsmen,
poor Charles Wemyss, who died years after, chronically impecunious,
in London, and Major Lennox-Berkeley, who is still living. Of the
Home army were Lieut.-Colonel Morgan, ex-cavalry man, and Major
Synge. The Indian army had contributed Brigadier-General De Renzi,
Brett, Hayman, Money, Grierson, and others. Sankey, whom I had known
in Egypt, and whose family I had met at Malta, had been gazetted as
lieutenant-colonel. There was also poor Blakeley of the Gun, who
afterwards died so unhappily of yellow fever at Chorillos, in Perú.

But there were unfortunately black sheep among the number.
Lieut.-Colonel Fardella had only the disadvantage of being a Sicilian,
but Lieut.-Colonel Giraud, the head interpreter, was a Smyrniote and
a Levantine of the very worst description, and, worse still, there
was a Lieut.-Colonel O'Reilly, whose antecedents and subsequents were
equally bad. He had begun as a lance-corporal in one of her Majesty's
regiments, which he had left under discreditable circumstances. In the
Bashi-Bazouks he joined a faction against General Beatson, and when
the war was over he openly became a Mussulman, and entered the Turkish
service. He left the worst of reputations between Constantinople and
Marocco, and Englishmen had the best reason to be ashamed of him. In
subsequent years to the Massacre of Damascus, the English Government
had chosen out Fuad Pasha, a witty, unscrupulous, and over-clever Turk,
and proposed him as permanent Governor-General of the Holy Land, or
to govern in a semi-independent position, like that of the Khedive of
Egypt.

No choice could be worse, except that of the French, who favoured with
even more inaptitude, by way of a rival candidate, their Algerian
captive, the Emir Abd el Kadir, one of the most high-minded, religious,
and honourable of men, who was utterly unfit to cope with Turkish
roguery and Syrian rascaldom. The project fell through, but till his
last day Fuad Pasha never lost sight of it, and kept up putting in an
appearance, by causing perpetual troubles amongst the Bedawi and the
Druzes.

This man O'Reilly was one of his many tools, and at last, when he had
brought about against the Turkish Government an absurd revolt of naked
Arabs, upon the borders of the Hamah Desert, he was taken prisoner and
carried before Rashíd Pasha, then the Governor-General, and in his
supplications for pardon he had the meanness to kneel down and kiss the
Turk's foot.

But worse still was the position of the affairs which met my eyes
at the Dardanelles. Everything had combined to crush our force of
Irregulars. First, there was the Greek faction, who naturally hated
the English, and adored the Russians, and directed all the national
genius to making the foreigners fail. Their example was followed by the
Jews, many of them wealthy merchants at the Dardanelles, who in those
days, before the Juden-hetze, loved and believed in Russia and had
scanty confidence in England. The two Turkish pashas were exceedingly
displeased to see an _Imperium in Imperio_, and did their best to
breed disturbance between their Regulars and the English Irregulars.
They were stirred up by the German Engineers, who were employed upon
the fortifications of the Dardanelles, and who strongly inoculated
them with the idea that France and England aimed at nothing less than
annexation.

Hence the Pashas not only fomented every disturbance, but they
supplied deserters with passports and safe-conducts. The French played
the friendly-foelike party; the envy, jealousy, and malice of the
_Gr-r-r-ande Nation_ had been stirred to the very depths by the failure
of their Algerine General Yousouf in organizing a corps of Irregulars,
and they saw with displeasure and disgust that an Englishman was going
to succeed. Accordingly Battus, their wretched little French Consul for
the Dardanelles, was directed to pack the local Press at Constantinople
(which was almost wholly in the French interests) with the falsest
and foulest scandals. He had secured the services of the _Journal
de Constantinople_, which General Beatson had with characteristic
carelessness neglected to square, and his cunningly concocted scandals
found their way not only into the Parisian, but even into the London
Press.

But our deadliest enemies were of course those nearest home. Mr.
Calvert was at that time Vice-Consul for the Dardanelles, and he openly
boasted of its having been made by himself so good a thing that he
would not exchange it for a Consulate General. I need not enter into
the subsequent career of this man, who, shortly after the Crimean War,
found his way into a felon's jail at Malta, for insuring a non-existing
ship. He had proposed to General Beatson a contract in the name of
a creature of his own, who was a mere man of straw, and it was at
once refused, because, although Mr. Vice-Consul Calvert might have
gained largely thereby, Her Majesty's Government would have lost in
proportion. This was enough to make a bitter enemy of him, and he was
a manner of Levantine, virulent and scrupulous as he was sharp-witted.
He also had another grievance. In his Consulate he kept a certain
Lieutenant Ogilvie, who years after fought most gallantly in the
Franco-German War, and was looked upon, after he was killed, as a sort
of small national hero.

He and his agents were buying up cattle for the public use, and it
was a facetious saying amongst the "Buzoukers," as the Bashi-Bazouk
officers were called, that they had not left a single three-legged
animal in the country. It is no wonder that the reports of these men
had a considerable effect upon Lord Stratford, who was profoundly
impressed with the opinions of unhappy Lord Raglan, the Commander,
who by weak truckling to the French, a nettle fit only to be grasped,
had more than once placed us in an unworthy position. He was angrily
opposed to the whole scheme; it was contrary to precedent: Irregulars
were unknown at Waterloo, and the idea was offensive, because unknown
to the good old stock and pipe-clay school. Moreover, but for a
Campaign these men are invaluable to act as eyes and feelers for a
regular force. The English soldier, unless he be a poacher--by-the-by,
one of the best of them--cannot see by night; his want of practice
gives him a kind of "noctilypia," and he suffers much from want of
sleep. His Excellency already had his own grievance against General
Beatson, being enormously scandalized by a letter from the Irregular
officer casually proposing to hang the Military Pasha of the
Dardanelles, if he continued to intrigue and report falsely concerning
his force. And I must confess the tone of the General's letter was
peculiar, showing that he was better known to "Captain Sword" than
to "Captain Pen." When he put me in orders as "Chief of the Staff" I
overhauled his books and stood aghast to see the style of his official
despatches. He was presently persuaded, with some difficulty, to let me
mitigate their candour under the plea of copying, but on one occasion
after the copy was ready I happened to look into the envelope, and I
found--

 "P.S.--This is official, but I would have your Lordship to know that I
 also wear a black coat."

Fancy the effect of a formal challenge to combat, "pistols for two and
coffee for one," upon the rancorous old man of Constantinople, whose
anger burnt like a red-hot fire, and whose revenge was always at a
white heat! I took it out, but my General did not thank me for it.

The result of these scandalous rumours was, that Lord Stratford deemed
fit to send down the Dardanelles (for the purpose of reporting the
facts of the case) a certain Mr. Skene. I have no intention of entering
into the conduct of this official, who had been an officer in the
English army, and who proposed to make himself comfortable in the
Consulate of Aleppo! He has paid the debt of Nature, and I will not
injure his memory. Suffice it to say, that he was known on the spot to
be taking notes, that every malignant won his ear, and that he did not
cease to gratify the Ambassador's prejudices by reporting the worst.

General Beatson was peppery, like most old Indians, and instead of
keeping diplomatically on terms with Mr. Skene, he chose to have a
violent personal quarrel with him. Consequently Mr. Skene returned
to Constantinople, and his place was presently taken by Brigadier T.
G. Neil, who shortly appeared in the same capacity--note-taker. His
offensive presence and bullying manner immediately brought on another
quarrel, especially when he loudly declared that "he represented
Royalty," and that he was a universal unfavourite with Beatson's
Horse. He afterwards served in the Indian Mutiny, and there he ended
well. He made an enormous reputation at home by recklessly daring to
arrest a railway clerk, and he was shot before his incapacity could be
discovered.

I was also struck with consternation at the condition of Beatson's
Horse, better known on the spot as the "Bashi-Bazouks." The correct
term in Turkish is _Bāsh Buzuk_, equivalent to _Tête-pourrie_; it
succeeded the ancient _Dillis_, or madmen, who in the good old times
represented the Osmanli Irregular Cavalry. It was the habit of those
men in early spring, when the fighting season opened, to engage
themselves for a term to plunder and loot all they could (and at this
process they were first-rate hands), and to return home when winter
set in. General Beatson wisely determined that his four thousand
sabres should be wholly unconnected with the twenty-five thousand
men of the Turkish Contingent. He wished to raise them in Syria,
Asia Minor, Bulgaria, and other places, regiment them according to
their nationalities, and to officer them, like Sepoy regiments, with
Englishmen and Subalterns of their own races.

The idea was excellent, but it was badly carried out, mainly by
default of the War Office, which had overmuch to do and could not
be at the trouble of sending out officers. So the men, whose camps
looked soldier-like enough, were left lying on the hillsides, and
Satan found a very fair amount of work for them. This was, however,
chiefly confined to duelling, and other such pastimes. The Arnauts or
Albanians, who generally fight when they are drunk, had a peculiar
style of monomachy. The principals, attended by their seconds and by
all their friends, stood close opposite, each holding a cocked pistol
in their right hand and a glass of _raki_, or spirits of wine, in their
left. The first who drained his draught had the right to fire, and
generally blazed away with fatal effect. It would have been useless
to discourage this practice, but I insisted on fair play. Although
endless outrages were reported at Constantinople, very few really
took place: only one woman was insulted, and robbery with violence
was exceptionally rare. In fact, the _Tête-pourries_ contrasted most
favourably with the unruly French detachments at Gallipoli, and with
the turbulent _infirmiers_ of the Nagara Hospital. With the English
invalids at the Abydos establishment no disputes ever arose.

The exaggerated mutinies were mere sky-larking. After a few days'
grumbling, a knot of "Rotten Heads" would mount their nags with immense
noise and clatter, and, loudly proclaiming that they could stand the
dullness of life no longer, would ride away, hoping only to be soon
caught. But the worst was, I could see no business doing; there were no
morning roll-calls or evening parades, no drilling or disciplining of
men, and the General contented himself with riding twice a day through
the camp, and listening to many grievances. However, as soon as I was
made "Chief of the Staff," I persuaded him that this was not the thing,
and induced him to establish all three, and to add thereto a riding
school for sundry officers of infantry who were not very firm in the
saddle, and also to open a School of Arms for the benefit of _all_
(the last thing a British officer learns is, to use his "silly sword");
and the consequence was, that we soon had a fine body of well-trained
sabres, ready to do anything or to go anywhere.

The _Maître d'armes_ was an Italian from Constantinople, and he began
characteristically by proposing to call out the little Consul Battus,
while another purposed making love to Madame! Alas! it was too late.
On September 12th, a gunboat, dressed in all her colours, steamed at
full speed down the Dardanelles, and caused an immense excitement in
camp. The news flew like wildfire that Sebastopol had been captured.
It proved, to say the least, premature, and the details filled every
Englishman with disgust. I need not describe the grand storming of the
Malakoff, which gave Pélissier his _bâton de Maréchal_, or the gallant
carrying of the Little Redan by Bourbaki. But our failure at the Great
Redan was simply an abomination. Poor old Jemmy Simpson was persuaded
by Pélissier to play the second part, and to attack from the very
same trench as that which sent forth the unsuccessful assault of June
18th. About half the force required was sent, and these were mostly
regiments which had before suffered severely, and the bravest of them
could only stand up to be shot down, instead of sneaking, as not a few
did, in the trenches. Lastly, instead of leading them himself, the
Commander-in-Chief sent General Wyndham, whose gasconade about putting
on his gloves under fire seems to be the only item of this disgraceful
affair which appears known to and remembered by the British public. The
result of our attack was simply a _sauve qui peut_, and (_proh pudor!_)
the Piedmontese General Cialdini was obliged to order up one of his
brigades to save the British.

Continentals attributed this systematic paucity of our troops to the
most urgent emergencies, either to inconsiderate national parsimony,
or to overweening contempt for the enemy. It was nothing of the kind;
it resulted from the normal appointment of thoroughly incapable
Commanders. The private soldier was perfectly right, who volunteered
before Lord Raglan that he and his comrades were perfectly ready to
take Sebastopol by storm, under the Command of their own officers, if
not interfered with by the _Generals_.

I now thought that I saw my way to a grand success, and my failure was
proportionally absurd. This was nothing less than the relief of Kars,
which was doomed to fall by famine, to the Russians. Pélissier and the
Frenchmen were long-sighted enough to know the culminating importance
of this stronghold as a _pierre d'échappe_ in the way of Russia, and
possibly, or rather probably, they had orders from home. However, they
managed to keep Omar Pasha and his Turkish troops in the Crimea, where
this large force were compelled to lie idle, instead of being sent
to attack the Trans-Caucasian provinces, where they might have done
good service. So when Omar Pasha, on the 29th of September, gloriously
defeated the Russians before the walls of Kars, his victory was
useless, and he was compelled to retire. Had the affair been managed
in other ways, England might have struck a vital blow at Russia, by
driving her once more behind the Caucasus, and by putting off for many
a year the threatened advance upon India, which is now one of our
_cauchemars_.

Meanwhile the reports concerning the siege of Kars, whose gallant
garrison was allowed to succumb to famine, cholera, and the Russians,
were becoming a scandal. It was reported that General Williams, who,
with the Hungarian General Metz, was taking a prominent part in the
defence, addressed upwards of eighty officials to Lord Stratford
without receiving a single reply; in fact, as Mr. Skene's book shows,
the great man only turned them into ridicule. However, the "Eltchi"
feared ultimate consequences, and wrote to Lieut.-General (afterwards
Sir) Robert J. Hussey-Vivian, to consult him concerning despatching
on secret errand the Turkish Contingent, consisting, as it may be
remembered, of twenty-five thousand Nizam or Regulars, commanded by a
sufficiency of British officers.

The answer was that _no_ carriage could be procured. Vivian, who was
a natural son of Lord Vivian's, had seen some active service in his
youth, but he was best known as an Adjutant-General of the Madras army,
a man redolent of pipe-clay and red tape, and servilely subject to the
Ambassador. So I felt that the game was in _my_ hands, and proceeded
in glorious elation of spirits to submit my project for the relief of
Kars to his Excellency. We had already 2640 sabres in perfect readiness
to march, and I could have procured _any quantities_ of carriage. The
scene which resulted passes description. He shouted at me in a rage,
"You are the most impudent man in the Bombay Army, Sir!" But I knew
him, and understood him like Alison, and did not mind. It ended with,
"Of course you'll dine with us to-day?"

       *       *       *       *       *

It was not until some months afterwards that I learnt what my unhappy
plan proposed to do. Kars was doomed to fall as a make-weight for the
capture of half of Sebastopol, and a Captain of Bashi-Bazouks (myself)
had madly attempted to arrest the course of _haute politique_.

The tale of the fall of Kars is pathetic enough. While the British
officers dined with General Mouravieff, the gallant Turkish soldiers
were ordered to _pile_ arms and march off under escort, and, dashing
their muskets to the ground, they cried, "Perish our Wazirs who have
even shamed us with this shame." And the disastrous and dishonourable
result brought about by our political inaptitude has never ceased to
weaken our prestige in Central Asia. Civilized Turks simply declared
that an officer of artillery, sent out as Commissioner by England, had
unwarrantably interfered with the legitimate command of Kars, where
Turkey had a powerful army and an important position; and that by
keeping the soldiers behind walls, when he knew the City could not be
saved, he had lost both Army and City. The criticism was fair and sound.

General (afterwards Sir) W. F. Williams of Kars was at first in huge
indignation, and declared that he would persuade the Government to
impeach Lord Stratford. But on the way he was met by an offer of
the Command at Woolwich, which apparently made him hold his peace.
He was somewhat an exceptional man. For years an instructor of the
Turkish Artillery, then English member of the mixed Commission for
the topography of the Turko-Persian frontier, and finally Queen's
Commissioner with the Turkish army at Kars, he had never learnt a
word of Turkish. Of course he was hustled into the House of Commons.
Whenever a man makes himself known in England that is apparently his
ultimate fate. But he fell flatly, as even Kars did, before the sharp
tongue of Bernal Osborne. During some debate on the Chinese question,
he had assured the House that he was an expert, because he had had much
experience of Turkish matters. "Oh, the fall of Kars!" cried the wit;
and the ex-Commissioner was extinguished for ever.

Lord Stratford, I suppose by way of consoling _me_, made an indirect
offer, through Lord Napier and Ettrick, about commissioning me to pay
an official visit to Schamyl, whom some call "The Patriot," and others
"The Bandit," of the Caucasus. The idea was excellent, but somewhat
surprised me. Schamyl had lately been accused, amongst other atrocious
actions, of flogging Russian ladies whom he had taken prisoners, and
I could not understand how Lord Stratford, who had an unmitigated
horror of all Russian cruelties, and who always expressed it in the
rawest terms, could ally himself with such a ruffian. Possibly the
political advantages in his opinion counterbalanced his demerits,
for, had Schamyl been fairly supported, the Russian conquest of the
great mountains might have been retarded for years. I consulted on the
subject Alison and Percy Smythe, and both were of the same opinion,
namely, that although there were difficulties and dangers, involving
a long ride through Russian territory, the task might have been
accomplished. They relied greatly upon the ardent patriotism of the
Circassian women who then filled the harems of Constantinople. I should
not have seen a single face, except perhaps that of a slave-girl, but
I should have been warmly assisted with all the interest the fair
patriots could make. So I began seriously to think of the matter. But
the first visit to Lord Stratford put it entirely out of my head. I
asked his Excellency what my reply was to be, should Schamyl ask me
upon what mission I came. "Oh, say that you are sent to report to
_me_." "But, my lord, Schamyl will expect money, arms, and possibly
troops, and what am I to reply if he asks me about it? Otherwise he
will infallibly set me down for a spy, and my chance of returning to
Constantinople will be uncommonly small."

However, the "Eltchi" could not see it in that light, and the project
fell through.

Here also, although somewhat out of place, I may relate my last chance
of carrying out a project upon which I was very warm, namely, to assist
Circassia and to attack Georgia.

On returning to London I received a hint that Lord Palmerston had still
some project of the kind, and was willing that I should be employed
on it. So I wrote a number of letters, which I was allowed to publish
in the _Times_, upon the subject of levying a large force of Kurdish
Irregular Cavalry, and these being supported by the excellent work of
Sir Henry Rawlinson, found favour with the public. But presently came
the Franco-Russian peace of 1856. France, who had won all the credit
of the mismanaged Campaign because she washed her dirty linen at home,
and who had left all the discredit to England, whose practice was the
opposite, lost all interest in the war. Louis Napoleon was thoroughly
satisfied with what he had done, and Russia, after a most gallant
and heroic defence of her territory, wanted time to heal her wounds.
Accordingly the Treaty of Paris was entered into, the result being
that, fifteen years afterwards, when France was in her sorest straits,
Russia, with the consent of England (!), tore up that treaty and threw
it in our face.

After this fruitless visit to Constantinople, I returned post haste to
the Dardanelles, where I found the Bashi-Bazouks, like the unfortunate
Turks at Kars, in a state of siege. On the morning of the 26th of
September we were astounded to see the Turkish Regulars drawn out in
array against us, Infantry supported by the guns, which were pointed at
our camp, and patrols of Cavalry occupying the rear. Three War-steamers
commanded the main entrance of the Town, and the enemy's outposts were
established within three hundred yards of the 1st Regiment of Beatson's
Horse, evidently for the purpose of ensuring a sanguinary affair.
The inhabitants had closed their shops, and the British Consulate
was deserted. The steamer _Redpole_ was sent off in hottest haste to
Constantinople with a report that a trifling squabble between the
French _infirmiers_ and the Bashi-Bazouks had ended in deadly conflict,
and that the most terrible consequences were likely to ensue.

General Beatson at once issued an order to his men, who were furious at
this fresh insult, and requested permission to punish the aggressors by
taking the enemy's guns; and by means of his officers _he restrained
the natural anger of his much-suffering men_.

The result was a triumph of discipline, and not a shot was fired that
day. About four p.m. the Military Pasha, ashamed of his attitude,
marched the Regulars back to their barracks, but he did not fail to
complain to Constantinople of General Beatson's order, keeping his men
in camp "till the Turkish authorities should have recovered from their
panic and _housed_ their guns." But the _Redpole_ had also carried from
the English and French Consuls an exaggerated account of the state of
affairs, and earnestly requesting a reinforcement. The reply was an
order from Lieut.-General Vivian removing General Beatson from command,
and directing him to make it over to Major-General Richard Smith, who
appeared at the Dardanelles on September 28th, supported by a fresh
body of Nizam; and, lest any insult might be omitted, three hundred
French soldiers had been landed at the Nagára Hospital to attack us in
the rear.

[Sidenote: _End of Crimea._]

General Beatson was at the time suffering from an accident, and was
utterly unfitted for business. So Major Berkeley and I collected as
many of the officers as we could at head-quarters, and proposed to go
in a body to General Smith and lay the case before him. We assured him
that all the reports were false, and proposed to show him the condition
and the discipline of the Bashi-Bazouks; we also suggested that
Brigadier-General Brett might be directed to assume temporary Command
of the Force, until fresh orders and instructions should be received
from General Vivian. Of course General Smith could not comply with our
request, so we both declared that we would send in our resignations.
After an insult of the kind, we felt that we could no longer serve with
self-respect. It was this proceeding, I suppose, which afterwards gave
rise to a report that I had done my best to cause a Mutiny.

On the last day of September General Beatson, with his Chief of Staff
and military Secretary, left the Dardanelles for ever. Arrived at
Buyukdere, a report was sent to General Vivian, and he presently came
on board, where a lengthened communication passed between the Generals.
Rumours of a Russian attack had induced a most conciliatory tone.
General Vivian appeared satisfied with the explanation, and listened
favourably to General Beatson's urgent request for permission to return
at once to the Dardanelles. He asked expressly if the "Buzouker" could
keep his men in order. The answer was a _decided affirmative_, which
appeared to have considerable weight with him, and he expressed great
regret for having, under a false impression, written an unfavourable
letter to Lord Panmure, the tone of whose correspondence had been most
offensive. He stated, however, that nothing could be done without the
order of her Majesty's Ambassador; and, promising to call upon him for
instructions, he left the steamer about midday, declaring that he would
return in the course of the afternoon. After a few hours appeared,
instead of General Vivian, a stiff official letter, directed to General
Beatson. The interview with Lord Stratford had completely altered the
tone of his official conduct.

On the 12th of October General Beatson reported officially to Lords
Panmure and Stratford the efficient state of his force, concerning
which General Smith had written most favourably. An equally favourable
view was expressed in the public press by that Prince of War
Correspondents, William H. Russell, whose name in those days was quoted
by every Englishman. General Beatson begged to be sent on service,
offering, upon his own responsibility, to take up transports, and to
embark his men for Eupatoria, Yinikali, Batum, Balaclava, or--that
unhappy Kars. To this no reply was returned.

Nothing now remained to be done, and on the 18th of October we left
Therapia _en route_ to England.

[Sidenote: _Beatson's Trial._]

The sequel to this affair was sufficiently remarkable. General Beatson
came home and attempted to take civil proceedings against his enemies.
Chief amongst them was Mr. Skene--one of the Consuls already referred
to--who, from the inception of General Beatson's scheme, had shown
himself most bitterly opposed to it, and who had used all his influence
to make General Beatson's position untenable.

Afterwards he chose to say that, "when General Smith arrived at the
Dardanelles, General Beatson assembled the Commanding Officers of the
regiments, and actually endeavoured to persuade them to make a mutiny
in the regiments against General Smith, and against the authority of
Vivian. Two of these Commanding Officers then left the room, saying
they were soldiers, and they could not listen to language which they
thought most improper and mutinous. These two were Lieut.-Colonels
O'Reilly and Shirley. General Beatson subsequently had a sort of
round robin prepared by the Chief Interpreter, and sent round to the
different officers, in the hope that they would sign it, refusing to
serve under any other General than himself. Both of these mutinous
attempts are said to have originated from Captain Burton, who it also
appears kept the order from Lord Panmure, placing the Irregular Horse
under Lieut.-General Vivian, for three whole weeks unknown to any one
but General Beatson, and the order was not promulgated until after
General Smith had arrived."

General Beatson went into the witness-box and categorically denied the
charges made against him.[3] I followed and gave evidence to the same
effect, as did also General Watt; but there was a great difficulty in
proving the publication of the libel, the War Office, then represented
by Mr. Sidney Herbert, refusing to produce certain letters. Mr. Skene
was very ably defended by Mr. Bovill (afterwards Lord Chief Justice),
Mr. Lush (afterwards a judge), and Mr. Garth, and he brought forward
a considerable number of witnesses, including General Vivian himself.
Their evidence, however, tended rather to establish the case against
him (Skene), so that he was compelled to plead that his libel was a
privileged communication. Mr. Baron Bramwell confined himself in his
summing-up strictly to the legal aspects of the case, but he allowed
his view of Mr. Skene's conduct to be very distinctly understood.

The jury (a special one), after half an hour's deliberation, returned
a verdict for the defendant on the technical ground, but added a rider
to their verdict, expressive of their disgust at Mr. Skene for having
refrained from retracting his charges against General Beatson when he
found how utterly without foundation they were. The verdict of the jury
was confirmed on appeal, but it was generally felt that General Beatson
had fully vindicated his character, and had very successfully exposed
the conspiracy against the Irregulars, which had ended so disastrously
for him and for his officers. The characters of the plaintiff and the
defendant respectively may be estimated from one small circumstance.
Beatson began his action just as the Indian Mutiny broke out, and being
reasonably refused an extension of leave for the purpose of prosecuting
it, went out to India. When the Mutiny was suppressed he obtained six
months' leave, without pay, for the purpose of prosecuting his case.
Mr. Skene had obtained the appointment of Consul at Aleppo, and could
have reached England in a fortnight, but he chose to remain at his
Consulate, though there would have been no difficulty in obtaining
leave of absence on full pay. Under such circumstances, it was perhaps
hardly worth while for his counsel to dwell upon the cruelty of pushing
on this case in his absence, a complaint for which the presiding
judge somewhat emphatically declared _that there was not the smallest
foundation_.

[1] Here, however, "Pam" was in the right. He foresaw that if the
Canal was once made, England would cling to Egypt, and never again
have a Crimean War. He also appreciated the vast injury which would
accrue to our Eastern monopoly. But he never would or could do anything
_sérieusement_, and he would humbug his countrymen with such phrases
as a "ditch in the sand." He knew as well as any man that the project
was feasible, and yet he persuaded Admiral Spratt and poor Robert
Stephenson to join in his little dodge. I lost his favour for ever by
advocating the Canal, and by proposing to assist the emigration of
Fenian emigrants, at the expense of that fatal humbug, the "Coffin
Squadron" on the West Coast of Africa.

[2] How often one has to witness this in learned societies!--I. B.

[3] Richard was not altogether lucky, as far as promotion went, about
his Chiefs. Sir Charles Napier had seen what stuff he was made of, and
had utilized and praised him to the utmost, but Napier's patronage was
not in those days a recommendation, because he was always fighting some
big-wig at home, and high officials who are ruffled up are quite as
dangerous as fighting Sikhs or Afghans. He then served under General
Beatson, who, like Napier, was always plunging into hot water; but
Richard was devoted to his Chiefs, who well deserved his loyalty, and
in this instance Richard gave valuable evidence on his old Commander's
behalf. He was very amusing in the witness-box; he was so cool and
ready, and always worried his cross-examiner into a white heat of rage,
playing with him as a cat does a mouse, when the lawyer was doing his
best to bewilder him, and make him contradict himself, especially when
Richard got him into a network of military terms, the cross-examiner
being rather at sea among its technicalities. I can see him now,
just as he used to be in the fencing school; he would play with his
adversary, just as if he was carving a chicken, and tire him out long
before the real play began, so that an ill-tempered man would almost
spit himself with rage, if the button had not been on.

It was good to see him under cross-examination. Bovill, subsequently
Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, was leading counsel on the other
side, and was so ill-advised as to attempt to browbeat Richard. His
failure was naturally disastrous. A very simple answer of Richard's
quite upset Bovill. "In what regiment did you serve under the
plaintiff?" "Eh?" "In what regiment, I say----" "In no regiment." After
playing with counsel for a minute or two, Richard let him know that he
had served in a "corps." Bovill was still further discomfited in the
course of the trial, by a manœuvre of Edwin James, who was managing
Beatson's case. James coolly got up while Bovill was speaking for the
defence, declared he could not stay and listen to such stuff, and left
the court for a while. It is only fair to add that Bovill won the
case.--I. B.




CHAPTER XI.

BETWEEN THE CRIMEA AND THE LAKE REGIONS OF CENTRAL AFRICA.

   "Aye free, aff-hand your story tell,
       When wi' a bosom crony;
    But still keep something to yoursel'
       Ye scarcely tell to ony."
                         ----BURNS.


As soon as Richard was well home from the Crimea, and had attended
Beatson's trial, he began to turn his attention to the "Unveiling of
Isis," in other words, "Discovering the sources of the Nile, the Lake
Regions of Central Africa," on which his heart had long been set, and
he passed most of his time in London working it up.

One summer day, in August, 1856, thirty-seven years ago, we had not
gone out of town, and I was walking in the Botanical Gardens with my
sister, Blanche Pigott, and a friend, and Richard was there, walking
with the gorgeous creature of Boulogne--then married. We immediately
stopped and shook hands, and asked each other a thousand questions
of the four intervening years, and all the old Boulogne memories and
feelings which had lain dormant, but not extinct, returned to me. He
asked me before I left if I came very often to the Botanical Gardens,
and I said, "Oh yes, we always come and read and study here from eleven
to one, because it is so much nicer than staying in the hot rooms at
this season."' "That is quite right," he said. "What are you studying?"
I had that day with me an old friend, Disraeli's "Tancred," the book of
my heart and tastes, which he explained to me. We were there about an
hour, and when I had to leave, as I moved off, I heard him say to his
companion, "Do you know that your cousin has grown charming? I would
not have believed that the little schoolgirl of Boulogne would have
become such a sweet girl;" and I heard her say, "Ugh!" with a tone of
disgust.

Next day, when we got there, he was also there--alone--composing poetry
to show to Monckton-Milnes on some pet subject, and he came forward,
saying laughingly, "You won't chalk up 'Mother will be angry' now,
will you, as you did when you were a little girl?" Again we walked and
talked. This went on for a fortnight--I trod on air.

[Sidenote: _We become engaged._]

At the end of a fortnight he asked me "if I could dream of doing
anything so sickly as to give up Civilization, and if he could obtain
the Consulate at Damascus, to go and live there." He said, "Don't
give me an answer _now_, because it will mean a very serious step for
you--no less than giving up your people, and all that you are used to,
and living the sort of life that Lady Hester Stanhope led. I see the
capabilities in you, but you must think it over." I was so long silent
from emotion--it was just as if the moon had tumbled down and said, "I
thought you cried for me, so I came"--that he thought I was thinking
worldly thoughts, and said, "Forgive me! I ought not to have asked so
much." At last I found my voice, and said, "I don't _want_ to 'think
it over'--I have been 'thinking it over' for six years, ever since I
first saw you at Boulogne on the Ramparts. I have prayed for you every
day, morning and night. I have followed all your career minutely. I
have read every word you ever wrote, and I would rather have a crust
and a tent with _you_ than be Queen of all the world. And so I say now,
Yes! YES! YES!" I will pass over the next few minutes. Then he
said, "Your people will not give you to me." I answered, "I know that,
but I belong to myself--I give myself away." "That is all right," he
answered; "be firm, and so shall I."

After that he came and visited a little at our house as an
acquaintance, having been introduced at Boulogne, and he fascinated,
amused, and pleasantly shocked my mother, but completely magnetized my
father and all my brothers and sisters. My father used to say, "I don't
know what it is about that man, but I can't get him out of my head, I
dream about _him every night_."

Cardinal Wiseman and Richard had become friends in early days.
Languages had brought them together, and the Cardinal now furnished him
with a special passport, recommending him to all the Catholic Missions
in wild places all over the World, with special letters describing him
as a Catholic Officer.

[Sidenote: _The Story of Hagar Burton._]

I now think I must introduce to you two cuttings from the _Journal of
the Gypsy Lore Society_. The first was an obituary after his death,
January, 1891; the other was a small contribution from me, throwing a
light on his Gypsy interests, and this will explain better than any
other way why I was so impressed on hearing his name when we were
introduced, and why I was so startled at his pursuit and mingling with
the Jats, the aboriginal Gypsies in India, mentioned in my Boulogne
recital.


 OBITUARY IN THE "GYPSY LORE SOCIETY JOURNAL," JANUARY, 1891.


 "Not only this Society, but the whole civilized world, has recently
 had to mourn the death of our distinguished fellow-member, Sir Richard
 Francis Burton. Of the many events of his eventful life it is needless
 to speak here. As soldier, explorer, linguist, and man of letters (the
 writer of about eighty more or less bulky volumes), he made himself
 separately famous. 'His most famed achievement--the pilgrimage to
 Mecca and Medina in the character of an Afghan Muslim--was,' says one
 writer, 'an achievement of the first order. To consider it without a
 wondering admiration is impossible: so vast is the amount involved
 of hardihood and self-confidence, of linguistic skill and histrionic
 genius, of resourcefulness and vigilance and resolve.'

 "But the aspect in which he may most suitably be regarded in these
 pages, is that of a student of the Gypsies, to whom he was affiliated
 by nature, if not actually by right of descent.

 "Whether there may not be also a tinge of Arab, or, perhaps, of Gypsy
 blood in Burton's race, is a point which is perhaps open to question.
 For the latter suspicion an excuse may be found in the incurable
 restlessness which has beset him since his infancy, a restlessness
 which has effectually prevented him from ever settling long in any one
 place, and in the singular idiosyncrasy which his friends have often
 remarked--the peculiarity of his eyes. 'When it (the eye) looks at
 you,' said one who knows him well, 'it looks through you, and then,
 glazing over, seems to see something behind you. Richard Burton is
 the only man (not a Gypsy) with that peculiarity, and he shares with
 them the same horror of a corpse, death-bed scenes, and graveyards,
 though caring little for his own life.' When to this remarkable fact
 he added the scarcely less interesting detail that 'Burton' is one
 of the half-dozen distinctively Romany names, it is evident that
 the suspicion of Sir Richard Burton having a drop of Gypsy blood in
 his descent--crossed and commingled though it be with an English,
 Scottish, French, and Irish strain--is not altogether unreasonable.

 "Unreasonable or not, it can hardly be said that this constitutes a
 firm basis on which to rear a theory of Gypsy lineage. Yet Burton
 himself acknowledged a certain Gypsy connection, though, it will
 be noticed, he does not say the affinity was that of blood, in the
 following extract from a letter to Mr. J. Pincherle, accepting that
 gentleman's dedication of his Romany version of the 'Song of Songs'
 (_I Ghiléngheri Ghilia Salomuneskero_). 'Dear Mr. Pincherle,' writes
 Sir Richard, 'I accept the honour of your dedication with the same
 frankness with which you accompanied its offer. And indeed, I am not
 wholly dissociated from this theme; there is an important family of
 Gypsies in foggy England, who, in very remote times, adopted our
 family name. I am yet on very friendly terms with several of these
 strange people; nay, a certain Hagar Burton, an old fortune-teller
 (_divinatrice_), took part in a period of my life which in no small
 degree contributed to determine its course.'

 "Whether such slight indications as these really point to a Gypsy
 line of descent or not, there can be no question as to the interest
 which Sir Richard Burton took in Gypsy lore. Apart from his various
 well-known published accounts of the Jats and other tribes of the
 Indus Valley, he had a work specially entitled 'The Gypsies,' which
 his biography of 1887 announces as then 'in course of preparation.'
 The materials of this work are now, we understand, in the possession
 of Lady Burton, and we trust that they will some day see the light.
 Sir Richard was himself one of the original members of the Gypsy Lore
 Society, in which he always took a deep interest; and a letter which
 he wrote to the secretary, only five days before his death, concludes
 with the good wish--'All luck to the Society; I will not fail to do
 what little I can.'

 "His death, which was very sudden, took place on October 20th last,
 while he still held the office of British Consul at Trieste. The
 high esteem in which he was held by the citizens of Trieste, not
 only on account of his official position and the great name which
 he had made for himself in the world of science, but also for those
 personal qualities which had won their regard, is amply testified by
 the sincere expressions of regret which accompanied the last honours
 there paid to his memory. At the time of his death Sir Richard Burton
 was sixty-nine years of age, having been born at Barham House,
 Hertfordshire, on March 19th, 1821."


 "AN EPISODE FROM THE LIFE OF SIR RICHARD BURTON, BY HIS WIFE.


 "In our obituary notice of the late Sir Richard Burton, mention was
 made of a certain Gypsy named Hagar Burton, who, Sir Richard stated,
 had been instrumental, to some extent, in shaping his destiny. This
 reference has been fully explained by Lady Burton, who, in favouring
 us with some account of her illustrious husband, writes as follows:--

 "'In the January number of the _Gypsy Lore Journal_ a passage is
 quoted from "a short sketch of the career" of my husband (a little
 black pamphlet) which half suspects a remote drop of Gypsy blood in
 him. There is no proof that this was ever the case, but there is no
 question that he showed many of their peculiarities in appearance,
 disposition, and speech--speaking Romany like themselves. Nor did we
 ever enter a Gypsy camp without their claiming him: "What are you
 doing with a black coat on?" they would say, "why don't you join us
 and be our King?"

 "'He had the peculiar eye, which looked you through, glazed over and
 saw something behind, and is the only man, not a Gypsy, with that
 peculiarity. He had the restlessness which could stay nowhere long,
 nor own any spot on earth--the same horror of a corpse, death-bed
 scenes, and graveyards, or anything which was in the slightest degree
 ghoulish, though caring but little for his own life--the same aptitude
 for reading the hand at a glance. With many, he would drop it at once
 and turn away, nor would anything induce him to speak a word about it.

 "'You quote a letter of his to Mr. James Pincherle, a dear old friend
 of ours, where he relates the influence that a Gypsy, named Hagar
 Burton, had upon his life. I will now tell you the story, which will
 reappear in his biography, if I live to finish it.

 [Sidenote: _Hagar Burton the Gipsy._]

 "'When I was a girl in the schoolroom in the country, I was
 enthusiastic about Gypsies, Bedouin Arabs, everything Eastern and
 mysterious, and especially wild, lawless life. Disraeli's "Tancred"
 was my second Bible. I was strictly forbidden to associate with the
 Gypsies in our lanes, which was my delight. When they were only
 travelling tinkers or basket-menders I was very obedient, but wild
 horses would not have kept me out of the camps of the Oriental, yet
 English-named, tribes of Burton, Cooper, Stanley, Osbaldiston, and
 one other whose name I forget. My particular friend was Hagar Burton,
 a tall, slender, handsome, distinguished, refined woman, of much
 weight in the tribe. Many an hour have I passed with her (she called
 me Daisy), and many a little service I did them when any of them were
 sick, or had got into a scrape with the squires, anent poultry or eggs
 and other things. At last a time came when we were to go to school
 in France, and my departure was regretted by them. The last day but
 one I ever saw Hagar, she cast my horoscope, and wrote it in Romany.
 The rest of the tribe presented me with a straw flycatcher of many
 colours, which I still have. The horoscope was translated to me by
 her, and I give you the most important part concerning my husband--

 "'"You will cross the sea, and be in the same town with your Destiny,
 and know it not. Every obstacle will rise up against you, and such a
 combination of circumstances, that it will require all your courage
 and energy and intelligence to meet them. Your life will be like one
 always swimming against big waves, but God will always be with you,
 so you will always win. You will fix your eye on your polar star, and
 you will go for that without looking right or left. _You will bear
 the name of our Tribe, and be right proud of it. You will be as we
 are, but far greater than we._ Your life is all wandering, change,
 and adventure. One soul in two bodies, in life or death; never long
 apart. Show this to the man you take for your husband.--HAGAR
 BURTON."

 "'In June, 1856, I went to Ascot. I met Hagar and shook hands with
 her. "Are you Daisy Burton yet?" was her first question. I shook my
 head--"Would to God I were!" Her face lit up. "Patience, it is just
 coming." She waved her hand, being rudely thrust from the carriage. I
 never saw her since, but I was engaged to Richard two months later.

 [Sidenote: _Our Strange Parting._]

 "'After we were engaged, I gave him the horoscope in Romany. It was
 before he set out in October, 1856, with Speke, for the discovery of
 Tanganyika. We had been engaged for some weeks. One day in October
 we had passed several hours together, and he appointed to come next
 day, at four o'clock in the afternoon. I went to bed quite happy, but
 I could not sleep at all. At two a.m. the door opened, and he came
 into my room. A current of warm air came towards my bed. He said,
 "Good-bye, my poor child. My time is up, and I have gone, but do not
 grieve. I shall be back in less than three years, and _I am your
 destiny_. Good-bye."

 "'He held up a letter--looked long at me with those Gypsy eyes, and
 went slowly out, shutting the door. I sprang out of bed to the door,
 into the passage--there was nothing--and thence into the room of one
 of my brothers. I threw myself on the ground, and cried my heart out.
 He got up, asked me what ailed me, and tried to soothe and comfort
 me. "Richard is gone to Africa," I said, "and I shall not see him for
 three years." "Nonsense," he replied; "you have only got a nightmare.
 You told me he was coming at four in the afternoon." "So I did; but
 I have seen him, and he told me this; and if you wait till the post
 comes in, you will see I have told you truly." I sat all the night in
 my brother's armchair, and at eight o'clock, when the post came in,
 there was a letter to my sister, Blanche Pigott, enclosing one for me.
 "He had found it too painful to part, and had thought we should suffer
 less that way, begged her to break it gently to me, and to give me the
 letter" (which assured me we should be reunited in 1859--as we were,
 on the 22nd May of that year). He had left London at six o'clock the
 previous evening, eight hours before I saw him in the night.

 "'This is the story of Hagar Burton. We have mixed a great deal since
 with Gypsies, in all parts of the world, and have sought her in vain.
 The other Gypsies have chiefly warned us of having to fight through
 our lives, and to be perpetually on guard against treacheries and
 calumnies "_chiefly through jealous men and nasty women_." Well, we
 have mostly left them to God, and they nearly always come to grief. I
 may add that all that Hagar Burton foretold came true, and I pray God
 it may be so to the end, _i.e._ "never long apart" in Life _or_ Death.

 "'ISABEL BURTON.'"

Richard traced for me a little sketch of what he expected to find in
the Lake Regions (see below).

[Illustration: SKETCH MAP OF AFRICA.]

That last afternoon I had placed round his neck a medal of the Blessed
Virgin upon a steel chain, which we Catholics commonly call "the
miraculous medal." He promised me he would wear it throughout his
journey, and show it me on his return. I had offered it to him on a
gold chain, but he had said, "Take away the gold chain; they will cut
my throat for it out there." He did show it me round his neck when he
came back; he wore it all his life, and it is buried with him.

What made my position more painful was, that he knew that I should
not be allowed to receive any letters from him, and therefore it was
not safe to write often, and then only to say what others might read.
He left to me, at my request, the task of breaking the fact of my
engagement to my people, when, where, and how I pleased, as it would be
impossible to marry me until he came back. I would here insert a little
poem he wrote on leaving--

    "I wore thine image, Fame,
    Within a heart well fit to be thy shrine!
    Others a thousand boons may gain,
                 One wish was mine--

    "The hope to gain one smile,
    To dwell one moment cradled on thy breast,
    Then close my eyes, bid life farewell,
                 And take my rest!

    "And now I see a glorious hand
    Beckon me out of dark despair!
    Hear a glorious voice command,
                'Up, bravely dare.

    "'And if to leave a deeper trace
    'On earth, to thee, Time, Fate, deny;
    'Drown vain regret, and have the grace
                'Silent to die.'

    "She pointed to a grisly land,
    Where all breathes death--earth, sea, and air!
    Her glorious accents sound once more:
                'Go, meet me there!'

    "Mine ear will hear no other sound,
    No other thought my heart will know.
    Is this a sin? 'Oh, pardon, Lord!
                'Thou mad'st me so.'

"R. F. B.

"_September_, 1856."




CHAPTER XII.

HIS EXPLORATION OF THE LAKE REGIONS, TAKING CAPTAIN SPEKE AS SECOND IN
COMMAND.


MY FOREWORD.


It was the Royal Geographical Society which induced Lord Clarendon,
Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, to supply Richard with funds
for an exploration of the then utterly unknown Lake Regions of Central
Africa. In October, 1856, he set out for Bombay, applied for Captain
Speke, and landed at Zanzibar on December 19th, 1856. Lieut.-Colonel
Hamerton, her Majesty's Consul at Zanzibar, was very good to them;
they made a tentative expedition from January 5th to March 6th, 1857,
about the Mombas regions. They got a bad coast fever, and returned
to Zanzibar. They then set out again into the far interior, into
which only one European, Monsieur Maizan, a French naval officer, had
attempted to penetrate; he was cruelly murdered at the outset of his
journey.

It was the first successful attempt to penetrate that country, and laid
the foundation for others. It was the base on which all subsequent
journeys were founded; Livingstone, Cameron, Speke and Grant, Sir S.
Baker, and Stanley carried it out. Where Richard found the rudest
barbarians, Church missions have been established, and commerce, and
now a railway is proposed to connect the coast with the Lake Regions.
This expedition brought neither honour nor profit to Richard; but the
world is not likely to forget it; the future will be more generous and
juster than the past or present. During these African explorations,
Richard was attacked by fever twenty-one times, by temporary paralysis
and partial blindness. On his return he brought out "The Lake Regions
of Equatorial Africa," 2 vols., 1860, and the Royal Geographical
Society devoted the whole of their thirty-third volume to its recital
(Clowes and Son). Richard's book was translated into French by Madame
H. Loreau, and republished in New York by Fakir, 1861. It will
shortly be added to the Uniform Library in preparation. In May, 1859,
the moment he returned to England, he immediately proposed another
Expedition, which, however, the Royal Geographical Society gave to
his disloyal companion, who completely and wilfully spoiled the first
Expedition as far as lay in his power.


 ZANZIBAR; AND TWO MONTHS IN EAST AFRICA.

 (From his own notes.)

 _Preliminary Canter._


 "Of the gladdest moments, methinks, in human life, is the departing
 upon a distant journey into _unknown_ lands. Shaking off with one
 effort the fetters of habit, the leaden weight of routine, the cloak
 of carking care, and the slavery of Civilization, Man feels once more
 happy. The blood flows with the fast circulation of youth, excitement
 gives a new vigour to the muscles, and a sense of sudden freedom adds
 an inch to the stature. Afresh dawns the morn of life, again the
 bright world is beautiful to the eye, and the glorious face of Nature
 gladdens the soul. A journey, in fact, appeals to Imagination, to
 Memory, to Hope--the sister Graces of our moral being.

 "The shrill screaming of the boatswain's whistle, and sundry shouts
 of, 'Stand by yer booms!' 'All ready, for'ard?' 'Now make sail!'
 sounded in mine ears with a sweet significance.


 ZANZIBAR.


 "Our captain decided, from the absence of Friday flags on the
 Consular Staffs, that some great man had gone to his long home. The
 _Elphinstone_, however, would not have the trouble of casting loose
 her guns for nothing with H.H. the Sayyid of Zanzibar's ensign--a
 plain red--at the fore, and the Union at the main, she cast anchor
 in Front Bay, about half a mile from shore, and fired a salute of
 twenty-one. A gay bunting thereupon flew up to every truck, and the
 brass cannon of the _Victoria_ roared a response of twenty-two. We had
 arrived on the fortieth, or the last day of mourning.

 "When 'chivalry' was explained to the late ruler, Said of Zanzibar
 (1856), as enlightened a prince as Arabia ever produced, and
 surrounded by intrigue, he was shrewd enough to remark 'that only the
 _siflah_ (low fellows) interfere between husband and wife.'

 "Peace to his soul! he was a model of Arab princes, a firm friend to
 the English nation, and a great admirer of the 'Malikat el Aazameh,'
 our most gracious Majesty Queen Victoria.

 "The unworthy merchants of Zanzibar, American and European, did their
 best to secure for us the fate of M. Maizan, both on this and on a
 subsequent occasion, by spreading all manner of reports amongst the
 Banyans, Arabs, and Sawahilis.

 "Considering the unfitness of the season, we were strongly advised to
 defer exploration of the interior until we had learned something of
 the coast, and for that purpose we set out at once, for a two or three
 months' cruise.

 "If we, travellers in transit, had reason to be proud of our
 countryman's influence at Zanzibar, the European and American
 merchants should be truly thankful for it. Appointed in 1840 H.B.M.'s
 Consul and H.E.I. Co.'s agent at the court of H.H. Sayyid Said, and
 directed to make this island his Head-quarters, Colonel Hamerton
 found that for nine years not a British cruiser had visited it, and
 that report declared us to be no longer Masters of the Indian seas.
 Slavery was rampant. Wretches were thrown overboard, when sick, to
 prevent paying duty; and the sea-beach before the town, as well as
 the plantations, presented horrible spectacles of dogs devouring
 human flesh. The Consul's representations were accepted by Sayyid
 Said; sundry floggings and confiscation of property instilled into
 slave-owners the semblance of humanity. The insolence of the negro
 was as summarily dealt with. The Arabs had persuaded the Sawahilis
 and blacks that a white man is a being below contempt, and the 'poor
 African' carries out the theory. Only seventeen years have elapsed
 since an American Trader-Consul, in consular cocked hat and sword, was
 horsed upon a slave's back, and solemnly 'bakered' in his own consular
 house, under his own consular flag. A Sawahili would at any time enter
 the merchant's bureau, dispose his sandalled feet upon the table, call
 for a cognac, and if refused, draw his dagger. Negro fishermen would
 anchor their craft close to a window, and, clinging to the mast, enjoy
 the novel spectacle of Kafirs feeding.

 "_Now_ an Englishman here is even more civilly treated than at one of
 our Presidencies. This change is the work of Colonel Hamerton, who,
 in the strenuous and unremitting discharge of his duties, has lost
 youth, strength, and health. The iron constitution of this valuable
 public servant--I have quoted merely a specimen of his worth--has been
 undermined by the terrible fever, and at fifty his head bears the
 'blossoms of the grave,' as though it had seen its seventieth summer.

 "The reader asks, What induced us to take a guide apparently so
 little fit for rough-and-ready work? In the first place, the presence
 of Said bin Salim el Lamki was a pledge of respectability. And
 lastly, a bright exception to the rule of his unconscientious race,
 he _appears_ truthful, honest, and honourable. I have never yet had
 reason to suspect him of a low action. 'Verily,' was the reply, 'whoso
 benefiteth the beneficent becometh his Lord; but the vile well-treated
 turneth and rendeth thee.' I almost hope that he may not deceive us in
 the end.

 "The traveller in Eastern Africa must ever be prepared for three
 distinct departures--the little start, the great start, and the start.

 "On the 10th of January we ran through the paradise of verdant banks
 and plateaus, forming the approach to Pemba,[1] and halted a day
 to admire the Emerald Isle of these Eastern seas. In A.D. 1698 the
 bold buccaneer, Captain Kidd, buried there his blood-stained hoards
 of precious stones and metal, the plunder of India and the further
 Orient. The people of Pemba have found pots full of gold lumps,
 probably moulded from buttons that the pirate might wear his wealth.

 "On the heights of Chhaga, an image or statue of a long-haired
 woman, seated in a chair and holding a child, is reported to remain.
 Iconolatry being here unknown, the savages must have derived them from
 some more civilized race--Catholic missionaries.

 "The Mazrui, a noble Arab tribe, placed themselves under British
 protection in their rebellion against the late Sayyid. They
 were permitted to fly our flag--a favour for which, when danger
 disappeared, they proved themselves ungrateful; and a Mr. Reece was
 placed at Mombas to watch its interests. The travellers lamented that
 we abandoned Mombas: had England retained it, the whole interior would
 now be open to us. But such is the history of Britain the Great: hard
 won by blood and gold, her conquests are parted with for a song.

 "The very Hindús required a lesson in civility. With the _Wali_, or
 Governor, Khalfan bin Ali, an Omani Arab of noble family, we were on
 the best of terms. But the manifest animus of the public made us feel
 light-hearted, when, our inquiries concluded, we bade adieu to Mombas.

 "The people of Eastern Intertropical Africa are divided by their
 occupations into three orders. First is the fierce pastoral nomad,
 the Galla and Masai, the Somal and the Kafir, who lives upon the
 produce of his cattle, the chase, and foray. Secondly rank the
 semi-pastoral, as the Wakamba, who, though without fixed abodes, make
 their women cultivate the ground. And the last degree of civilization,
 agriculture, is peculiar to the Waníka, the Wasumbára, and the various
 tribes living between the coast and the interior lakes.

 "The Waníka, or Desert race, is composed of a Negritic base, now
 intimately mixed with Semitic blood.

 "When that enlightened Arab statesman, H.E. Ali bin Nasir, H.H. the
 Imaum of Muscat's Envoy Extraordinary to H.B. Majesty, was Governor of
 Mombas, he took advantage of a scarcity to feed the starving Waníka
 from the public granaries. He was careful, however, to secure as
 pledges of repayment, the wives and children of his debtors, and he
 lost no time in selling off the whole number. Such a feat was probably
 little suspected by our countrymen, when, to honour enlightened
 beneficence, they welcomed the Statesman with all the triumphs of
 Exeter Hall, presented him with costly specimens of Government,
 and sent him from Aden to Zanzibar in the H.E.I. Co.'s brig of war
 _Tigris_. This Oriental votary of free trade came to a merited end.
 Recognized by the enraged savages, he saw his sons expire in torments;
 he was terribly mutilated during life, and was put to death with all
 the refinements of cruelty.

 "A report, prevalent in Mombas--even a Sawahili sometimes speaks the
 truth--and the march of an armed party from the town which denoted
 belief in their own words, induced my companions and myself to hasten
 up once more to the Rabai Hills, expecting to find the mission-house
 invested by savages. The danger had been exaggerated, but the inmates
 were strongly advised to take temporary shelter in the town. Left
 Kisulodiny on the 22nd of January, 1857. Some nights afterwards,
 fires were observed upon the neighbouring hills, and Waníka scouts
 returned with a report that the Masai were in rapid advance. The wise
 few fled at once to the _kaza_, or hidden and barricaded stronghold,
 which these people prepare for extreme danger. The foolish many said,
 'To-morrow morning we will drive our flocks and herds to safety.' But
 ere that morning dawned upon the world, a dense mass of wild spearmen,
 sweeping with shout and yell, and clashing arms, by the mission-house,
 which they either saw not or they feared to enter, dashed upon the
 scattered villages in the vale below, and left the ground strewed
 with the corpses of hapless fugitives. When driving off their cattle,
 the Masai, rallying, fell upon them, drove them away in ignominious
 flight, and slew twenty-five of their number.

 "Jack[2] and I landed at Wasin, and found the shore crowded with
 a mob of unarmed gazers, who did not even return our salaams: we
 resolved in future to keep such greetings for those who deserved
 them. Abd-el-Karím led us to his house, seated us in chairs upon a
 terrace, and mixed a cooling drink in a vase not usually devoted to
 such purpose. There is no game on the island, or on the main. In the
 evening we quitted the squalid settlement without a single regret.

 "Our _nakhoda_ again showed symptoms of trickery; he had been allowed
 to ship cargo from Mombas to Wasin, and, Irish-like, he thereupon
 founded a right to ship cargo from Wasin to Tanga. Unable to disabuse
 his mind by mild proceedings, I threatened to cut the cable.

 "At last, having threaded the _báb_, or narrow rock-bound passage
 which separates the bluff headland of Tanga Island from Ras Rashíd on
 the main, we glided into the bay, and anchored in three fathoms of
 water, opposite, and about half a mile from, the town.

 "Tanga Bay extends six miles deep by five in breadth. The entrance is
 partially barred by a coralline bank, the ancient site of the Arab
 settlement.

 "We landed on the morning of the 27th of January, and were met upon
 the sea-shore, in absence of the Arab Governor, by the _Diwans_ or
 Sawahili Headmen, the _Jemadar_ and his Belochies, the Collector of
 customs, Mizan Sahib, a daft old Indian, and other dignitaries. They
 conducted us to the hut formerly tenanted by M. Erhardt; brought
 coffee, fruit, and milk; and, in fine, treated us with peculiar
 civility. Here Sheddad built his City of brass, and encrusted the
 hill-top with a silver dome that shines with various and surpassing
 colours.

 "The mountain recedes as the traveller advances, and the higher he
 ascends the higher rises the summit. At last blood bursts from the
 nostrils, the fingers bend backwards, and the most adventurous is
 fain to stop. Amongst this Herodotian tissue of fact and fable, ran
 one fine thread of truth: all testified to the intense cold.

 "They promised readily, however, to escort me to one of the ancient
 Cities of the coast.

 "Setting out at eight a.m. with a small party of spearmen, I walked
 four or five miles south of Tanga, on the Tangata road, over a country
 strewed with the bodies of huge millepedes, and dry as Arabian sand.

 "I assumed an Arab dress--a turban of portentous circumference, and a
 long henna-dyed shirt--and, accompanied by Said bin Salim, I went to
 inspect the scene.

 "The wild people, Washenzy, Wasembára, Wadígo, and Waségeju, armed as
 usual, stalking about, whilst their women, each with baby on back,
 carried heavy loads of saleable stuff, or sat opposite their property,
 or chaffered and gesticulated upon knotty questions of bargain.

 "The heat of the ground made my barefooted companions run forward
 to the shade, from time to time, like the dogs in Tibet. Sundry
 excursions delayed us six days at Tanga.

 "Five hours of lazy sailing ran us into Tangata, an open road between
 Tanga and Pangany. Here we delayed a day to inspect some ruins, where
 we had been promised Persian inscriptions and other wonders.

 "We spent the remainder of the day and night at Tangata, fanned by the
 north-east breeze, and cradled by the rocking send of the Indian Ocean.

 "At five a.m. on the 3rd of February we hoisted sail, and slipped down
 with the tepid morning breeze to Pangany, sighting Maziny Island, its
 outpost, after three hours' run. Soon after arrival I sent Said bin
 Salim, in all his bravery, on shore with the Sayyid of Zanzibar's
 circular letter to the _Wali_ or Governor, to the _Jemadar_, to
 the Collector of customs, and the different _Diwans_. All this
 preparation for a mere trifle! We were received with high honour. The
 _Diwans_ danced an ancient military dance before us with the pomp and
 circumstance of drawn swords, whilst bare-headed slave-girls, with
 hair _à la Brutus_, sang and flapped their skirts over the ground,
 with an affectedly modest and downcast demeanour. After half an hour's
 endurance, we were led into the upper-storied house of the Wali
 Meriko, a freedman of the late Sayyid Said, and spent the evening in a
 committee of ways and means.

 "African villages are full of bleared misery by day, and animated
 filth by night, and of hunting adventures and hair-breadth escapes,
 lacking the interest of catastrophe.

 "We arose early in the morning after arrival at Pangany, and repaired
 to the terrace for the better enjoyment of the view.

 "If it had half-a-dozen white kiosks, minarets, and latticed
 summer-houses, it would almost rival that gem of creation, the
 Bosphorus.

 "The settlement is surrounded by a thorny jungle, which at times
 harbours a host of leopards. One of these beasts lately scaled the
 high terrace of our house, and seized upon a slave-girl. Her master,
 the burly black _Wali_, who was sleeping by her side, gallantly caught
 up his sword, ran into the house, and bolted the door, heedless of the
 miserable cry, 'B'ana, help me!' The wretch was carried to the jungle
 and devoured. The river is equally full of alligators, and whilst we
 were at Pangany a boy disappeared.

 "Of course the two tribes, Wasumbara and Wazegura, are deadly foes.
 Moreover, about a year ago, a violent intestine feud broke out
 amongst the Wazegura, who, at the time of our visit, were burning and
 murdering, kidnapping, and slave-selling in all directions.

 "The timid townsmen had also circulated a report that we were bound
 for Chhaga and Kilimanjaro: the Masai were 'out,' the rains were
 setting in, and they saw with us no armed escort. They resolved
 therefore not to accompany us.

 "With abundance of money--say not less than £5000 per annum--an
 exploring party can trace its own line, pay the exactions of all
 Chiefs; it can study whatever is requisite; handle sextants in
 presence of negroes, who would cut every throat for one inch of
 brass; and, by travelling in comfort, can secure a very fair chance
 of return. Even from Mombas or from Pangany, with an escort of one
 hundred matchlock-men, we might have marched through the Masai
 plunderers to Chhaga and Kilimanjaro. But pay, porterage, and
 provisions for such a party would have amounted to at least £100 per
 week; a month and a half would have absorbed our means. Thus it was,
 gentle reader, that we were compelled to rest contented with a visit
 on foot to Fuga, for we had only one thousand pounds.

 "Presently the plot thickened. Muigni Khatib, son of Sultan Kimwere, a
 black of most unprepossessing physiognomy, with a 'villanous trick of
 the eye, and a foolish hanging of the nether lip,' a prognathous jaw,
 garnished with cat-like moustaches and cobweb beard, a sour frown, and
 abundant surliness by way of dignity, dressed like an Arab, and raised
 by El Islam above his fellows, sent a message directing us to place in
 his hands what we intended for his father. This Chief was travelling
 to Zanzibar in fear and trembling. He had tried to establish at his
 village, Kirore, a Romulian asylum for runaway slaves, and, having
 partially succeeded, he dreaded the consequences. The Beloch _Jemadar_
 strongly urged us privily to cause his detention at the islands, a
 precaution somewhat too Oriental for our tastes. We refused, however,
 the _muigni's_ demand in his own tone. Following their Prince, the
 dancing _Diwans_ claimed a fee for permission to reside; as they
 worded it, '_el adah_'--the habit; based upon an ancient present from
 Colonel Hamerton; and were in manifest process of establishing a local
 custom which, in Africa, becomes law to remotest posterity. We flatly
 objected, showed our letters, and in the angriest of moods threatened
 reference to Zanzibar. Briefly, all began to beg bakhshish; but I
 cannot remember any one obtaining it.

 "Weary of these importunities, we resolved to visit Chogway, a Beloch
 outpost, and thence, aided by the _Jemadar_ who had preceded us
 from Pangany, to push for the capital village of Usumbara. We made
 preparations secretly, dismissed the 'Riami,' rejected the _Diwans_
 who wished to accompany us as spies, left Said bin Salim and one
 Portuguese to watch our property in the house of Meriko, the Governor,
 who had accompanied his _muigni_ to Zanzibar, and, under pretext of a
 short shooting excursion, hired a long canoe with four men, loaded it
 with the luggage required for a fortnight, and started with the tide
 at eleven a.m. on the 6th of January, 1857.

 "First we grounded; then we were taken aback; then a puff of wind
 drove us forward with railway speed; then we grounded again.

 "And now, while writing amid the soughing blasts, the rain, and the
 darkened air of a south-western monsoon, I remember with yearning
 the bright and beautiful spectacle of those African rivers, whose
 loveliness, like that of the dead, seems enhanced by proximity to
 decay. We had changed the agreeable and graceful sandstone scenery,
 on the sea-board, for a view novel and most characteristic. The
 hippopotamus now raised his head from the waters, snorted, gazed
 upon us, and sank into his native depths. Alligators, terrified by
 the splash of oars, waddled down with their horrid claws, dinting
 the slimy bank, and lay like yellow logs, measuring us with small,
 malignant, green eyes, deep set under warty brows. Monkeys rustled the
 tali trees. Below, jungle--men and woman--

    'So withered, so wild in their attire,
    That look not like th' inhabitants o' th' earth,
    And yet are on't.'

 And all around reigned the eternal African silence, deep and
 saddening, broken only by the curlew's scream, or by the breeze
 rustling the tree-tops, whispering among the matted foliage, and
 swooning upon the tepid bosom of the wave.

 "We sat under a tree till midnight, unsatiated with the charm of the
 hour. The moon rained molten silver over the dark foliage of the wild
 palms, the stars were as golden lamps suspended in the limpid air,
 and Venus glittered diamond-like upon the front of the firmament. The
 fireflies now sparkled simultaneously over the earth; then, as if by
 concerted impulse, their glow vanished in the glooms of the ground. At
 our feet lay the black creek; in the jungle beasts roared fitfully;
 and the night wind mingled melancholy sounds with the swelling
 murmuring of the stream.

 "The tide flowing about midnight, we resumed our way. The river then
 became a sable streak between lofty rows of trees. The hippopotamus
 snorted close to our stern, and the crew begged me to fire, for the
 purpose of frightening 'Sultan Momba'--a pernicious rogue. At times we
 heard the splashing of the beasts as they scrambled over the shoals;
 at others, they struggled with loud grunts up the miry banks. Then
 again all was quiet. After a protracted interval of silence, the
 near voice of a man startled us in the deep drear stillness of the
 night, as though it had been some ghostly sound. At two a.m., reaching
 a clear tract on the river side--the Ghaut or landing-place of
 Chogway--we made fast the canoe, looked to our weapons, and, covering
 our faces against the heavy, clammy dew, lay down to snatch an hour's
 sleep. The total distance rowed was about 13.5 miles.

 "Fifty stout fellows, with an ambitious leader and a little money,
 might soon conquer the whole country, and establish there an absolute
 monarchy.

 "These Beloch mercenaries merit some notice. They were preferred, as
 being somewhat disciplinable, by the late Sayyid Said, to his futile
 blacks and his unruly and self-willed Oman Arabs. He entertained from
 one thousand to fifteen hundred men, and scattered them over the
 country in charge of the forts. The others hate them--divisions even
 amongst his own children was the ruler's policy--and nickname them
 'Kurara Kurara.' The _Jemadar_ and the Governor are rarely on speaking
 terms. Calling themselves Belochies, they are mostly from the regions
 about Kech and Bampur. They are mixed up with a rabble rout of Afghans
 and Arabs, Indians and Sudies, and they speak half a dozen different
 languages. Many of these gentry have left their country for their
 country's good. A body of convicts, however, fights well. The Mekrani
 are first-rate behind walls; and if paid, drilled, and officered, they
 would make as 'varmint' light-bobs as Arnauts. They have a knightly
 fondness for arms. A 'young barrel and an old blade' are their
 delight. All use the matchlock, and many are skilful with sword and
 shield.

 "Having communicated our project to the _Jemadar_ of Chogway, he
 promised, for a consideration, all aid; told us that we should start
 the next day; and, curious to relate, kept his word.

 "A start was effected at five p.m., every slave complaining of his
 load, snatching up the lightest, and hurrying on regardless of what
 was left behind. This nuisance endured till summarily stopped by an
 outward application easily divined. The evening belling of deer and
 the clock-clock of partridge struck our ears. In the open places were
 the lesses of elephants, and footprints retained by the last year's
 mud. These animals descend to the plains during the monsoon, and in
 summer retire to the cool hills. The Belochies shoot, the wild people
 kill them with poisoned arrows. More than once during our wanderings
 we found the grave-like trap-pits, called in India, _ogi_.

 "Tusks weighing 100 lbs. each are common, those of 175 lbs. are not
 rare, and I have heard of a pair whose joint weight was 560 lbs.

 "At Makam Sayyid Sulayman--a half-cleared ring in the thorny
 jungle--we passed the night in a small babel of Belochies. One recited
 his Korán; another prayed; a third told funny stories; whilst a fourth
 trolled lays of love and war, long ago made familiar to my ear upon
 the rugged Asian hills. This was varied by slapping lank mosquitoes
 that flocked to the camp-fires; by rising to get rid of huge black
 pismires, whose bite burned like a red-hot needle; and by challenging
 two parties of savages, who, armed with bows and arrows, passed
 amongst us.

 "Tongway is the first offset of the mountain-terrace composing the
 land of Usumbara. It rises abruptly from the plain, lies north-west
 of, and nine miles, as the crow flies, distant from, Chogway. The
 summit, about two thousand feet above the sea-level, is clothed with
 jungle, through which, seeking compass-sights, we cut a way with our
 swords.

 "The climate appeared delicious--even in the full blaze of an African
 and tropical summer; and whilst the hill was green, the land around
 was baked like bread-crust.

 "The escort felt happy at Tongway, twice a day devouring our rice--an
 unknown luxury; and they were at infinite pains to defer the evil hour.

 "Petty pilferers to the backbone, they steal, like magpies, by
 instinct. On the march they lag behind, and, not being professional
 porters, they are restive as camels when receiving their load. One of
 these youths, happening to be brother-in-law--after a fashion--to the
 _Jemadar_, requires incessant supervision to prevent him burdening
 the others with his own share. The guide, Muigni Wazira, is a huge,
 broad-shouldered Sawahili, with a coal-black skin; his high, massive,
 and regular features look as if carved in ebony, and he frowns like a
 demon in the 'Arabian Nights.'

 "A prayerless Sheríf, he thoroughly despises the Makapry or Infidels;
 he has a hot temper, and, when provoked, roars like a wild beast. He
 began by refusing his load, but yielded, when it was gently placed
 upon his heavy shoulder, with a significant gesture in case of
 recusance.

 "Rahewat, the Mekrani, calls himself a Beloch, and wears the title
 of Shah-Sawar, or the Rider-king. He is the _chelebi_, the dandy and
 tiger of our party. A 'good-looking brown man,' about twenty-five
 years old, with a certain girlishness and affectation of _tournure_
 and manner, which bode no good, the Rider-king deals in the externals
 of respectability; he washes and prays with pompous regularity, combs
 his long hair and beard, trains his bushy moustache to touch his eyes,
 and binds a huge turban. Having somewhat high ideas of discipline, he
 began with stabbing a slave-boy by way of a lesson.

 "The Rider-king, pleading soldier, positively refuses to carry,
 anything but his matchlock, and a private stock of dates, which he
 keeps ungenerously to himself. He boasts of prowess in vert and
 venison: we never saw him hit the mark, but we missed some powder and
 ball.

 "The gem of the party is Sudy Mubárak, who has taken to himself the
 cognomen of 'Bombay.' His sooty skin, and teeth pointed like those
 of the reptilia, denote his Mhiav origin. He is one of those rare
 'Sudies' that delight the passengers in an Indian steamer. Bombay,
 sold in early youth, carried to Cutch by some Banyan, and there
 emancipated, looks fondly back upon the home of his adoption, and
 sighs for the day when a few dollars will enable, him to return. He
 has ineffable contempt for all 'jungly niggers.' His head is a triumph
 of phrenology. He works on principle, and works like a horse, openly
 declaring that not love of us, but attachment to his stomach, make
 him industrious. He had enlisted under the _Jemadar_ of Chogway. We
 thought, however, so highly of his qualifications, that persuasion
 and paying his debts induced him, after a little coquetting, to take
 leave of soldiering and follow our fortunes. Sudy Bombay will be our
 head gun-carrier, if he survives his present fever, and, I doubt not,
 will prove himself a rascal in the end.

 "During the first night all Bombay's efforts were required to prevent
 a _sauve qui peut_.

 "On the 10th of February, after a night of desert silence, we arose
 betimes, and applied ourselves to the work of porterage. Our luggage
 again suffered reduction. It was, however, past six a.m. when, forming
 Indian file, we began to descend the thorn-clad goat-track which spans
 the north-east spur of Mount Tongway. Overhead floated a filmy canopy
 of sea-green verdure, pierced by myriads of sunbeams, whilst the azure
 effulgence above, purified as with fire, from mist and vapour set the
 picture in a frame of gold and ultramarine. Painful splendours! The
 men began to drop off. None but Hamdan had brought a calabash. Shaaban
 clamoured for water. Wazira and the four slave-boys retired to some
 puddle, a discovery which they wisely kept to themselves, leaving the
 rest of the party to throw themselves under a tree and bush upon the
 hot ground.

 "As the sun sank westward, Wazira joined us with a mouthful of lies,
 and the straggling line advanced. Our purblind guide once more lagged
 in the rear, yielding the lead to old Shaaban. This worthy, whose
 five wits were absorbed in visions of drink, strode blunderingly
 ahead, over the Wazira Hills and far away. Jack, keeping him in
 sight, and I in rear of both, missed the road. Shortly after sunset
 we three reached a narrow _fiumara_, where stood, delightful sight!
 some puddles bright with chickweed, and black with the mire below.
 We quenched our thirst, and bathed our swollen feet, and patted, and
 felt, and handled the water as though we loved it. But even this
 charming occupation had an end. Evidently we had lost our way. Our
 shots and shouts remained unanswered. It would have been folly to
 thread the thorny jungle by the dubious light of a young moon. We
 therefore kindled a fire, looked at our arms, lay down upon a soft
 sandy place, and certain that Shaaban would be watchful as a vestal
 virgin, were soon lulled to sleep by the music of the night breeze,
 and by the frogs chanting their ancient querele upon the miry margins
 of the pools. That day's work had been little more than five leagues.
 But--

    'These high wild hills and rough uneven ways
    Draw out the miles.'

 "Our guide secured, as extra porters, five wild men, habited in
 primitive attire. Their only garment was a kilt of dried and split
 rushes or grass. All had bows and poisoned arrows, except one, who
 boasted a miserable musket and literally a powder-horn, the vast
 spoils of a cow. The wretches were lean as wintry wolves, and not
 less ravenous. We fed them with rice and ghee. Of course they asked
 for more, till their stomachs, before like shrunken bladders, stood
 out in the shape of little round bumps from the hoop-work of ribs.
 We had neglected to take their arms. After feeding, they arose, and
 with small beady eyes, twinkling with glee, bade us farewell. Though
 starving they would not work. A few hours afterwards, however, they
 found a hippopotamus in the open, killed it with their arrows, and
 soon left nothing but a heap of bones and a broad stain of blood upon
 the ground.

       *       *       *       *       *

 "Arrived at Kohoday, the elders, as we landed, wrung our hands with
 rollicking greetings, and those immoderate explosive laughings which
 render the African family to all appearance so 'jolly' a race.

 "We were shown, on the mountain-pass of Usumbara, the watch-fire which
 is never extinguished; and the Mzegura chief, when supplying us with a
 bullock, poked his thumb back towards the hills and said, with a roar
 of laughter, that already we had become the King's guests. Our Beloch
 guard applauded this kindred soul, patted him upon the shoulder, and
 declared that, with a score of men of war like themselves, he might
 soon become lord of all the mountains.

 "Our parting was pathetic. He swore he loved us, and promised, on our
 return, the boat to conduct us down the river; but when we appeared
 with empty hands, he told the truth, namely, that it is a succession
 of falls and rapids.

 "At five p.m., passing two bridges, we entered Msiky Mguru, a Wazegura
 village distant twelve miles from Kohoday. It is a cluster of hay-cock
 huts, touching one another, built upon an island formed by divers
 rapid and roaring branches of the river. The headman was sick, but
 we found a hospitable reception. We spent our nights with ants and
 other little murderers of sleep which shall be nameless. Our hosts
 expressed great alarm about the Masai. It was justified by the sequel.
 Scarcely had we left the country when a plundering party of wild
 spearmen attacked two neighbouring villages, slaughtering the hapless
 cultivators, and, with pillage and pollage, drove off the cows in
 triumph.

 "After an hour's march we skirted a village, where the people
 peremptorily ordered us to halt. We attributed this annoyance to
 Wazira, who was forthwith visited with a general wigging. But the
 impending rain sharpened our tempers; we laughed in the faces of our
 angry expostulators, and, bidding them stop us if they could, pursued
 our road.

 "Presently ascending a hill, and turning abruptly to the north-east,
 we found ourselves opposite, and about ten miles distant from, a tall
 azure curtain, the mountains of Fuga. Water stood in black pools, and
 around it waved luxuriant sugar-canes. In a few minutes every mouth
 in the party was tearing and chewing at a long pole. This cane is of
 the edible kind. The officinal varieties are too luscious, cloying,
 and bilious to be sucked with impunity by civilized men. After walking
 that day sixteen miles, at about four p.m. a violent storm of thunder,
 lightning, and raw south-west wind, which caused the thermometer to
 fall many degrees, and the slaves to shudder and whimper, drove us
 back into the _bandany_, or palaver-house of a large village. The
 place swarmed with flies and mosquitoes. We lighted fires to keep off
 fevers.

 "Sunday, the 15th of February, dawned with one of those steady little
 cataclysms, which, to be seen advantageously, must be seen near the
 Line. At eleven a.m., weary of the steaming _bandany_, our men loaded,
 and in a lucid interval set out towards the Fuga Hills,[3] to which we
 walked for economy sake. As we approached them, the rain shrank to a
 spitting, gradually ceased, and was replaced by that reeking, fetid,
 sepulchral heat which travellers in the tropics know and fear. The
 slippery way had wearied our slaves, though aided by three porters
 hired that morning; and the sun, struggling through vapour, was still
 hot enough to overpower the whole party.

 "Issuing from the dripping canopy, we followed a steep goat-track,
 fording a crystal burn, and having reached the midway, sat down to
 enjoy the rarefied air, and to use the compass and spyglass. The
 view before us was extensive, if not beautiful. Under our feet the
 mountains fell in rugged folds, clothed with plantain fields, wild
 mulberries, custard-apples, and stately trees, whose lustrous green
 glittered against the ochreous ground. The sarsaparilla vine hung
 in clusters from the supporting limbs of the tamarind, the toddy
 palm raised its fantastic arms over the dwarf coco, and bitter
 oranges mingled pleasant scent with herbs not unlike mint and sage.
 Below, half veiled by rank streams, lay the yellow Nika or Wazegura
 wilderness, traversed by a serpentine of trees denoting the course of
 the Mkomafi affluent. Far beyond we could see the well-wooded line of
 the Lufu river, and from it to the walls of the southern and western
 horizon stretched a uniform purple plain.

 "The three fresh porters positively refused to rise unless a certain
 number of cloths were sent forward to propitiate the magnates of
 Fuga. This was easily traced to Wazira, who received a hint that
 such trifling might be dangerous. He had been lecturing us all that
 morning upon the serious nature of our undertaking. Sultan Kimwere was
 a potent monarch, not a Momba. His Ministers and councillors would,
 unless well paid, avert from us their countenances. We must enter with
 a discharge of musketry to awe the people, and by all means do as we
 are bid. The Belochies smiled contempt, and, pulling up the porters,
 loaded them, deaf to remonstrance.

 "Resuming our march after a short halt, we climbed rather than walked,
 with hearts beating from such unusual exercise, up the deep zigzag of
 a torrent. Villages then began to appear perched like eyries upon the
 hilltops, and the people gathered to watch our approach. At four p.m.
 we found ourselves upon the summit of a ridge. The Belochies begged
 us to taste the water of a spring hard by. It was icy cold, with a
 perceptible chalybeate flavour, sparkled in the cup, and had dyed its
 head with rust.

 "The giant flanks of Mukumbara bound the view. We stood about four
 thousand feet above the sea-level, distant thirty-seven miles from
 the coast, and seventy-four or seventy-five along the winding river.
 There is a short cut from Kohoday across the mountains; but the route
 was then waterless, and the heat would have disabled our Belochies.

 "After another three-mile walk along the hill flanks, we turned a
 corner and suddenly sighted, upon the opposite summit of a grassy
 cone, an unfenced heap of hay-cock huts--Fuga. This being one of the
 Cities where ingress is now forbidden to strangers, we were led by
 Wazira through timid crowds that shrank back as we approached, round
 and below the cone, to four tattered huts, which superstition assigns
 as the 'travellers' bungalow.' Even the son and heir of great Kimwere
 must abide here till the lucky hour admits him to the presence and
 the Imperial City. The cold rain and sharp rarefied air rendering any
 shelter acceptable, we cleared the huts of sheep and goats, housed our
 valuables, and sent Sudy Bombay to the Sultan, requesting the honour
 of an interview.

 "Before dark appeared three bareheaded _mdue_, or 'Ministers,' who
 in long palaver declared that council must squat upon two knotty
 points--_Primo_, Why and wherefore we had entered the country _viâ_
 the hostile Wazegura? _Secundo_, What time might be appointed by his
 Majesty's _mganga_, or medicine-man, for the ceremony? Sharp-witted
 Hamdan at once declared us to be European wizards, and _waganga_ of
 peculiar power over the moon and stars, the wind and rain. Away ran
 the Ministers to report the wonder.

 "The _mganga_, who is called by the Arabs _tabib_, or doctor, and by
 us priest, physician, divine, magician, and medicine-man, combines, as
 these translations show, priestly with medical functions.

 "At six p.m. the Ministers ran back and summoned us to the 'Palace.'
 They led the way through rain and mist to a clump of the usual huts,
 half hidden by trees, and overspreading a little eminence opposite to
 and below Fuga.

 "Sultan Kimwere half rose from his cot as we entered, and motioned
 us to sit upon dwarf stools before him. He was an old, old man,
 emaciated by sickness. His head was shaved, his face beardless, and
 wrinkled like a grandam's; his eyes were red, his jaws disfurnished,
 and his hands and feet were stained with leprous spots. Our errand
 was inquired and we were welcomed to Fuga. As none could read the
 Sayyid of Zanzibar's letter, I was obliged to act secretary. The
 centagenarian had heard of our scrutinizing stars, stones, and trees.
 He directed us at once to compound a draught which would restore him
 to health, strength, and youth. I replied that our drugs had been left
 at Pangany. He signified that we might wander about the hills and seek
 the plants required. After half an hour's conversation, Hamdan being
 interpreter, we were dismissed with a renewal of welcome.

 "On our return to the hovels, the present was forwarded to the Sultan
 with the usual ceremony. We found awaiting us a fine bullock, a
 basketful of _sima_--young Indian corn pounded and boiled to a thick
 hard paste--and balls of unripe bananas, peeled and mashed up with
 sour milk. Our Belochies instantly addressed themselves to the making
 of beef, which they ate with such a will that unpleasant symptoms
 presently declared themselves in camp. We had covered that day ten
 miles--equal, perhaps, to thirty in a temperate climate and a decent
 road. The angry blast, the groaning trees, and the lashing rain, heard
 from within a warm hut, affected us pleasurably, and I would not have
 exchanged it for the music of Verdi. We slept the sweet sleep of
 travellers.

 "The African Traveller, in this section of the nineteenth century, is
 an animal overworked. Formerly, the reading public was satisfied with
 dry details of mere discovery; was delighted with a few latitudes and
 longitudes. Of late, in this, as in other pursuits, the standard has
 been raised. Whilst marching so many miles _per diem_, and watching
 a certain number of hours _per noctem_, the traveller, who is in
 fact his own general, adjutant, quarter-master, and executive, is
 expected to survey and observe--to record meteorology, hygrometry, and
 hypsometry--to shoot and stuff birds and beasts, to collect geological
 specimens, to gather political and commercial information, to advance
 the infant study ethnology, to keep accounts, to sketch, to indite
 a copious legible journal, to collect grammar and vocabularies, and
 frequently to forward long reports which shall prevent the Royal
 Geographical Society napping through evening meetings. It is right,
 I own, to establish a high standard which insures some work being
 done; but explorations should be distinguished from railway journeys,
 and a broad line drawn between the feasible and the impossible. The
 unconscionable physicist now deems it his right to complain, because
 the explorer has not used his theodolite in the temple of Mecca, and
 introduced his sympiesometer within the walls of Harar. An ardent
 gentlemen once requested me to collect beetles, and another sent me
 excellent recipes for preserving ticks.

 "These African explorations are small campaigns, in which the
 traveller, unaided by discipline, is beset by all the troubles,
 hardships, and perils of savage war. He must devote himself to
 feeding, drilling, and directing his men to the use of arms and
 the conduct of a Caravan, rather than the study of infusoria and
 barometers. The sight of an instrument convinces barbarians that the
 stranger is bringing down the sun, stopping rain, causing death, and
 bewitching the land for ages. Amidst utter savagery such operations
 are sometimes possible; amongst the semi-civilized they end badly.
 The climate also robs man of energy as well as health. He cannot, if
 he would, collect ticks and beetles. The simplest geodesical labours,
 as these pages will prove, are unadvisable. Jack has twice suffered
 from taking an altitude. Why is not a party of physicists sent out to
 swallow the dose prescribed by them to their army of martyrs?

 "The rainy monsoon had set in at Fuga. Heavy clouds rolled up from
 the south-west, and during our two days and nights upon the hills
 the weather was a succession of drip, drizzle, and drench. In vain
 we looked for a star; even the sun could not disperse the thick raw
 vapours that rose from the steamy earth. We did not dare to linger
 upon the mountains. Our Belochies were not clad to resist the
 temperature--here 12° lower than on the coast; the rain would make the
 lowlands a hotbed of sickness, and we daily expected the inevitable
 'seasoning-fever.' In the dry monsoon this route might be made
 practicable to Chhaga and Kilimanjaro. With an escort of a hundred
 musketeers, and at an expense of £600, the invalid who desires to
 avail himself of this 'sanitarium,' as it is now called by the Indian
 papers, may, if perfectly sound in wind, limb, and digestion, reach
 the snowy region, if it exist, after ten mountain-marches, which will
 not occupy more than a month.

 "The head-quarter village of Usumbara is Fuga, a heap of some five
 hundred huts, containing, I was told, three thousand souls. It is
 defenceless, and composed of the circular abodes common from Harar to
 Timbuctoo.

 "On Monday, the 16th of February, we took leave of, and were duly
 dismissed by, Sultan Kimwere. The old man, however, was mortified
 that our rambles had not produced a plant of sovereign virtue against
 the last evil of life. He had long expected a white _mganga_, and now
 two had visited him, to depart without even a trial! I felt sad to
 see the wistful lingering look with which he accompanied 'Kuahery!'
 (farewell!) But his case was far beyond my skill.

 "None of Sultan Kimwere's men dared to face the terrible Wazegura.

 "We descended the hills in a Scotch mist and drizzle, veiling every
 object from view. It deepened into a large-dropped shower upon the
 fœtid lowlands. That night we slept at Pasunga; the next at Msiky
 Mguru; and the third, after marching seventeen miles--our greatest
 distance--at Kohoday.

 "Our Belochies declared the rate of marching excessive; and Hamdan,
 who personified 'Master Shoetie, the great traveller,' averred that he
 had twice visited the Lakes, but had never seen such hardships in his
 dreams.

 "With some toil, however, we coaxed him into courage, and joined on
 the way a small party bound for Pangany. At one p.m. we halted to
 bathe and drink, as it would be some time before we should again sight
 the winding stream. During the storm of thunder and lightning which
 ensued, I observed that our savage companions, like the Thracians of
 old Herodotus, and the Bheels and coolies of modern India, shot their
 iron-tipped arrows in the air.

 "About four p.m. we found ourselves opposite Kizanga, a large Wazegura
 village on the right bank of the river. From Kizanga we followed the
 river by a vile footpath. The air was dank and oppressive; the clouds
 seemed to settle upon the earth, and the decayed vegetation exhaled a
 feverish fœtor. As we advanced, the roar of the swollen stream told
 of rapids, whilst an occasional glimpse through its green veil showed
 a reefous surface, flecked with white froth. Heavy nimbi purpled the
 western skies, and we began to inquire of Wazira whether a village was
 at hand.

 "About sunset, after marching fifteen miles, we suddenly saw tall
 cocos--in these lands the 'traveller's joy'--waving their feathery
 heads against the blue eastern firmament. Presently, crossing a
 branch of the river by a long bridge, we entered an island settlement
 of Wazegura. This village, being upon the confines of civilization,
 and excited by wars and rumours of wars, suggested treachery to
 experienced travellers. Jack and I fired our revolvers into trees, and
 carefully reloaded them for the public benefit. The sensation was such
 that we seized the opportunity of offering money for rice and ghee. No
 provision, however, was procurable. Our escort went to bed supperless;
 Hamdan cursing this _Safar kháis--Anglicè_, rotten journey. Murad Ali
 had remained at Msiky Mguru to purchase a slave without our knowledge.
 A novice in such matters, he neglected to tie the man's thumb, and
 had the exquisite misery to see, in the evening after the sale, his
 dollars bolting at a pace that baffled pursuit. We then placed our
 weapons handy, and were soon lulled to sleep, despite smoke, wet beds,
 and other plagues, by the blustering wind and the continuous pattering
 of rain.

 "At sunrise on Friday, the 20th of February, we were aroused by the
 guide; and, after various delays, found ourselves on the road about
 seven a.m. This day was the reflection of the last march. At nine a.m.
 we stood upon a distant eminence to admire the falls of the Pangany
 river. Here the stream, emerging from a dense dark growth of tropical
 forest, hurls itself in three huge sheets, fringed with flashing
 foam, down a rugged wall of brown rock. Halfway the fall is broken
 by a ledge, whence a second leap precipitates the waters into the
 mist-veiled basin of stone below. These cascades must be grand during
 the monsoon, when the river, forming a single horseshoe, acquires a
 volume and a momentum sufficient to clear the step which divides the
 shrunken stream. Of all natural objects, the cataract most requires
 that first element of sublimity--size. Yet, as it was, this fall,
 with the white spray and bright mist, set off by black jungle, and a
 framework of slaty rain-cloud, formed a picture sufficiently effective
 to surprise us.

 "As we journeyed onwards the heat became intense. The nimbi hugged
 the mountain tops. There it was winter; but the sun, whose beams shot
 stingingly through translucent air, parched the summer plains. At
 ten a.m. our Belochies, clean worn out by famine and fatigue, threw
 themselves upon the bank of a broad and deep ravine, in whose sedgy
 bed a little water still lingered. Half an hour's rest, a cocoa-nut
 each, a pipe, and, above all things, the _spes finis_, restored their
 vigour. We resumed our march over a rolling waste of green, enlivened
 by occasional glimpses of the river, whose very aspect cooled the
 gazer. Villages became frequent as we advanced, far distancing our
 Belochies. At three p.m., after marching fourteen miles, we sighted
 the snake-fence and the pent-houses of friendly Chogway.

 "The _Jemadar_ and his garrison received us with all the honours
 of travel, and admired our speedy return from Fuga. As at Harar, a
 visitor can never calculate upon a prompt dismissal. We were too
 strong for force, but Sultan Kimwere has detained Arab and other
 strangers for a fortnight before his _mganga_ fixed a fit time for
 audience. Moreover, these walking journeys are dangerous in one point:
 the least accident disables a party, and accidents will happen to the
 best-regulated expedition.

 "Our feet were cut by boots and shoes, and we had lost 'leather' by
 chafing and sunburns. A few days' rest removed these inconveniences.
 Our first visit was paid to Pangany, where Said bin Salim, who had
 watched his charge with the fidelity of a shepherd's dog, received us
 with joyous demonstrations. After spending a day upon the coast, we
 returned, provided with _munitions de bouche_ and other necessaries,
 to Chogway, and settled old scores with our escort. Then, as the
 vessel in which we were to cruise southward was not expected from
 Zanzibar till the 1st of March, and we had a week to spare, it was
 resolved to try a fall with Behemoth.[4]

 [Sidenote: _Hippopotamus Shooting._]

 "Captain Owen's officers, when ascending streams, saw their boats torn
 by Behemoth's hard tusks; and in the Pangany, one 'Sultan Momba,' a
 tyrant thus dubbed by the Belochies in honour of their friend the
 Kohoday chief, delighted to upset canoes, and was once guilty of
 breaking a man's leg.

 "Behold us now, O brother in St. Hubert, dropping down the stream in a
 _monoxyle_, some forty feet long, at early dawn, when wild beasts are
 tamest.

 "As we approach the herds, whose crests, flanked with small
 pointed ears, dot the mirrory surface, our boatmen indulge in such
 vituperations as 'Mana marira!' (O big belly!) and 'Hanamkia!' (O
 tasteless one!) In angry curiosity the brutes raise their heads, and
 expose their arched necks, shiny with trickling rills. Jack, a man
 of speculative turn, experiments upon the nearest optics with two
 barrels of grape and B shot. The eyes, however, are oblique; the
 charge scatters, and the brute, unhurt, slips down like a seal. This
 will make the herd wary. Vexed by the poor result of our trial, we
 pole up the rippling and swirling surface, that proves the enemy to
 be swimming under water towards the further end of the pool. After a
 weary time he must rise and breathe. As the smooth water undulates,
 swells, and breaches a way for the large black head, eight ounces of
 lead fly in the right direction. There is a splash, a struggle; the
 surface foams, and Behemoth, with mouth bleeding like a gutter-spout,
 rears, and plunges above the stream. Wounded near the cerebellum, he
 cannot swim straight. At last a _coup de grâce_ speeds through the
 air; the brute sinks, gore dyes the surface purple, and bright bubbles
 seethe up from the bottom. Hippo is dead. We wait patiently for his
 reappearance, but he appears not. At length, by peculiar good luck,
 Bombay's sharp eye detects an object some hundred yards down stream.
 We make for it, and find our "bag" brought up in a shallow by a spit
 of sand, and already in process of being ogled by a large fish-hawk.
 The hawk suffers the penalty of impudence. We tow our defunct to the
 bank, and deliver it to certain savages, whose mouths water with the
 prospect of hippopotamus beef. At sundown they will bring to us the
 tusks and head picked clean, as a whistle is said to be.

 "The herd will no longer rise; they fear this hulking craft; we must
 try some 'artful dodge.' Jack, accompanied by Bombay, who strips to
 paddle in token of hot work expected, enters into a small canoe, ties
 fast his shooting-tackle in case of an upset, and, whilst I occupy one
 end of the house, makes for the other. Whenever a head appears an inch
 above water, a heavy bullet 'puds' into or near it; crimson patches
 adorn the stream; some die and disappear, others plunge in crippled
 state, and others, disabled from diving by holes drilled through
 their noses, splash and scurry about with curious snorts, caused
 by breath passing through their wounds. At last Jack ventures upon
 another experiment. An infant hippo, with an imprudence pardonable at
 his years, uprears his crest; off flies the crown of the kid's head.
 The bereaved mother rises for a moment, viciously regards Jack, who
 is meekly loading, snorts a parent's curse, and dives as the cap is
 being adjusted. Presently a bump, a shock, and a heave send the little
 canoe's bows high in the air. Bombay, describing a small parabola
 in frog-shape, lands beyond the enraged brute's back. Jack steadies
 himself in the stern, and as the assailant, with broad dorsum hunched
 up and hogged like an angry cat, advances for another bout, he rises,
 and sends a bullet through her side. Bombay scrambles in, and, nothing
 daunted, paddles towards the quarry, of which nothing is visible but
 a long waving line of gore. With a harpoon we might have secured her;
 now she will feed the alligators or the savages.

 "The Belochies still take great interest in the sport, as Easterns
 will when they see work being done. They force the boatmen to obey us.
 Jack lands with the black woodmen, carrying both 'smashers.' He gropes
 painfully through mangrove thicket, where parasitical oysters wound
 the legs with their sharp edges, and the shaking bog admits a man to
 his knees. After a time, reaching a clear spot, he takes up position
 behind a bush impending the deepest water, and signals me to drive
 up the herd. In pursuit of them I see a hole bursting in the stream,
 and a huge black head rises with a snort and a spirt. 'Momba! Momba!'
 shout the Belochies, yet the old rogue disdains flight. A cone from
 the Colt strikes him full in front of the ear; his brain is pierced;
 he rises high, falls with a crash upon the wave, and all that flesh
 'cannot keep in a little life.' Momba has for ever disappeared from
 the home of hippopotamus; never shall he break nigger's leg again.
 Meanwhile the herd, who, rubbing their backs against the great canoe,
 had retired to the other end of the pool, hearing an unusual noise,
 rise, as is their wont, to gratify a silly curiosity. Jack has two
 splendid standing shots, and the splashing and circling in the stream
 below tell the accuracy of the aim.

 "We soon learned the lesson that these cold-blooded animals may be
 killed with a pistol-ball if hit in brain or heart; otherwise they
 carry away as much lead as elephants. At about ten a.m. we had slain
 six, besides wounding I know not how many of the animals. They might
 be netted, but the operation would not pay in a pecuniary sense; the
 ivory of small teeth, under four pounds each, is worth little. Being
 perpetually pop-gunned by the Belochies, they are exceedingly shy, and
 after an excess of bullying they shift quarters. We returned but once
 to this sport, finding the massacre monotonous, and such cynegetics
 about as exciting as partridge-shooting.

 "On Thursday, the 26th of February, we left 'the bazar.' Jack walked
 to Pangany, making a route survey, whilst I accompanied the _Jemadar_
 and his tail in our large canoe.

 [Sidenote: _Our First Fever._]

 "For two days after returning to the coast we abstained from exercise.
 On the third we walked out several miles, in the hottest of suns, to
 explore a cavern, of which the natives, who came upon it when clearing
 out a well, had circulated the most exaggerated accounts. Jack already
 complained of his last night's labour--an hour with the sextant upon
 damp sand in the chilly dew. This walk finished the work. On entering
 the house we found the Portuguese lad, who had accompanied us to Fuga,
 in a high fever. Jack was prostrated a few hours afterwards, and next
 day I followed their example.

 "As a rule, the traveller in these lands should avoid exposure and
 fatigue beyond a certain point, to the very best of his ability. You
 might as well practise sitting upon a coal-fire as inuring yourself
 (which green men have attempted) to the climate. Dr. B----, a Polish
 divine, who had taken to travelling at the end of a sedentary life,
 would learn to walk bareheaded in the Zanzibar sun; the result was a
 sunstroke. Others have paced barefooted upon an exposed terrace, with
 little consequence but ulceration and temporary lameness. The most
 successful in resisting the climate are they who tempt it least, and
 the best training for a long hungry march is repose, with good living.
 Man has then stamina to work upon; he may exist, like the camel, upon
 his own fat. Those who fine themselves down by exercise and abstinence
 before the march, commit the error of beginning where they ought to
 end.

 "Our attacks commenced with general languor and heaviness, a lassitude
 in the limbs, a weight in the head, nausea, a frigid sensation
 creeping up the extremities, and dull pains in the shoulders. Then
 came a mild, cold fit, succeeded by a splitting headache, flushed
 face, full veins, vomiting, and an inability to stand upright.
 Like 'General Tazo' of Madagascar, this fever is a malignant
 bilious-remittent. The eyes become hot, heavy, and painful when turned
 upwards; the skin is dry and burning, the pulse full and frequent,
 and the tongue furred; appetite is wholly wanting (for a whole week
 I ate nothing), but a perpetual craving thirst afflicts the patient,
 and nothing that he drinks will remain upon his stomach. During the
 day extreme weakness causes anxiety and depression; the nights are
 worse, for by want of sleep the restlessness is aggravated. Delirium
 is common in the nervous and bilious temperament, and if the lancet
 be used, certain death ensues; the action of the heart cannot be
 restored. The exacerbations are slightly but distinctly marked (in my
 own case they recurred regularly between two and three a.m. and p.m.),
 and the intervals are closely watched for administering quinine, after
 due preparation. This drug, however, has killed many, especially
 Frenchmen, who, by overdosing at a wrong time, died of apoplexy.

 "Whilst the Persians were at Zanzibar they besieged Colonel Hamerton's
 door, begging him to administer Warburg's drops, which are said to
 have a wonderful effect in malignant chronic cases. When the disease
 intends to end fatally, the symptoms are aggravated; the mind wanders,
 the body loses all power, and after perhaps an apparent improvement,
 stupor, insensibility, and death ensue. On the other hand, if yielding
 to treatment, the fever, about the seventh day, presents marked signs
 of abatement; the tongue is clearer, pain leaves the head and eyes,
 the face is no longer flushed, nausea ceases, and a faint appetite
 returns. The recovery, however, is always slow and dubious. Relapses
 are feared, especially at the full and change of the moon; they
 frequently assume the milder intermittent type, and in some Indians
 have recurred regularly through the year. In no case, however, does
 the apparent severity of the fever justify the dejection and debility
 of the convalescence. For six weeks recovery is imperfect; the liver
 acts with unusual energy, the stomach is liable to severe indigestion,
 the body is lean, and the strength wellnigh prostrated. At such
 times change of air is the best of restoratives; removal, even to a
 ship in the harbour, or to the neighbouring house, has been found
 more beneficial than all the tonics and the preventatives in the
 Pharmacopœia.

 "In men of strong nervous diathesis the fever leaves slight
 consequences, in the shape of white hair, boils, or bad toothaches.
 Others suffer severely from its secondaries, which are either visceral
 or cerebral. Some lose memory, others virility, others the use of
 a limb; many become deaf or dim-sighted; and not a few, tormented
 by hepatitis, dysentery, constipation, and similar disease, never
 completely recover health.

 "Captain Owen's survey of the Mombas Mission, and of our numerous
 cruisers, proves that no European can undergo exposure and fatigue,
 which promote the overflow of bile, without undergoing the
 'seasoning.' It has, however, one advantage--those who pass the ordeal
 are acclimatized; even with a year's absence in Europe, they return
 to the tropics with little danger. The traveller is always advised
 to undergo his seasoning upon the coast before marching into the
 interior; but after recovery he must await a second attack, otherwise
 he will expend in preparation the strength and bottom required for the
 execution of his journey. Of our party the Portuguese boy came in for
 his turn at Zanzibar. The other has ever since had light relapses; and
 as a proof that the negro enjoys no immunity, Seedy[5] Bombay is at
 this moment (June 8th) suffering severely.

 "The Banyans intended great civility; they would sit with us for
 hours, asking, like Orientals, the silliest of questions, and thinking
 withal that they were 'doing the agreeable:' repose was out of the
 question. During the day, flies and gnats added another sting to
 the mortifications of fever. At night, rats nibbled at our feet,
 mosquitoes sang their song of triumph, and a torturing thirst made
 the terrible sleeplessness yet more terrible. Our minds were morbidly
 fixed upon one point, the arrival of our vessel; we had no other
 occupation but to rise and gaze, and exchange regrets as a sail hove
 in sight, drew near, and passed by. We knew that there would be no
 failure on the part of our thoughtful friend, who had written to
 promise us a _battela_ on the 1st of March, which did not make Pangany
 till the evening of the 5th of March.

 "After sundry bitter disappointments, we had actually hired a Banyan's
 boat that had newly arrived, when the expected craft ran into the
 river. Not a moment was to be lost. Said bin Salim, who had been a
 kind nurse, superintended the embarkation of our property. Jack, less
 severely treated, was able to walk to the shore; but I--alas for
 manliness!--was obliged to be supported like a bedridden old woman.
 The worst part of the process was the presence of a crowd. The Arabs
 were civil, and bade a kindly farewell. The Sawahili, however, audibly
 contrasted the present with the past, and drew dedecorous conclusions
 from the change which a few days had worked in the man who bore a
 twenty-four pound gun, my pet four-ounce.[6]

 "All thoughts of cruising along the southern coast were at an end.
 Colonel Hamerton had warned us not to despise bilious-remittents; and
 evidently we should not have been justified in neglecting his caution
 to return, whenever seized by sickness. With the dawn of Friday,
 the 6th of March, we ordered the men to up sail; we stood over for
 Zanzibar with a fine fresh breeze, and early in the afternoon we found
 ourselves once more within the pale of Eastern civilization. _Deo
 gratias!_ our excellent friend at once sent us to bed, whence, gentle
 reader, we have the honour to make the reverential salaam."

[1] The distance between Bombay and Zanzibar is two thousand five
hundred miles.

[2] Jack was Speke's christian name.

[3] One of the places forbidden to strangers.

[4] Hippopotamus.

[5] He was originally Sudy, but afterwards they dubbed him Seedy.--I. B.

[6] These two guns I still treasure.--I. B.




CHAPTER XIII.

THE REAL START FOR TANGANYIKA IN THE INTERIOR.


 "When we left Zanzibar the Sultan of Zanzibar and the Sawahil and his
 sons came on board with three letters of introduction. One was to
 Musa Mzuri, the Indian _doyen_ of the merchants settled at Unyamwezi;
 secondly, a letter to the Arabs there resident, and thirdly, one to
 all his subjects who were travelling in the interior. I carried, in an
 _étui_ round my neck, the diploma of the Shaykh El Islam of Mecca, and
 a passport from Cardinal Wiseman to all the Catholic missionaries. His
 Highness the Sultan Said of Muscat had died on his way from Arabia to
 Zanzibar. The party, besides Jack and I, were two Goanese boys, two
 negro gun-carriers, the Seedy Mubárak Mombai (Bombay), his brother,
 and eight Beloch mercenaries appointed by the Sultan. Lieut.-Colonel
 Hamerton, her Majesty's Consul at Zanzibar, a friend of mine, gave
 me all particulars and recommendations, and enlisted in my favour
 the Sayyid Sulayman bin Hamid bin Said (the noble Omani, 'who never
 forgets the name of his Grandsire'), landed us upon the coast, and
 superintended our departure, attended by Mr. Frost, the apothecary
 attached to the Consulate.

 "My desire was to ascertain the limits of the Sea of Ujiji,
 Tanganyika, or Unyamwezi Lake, to learn the ethnography of its tribes,
 and determine the export of the produce of the interior. The Foreign
 Office granted £1000, and the Court of Directors allowed me two years'
 leave of absence to command the Expedition. Consul Hamerton warned us
 against Kilwa, where any one attempting to open the interior ran the
 danger of being murdered.

 [Sidenote: _A Long March._]

 "We landed at Wale Point, about eighty-four miles distant from the
 little town of Bagamóyo. We wanted to engage one hundred and seventy
 porters, but we could only get thirty-six, and thirty animals were
 found, which were all dead in six months, so we had to leave part of
 our things behind, greater part of the ammunition, and our iron boat.
 The Hindoos were faithful to their promise to forward everything, but,
 great mistake, received one hundred and fifty dollars for the hire of
 twenty-two men to start in ten days; we went on, obliged to trust, but
 we did not get them for eleven months. We paid various visits to the
 hippopotamus haunts, and had our boat uplifted from the water upon
 the points of two tusks, which made corresponding holes in the bottom.
 My escort were under the impression that nothing less than one hundred
 guards, one hundred and fifty guns, and several cannon would enable
 them to fight a way through the perils of the interior. We were warned
 that for three days we must pass through savages, who sat on the
 trees, and discharged poisoned arrows into the air with extraordinary
 dexterity (meaning the Amazons); that they must avoid trees (which was
 not easy in a land all forest); that the Wazaramo had sent six several
 letters forbidding the white man to enter their country, and that they
 buried their provisions in the jungle, that travellers might starve;
 that one rhinoceros kills two hundred men; that armies of elephants
 attack camps by night; that the craven hyæna is more dangerous than a
 Bengal tiger.

 "We owed all our intrigues to a rascal named Ramji, who had his own
 commerce in view, and often to our _Ras Kaptan_, or Caravan leader,
 Said bin Salim, who did not wear well. The varnish soon melted, and
 showed him as great a liar and thief as his men. At times it is good
 to appear a dupe, to allow people to think and to say that you are a
 muff, chronicling a vow that they shall change places with you before
 the end of the game. I confided to Mr. Frost two manuscripts addressed
 through the Foreign Office, one to Mr. John Blackwood of Edinburgh,
 the other to Mr. Norton Shaw, of the Royal Geographical Society.
 Blackwood's arrived safe, Norton Shaw's in six years.[1] I took a
 melancholy leave of my warm-hearted friend, Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton,
 who had death written on his features. He looked forward to death
 with a feeling of delight, the result of his Roman Catholic religious
 convictions, and, in spite of my entreaties, he _would_ remain near
 the coast till he heard of our safe transit through the lands of the
 dangerous Wazaramo. This courage was indeed sublime, an example not
 often met with. After this affecting farewell we landed at Kaolé. I
 insisted that Ladha, the Collector of customs, and Ramji, his clerk,
 should insert in the estimate the sum required to purchase a boat
 upon the Sea of Ujiji. Being a Hindoo, he thought I was ignorant of
 Cutchee, so the following conversation took place:--

 "_Ladha_. Will he ever reach it?

 "_Ramji_. Of course not. What is _he_ that he should pass through
 Ugogo? (a province about halfway).

 "So I remarked at once that I _did_ intend to cross Ugogo, and also
 the Sea of Ujiji, that I did know Cutchee, and that I was even able
 to distinguish between the debits and the credits of his voluminous
 sheets. The worst loss that I had was that my old and valued
 friend, Dr. Steinhaüser, civil surgeon at Aden, sound scholar, good
 naturalist, skilful practitioner, with rare personal qualities, which
 would have been inestimable, was ill and could not come. His Highness
 the late Sayyid Said, that great ally of the English nation, had made
 most public-spirited offers to his friend, Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton,
 for many years. Lieut.-Colonel Hamerton's extraordinary personal
 qualities enabled him to perform anything but impossibilities amongst
 the Arabs, and he was dying. Finally, as Indian experience taught
 me, I was entering the 'unknown land' at the fatal season when the
 shrinking of the waters after the wet monsoon would render it a hotbed
 of malaria, but I was tied by scanty means and a limited 'leave;' it
 was neck or nothing, and I determined to risk it. All the serving men
 in Zanzibar Island and the East African coast are serviles. There is
 no word to express a higher domestic. There was no remedy, so that I
 paid them wages, and treated them as if they were free men. I had no
 power to prevent my followers purchasing slaves, because they would
 say, 'We are allowed by our law to do so;' all I could do was to see
 that their slaves were well fed and not injured; but I informed all
 the wild people that Englishmen were pledged against slavery, and I
 always refused all slaves offered as presents.

 "In eighteen days we accomplished (despite sickness and every manner
 of difficulty) a march of one hundred and eighteen indirect statute
 miles, and entered K'hutu, the safe rendezvous of foreign merchants,
 on the 14th of July. On the 15th we entered Kiruru, where I found a
 cottage, and enjoyed for the first time an atmosphere of sweet, warm
 smoke." (In all Richard's wilder travels in damp places, he laid such
 a stress upon "sweet, warm smoke.") "Jack (that is, Speke), in spite
 of my endeavours, would remain in the reeking miry tent, and laid the
 foundations of the fever which threatened his life in the mountains of
 Usagára.

 [Sidenote: _Marsh Fever._]

 "As soon as we reached Dut'húmi, where we were detained nearly a week,
 the malaria brought on attacks of marsh fever. In my case it lasted
 twenty days." (In all Richard's fever fits, and for hours afterwards,
 both now and always, he had a queer conviction of divided identity,
 never ceasing to be two persons, who generally thwarted and opposed
 each other, and also that he was able to fly.) "Jack suffered still
 more; he had a fainting-fit which strongly resembled a sunstroke,
 and it seemed to affect him more or less throughout our journey. Our
 sufferings were increased by the losses of our animals, and we had
 to walk, often for many miles, through sun, rain, mud, and miasmatic
 putridities. The asses shy, stumble, rear, run away, fight, plunge
 and pirouette when mounted; they hog and buck till they burst their
 girths; they love to get into holes and hollows; they rush about like
 pigs when the wind blows; they bolt under tree-shade when the sun
 shines; so they have to be led, and if the least thing happens the
 slave drops the halter and runs away.

 "The Zanzibar riding-asses were too delicate and died; we were then
 reduced to the half-reclaimed beast of Wamyamwezi. As to the baggage
 animals, they were constantly thrown, and the Beloch only grumbled,
 sat down, and stared. They stole the ropes and cords; they never were
 pounded for the night, nobody counted them, and we were too ill to
 look after it. We were wretched; each morning dawned with a fresh load
 of care and trouble, and every evening we knew that another miserable
 morrow was to dawn, but I never relinquished the determination to
 risk everything, myself included, rather than to return unsuccessful.
 At Dut'húmi, two Chiefs fought, and the strongest kidnapped five of
 his weaker neighbour subjects. I could not stand by and see iniquity
 done without an attempt, so I headed a little Expedition against the
 strong, and I had the satisfaction of restoring the rescued, the five
 unhappy stolen wretches, to their hearths and homes, and two decrepit
 old women, that had been rescued from slavery, thanked me with tears
 of joy" (Richard lightly calls this "an easy good deed" done), "after
 which I was able, though with swimming head and trembling hands, to
 prepare a report for the Geographical Society.

 "On the 24th of July we were able to move on under the oppressive
 rain-sun. From Central K'hutu to the base of the Usagára Mountains
 there were nothing but filthy heaps of the rudest hovels, built in
 holes of the jungle. Their miserable inhabitants, whose frames are
 lean with constant intoxication, and whose limbs are distorted by
 ulcerous sores, attest the hostility of Nature to Mankind.

 "Arrived at Zungomero, we waited a fortnight for the twenty-two
 promised porters. It was a hotbed of pestilence, where we nearly
 found wet graves. Our only lodging was the closed eaves of a hut; the
 roof was a sieve, the walls all chinks, and the floor a sheet of mud.
 The Beloch had no energy to build a shed, and became almost mutinous
 because we did not build it for them.

 "Our life here was the acme of discomfort; we had pelting showers,
 followed by fiery sunshine, which extracted steam from the grass,
 bush, and trees. My Goanese boys got a mild form of 'yellow Jack,'
 and I was obliged to take them into my hut, already populated with
 pigeons, rats, flies, mosquitoes, bugs, and fleas. We were weary of
 waiting for the porters and baggage, so we prepared our papers, and
 sent them down by a confidential slave to the coast. Jack and I left
 Zungomero on the 7th of August. We were so weak, we could hardly sit
 our asses, but we were determined to get to the nearest ascent of the
 Usagára Mountains, a march of five hours, and succeeded in rising
 three hundred feet from the plain, ascending its first gradient.

 [Sidenote: _They ascend from Zungomero to a Better Climate._]

 "This is the frontier of the second region, or Ghauts. There was no
 vestige of buildings, nor sight nor sound of Man. There was a wondrous
 change of climate at this place, called Mzizi Maogo; strength and
 health returned as if by magic, even the Goanese shook off their mild
 'yellow Jack.' Truly delicious was the escape from the nebulous skies,
 the fog-driving gusts, the pelting rain, the clammy mists veiling a
 gross growth of fœtor, the damp raw cold rising as it were from the
 earth, and the alternations of fiery and oppressive heat; in fact,
 from the cruel climate of the river valley, to the pure sweet mountain
 air, alternately soft and balmy, cool and reviving, and to the aspect
 of clear blue skies, which lent their tints to highland ridges well
 wooded with various greens.

 "Dull mangrove, dismal jungle, and monotonous grass were supplanted
 by tall solitary trees, amongst which the lofty tamarind rose
 conspicuously graceful, and a card-table-like swamp, cut by a network
 of streams, nullahs, and stagnant pools, gave way to dry healthy
 slopes, with short steep pitches and gently shelving hills. The beams
 of the large sun of the Equator--and nowhere have I seen the Rulers
 of Night and Day so large--danced gaily upon blocks and pebbles of
 red, yellow, and dazzling snowy quartz, and the bright sea-breeze
 waved the summits of the trees, from which depended graceful llianas
 and wood-apples large as melons, whilst creepers, like vine tendrils,
 rising from large bulbs of brown-grey wood, clung closely to their
 stalwart trunks. Monkeys played at hide-and-seek, chattering behind
 the bolls, as the iguana, with its painted scale-armour, issued
 forth to bask upon the sunny bank; white-breasted ravens cawed
 when disturbed from their perching places, doves cooed on the
 well-clothed boughs, and hawks soared high in the transparent sky. The
 field-cricket chirped like the Italian cicala in the shady bush, and
 everywhere, from air, from earth, from the hill-slopes above, and from
 the marshes below, the hum, the buzz, and the loud continuous voice of
 insect life, through the length of the day, spoke out its natural joy.
 Our gypsy encampment lay

    'By shallow rivers, to whose falls
    Melodious birds sing madrigals.'

 By night, the soothing murmurs of the stream at the hill's base rose
 mingled with the faint rustling of the breeze, which at times, broken
 by the scream of the night-heron, the bellow of the bull-frog in
 his swamp home, the cynhyæna's whimper, and the fox's whining bark,
 sounded through the silence most musical, most melancholy. Instead of
 the cold night rain, and the soughing of the blast, the view disclosed
 a peaceful scene, the moonbeams lying like sheets of snow upon the
 ruddy highlands, and the stars hanging like lamps of gold from the
 dome of infinite blue. I never wearied with contemplating the scene,
 for, contrasting with the splendours around me, still stretched in
 sight the 'Slough of Despond,' unhappy Zungomero, lead-coloured above,
 mud-coloured below, wind-swept, fog-veiled, and deluged by clouds that
 dared not approach these Delectable Mountains.

 "All along our way we were saddened by the sight of clean-picked
 skeletons, and here and there the swollen corpses of porters who had
 perished in this place by starvation. A single large body which
 passed us but yesterday had lost fifty of their number by small-pox,
 and the sight of their deceased comrades made a terrible impression.
 Men staggering on, blinded by disease, mothers carrying on their
 backs infants as loathsome as themselves. The poor wretches would
 not leave the path, as every step in their state of failing strength
 was precious. He who once fell would never rise again. No village
 would admit a corpse into its precincts, no friend or relation would
 return for them, and they would lie till their agony was ended by
 the raven, the vulture, and the fox. Near every kraal were detached
 huts set apart for those seized with the fell disease. Several of our
 party caught the infection, and must have thrown themselves into some
 jungle, for when they were missed we came back to look and there was
 no sign of them. The further we went on, the more numerous were the
 corpses. Our Moslems passed them with averted faces, and with the low
 'La haul!' of disgust, and a decrepit old porter gazed and wept for
 himself. At the foot of the 'Goma Pass' we found the outlying huts for
 the small-pox, and an old kraal, where we made comfortable for the
 night. All around peeped the little beehive villages of the Wakaguru
 and the Wakwivi.

 "When we arrived at Rufuta I found that nearly all our instruments had
 been spoilt or broken, the barometer had come to grief, no aneroid
 had been sent from Bombay, and we had chiefly to get on with two
 bath thermometers. Zonhwe was the turning-point of the expedition's
 difficulties. The 17th of August, as we went on, the path fell
 easily westwards down a long grassy jungly incline, cut by several
 water-courses. At noon I lay down fainting in the sandy bed of the
 Muhama nullah, meaning the 'Palmetto' or 'Fan-palm,' and keeping
 Wazira and Mabruki with me, I begged Jack to go on, and send me back
 a hammock from the halting-place. The men, who were partly mutinous
 and deserting, suddenly came out well; they reappeared, led me to a
 place where stagnant water was found, and showed abundant penitence.
 At three o'clock, as Jack did not send the hammock, I remounted and
 passed through another 'Slough of Despond' like Zungomero, and found
 two little villages, and on a hillside my caravan halted, which had
 been attacked by a swarm of wild bees. At Muhama we halted three days,
 and forded the Makata, and pursuing our march next day, I witnessed
 a curious contrast in this strange African nature, which is ever in
 extremes, and where extremes ever meet, where grace and beauty are
 seldom seen without a sudden change to a hideous grotesqueness.

 [Sidenote: _From Lovely Scenery to Fœtid Marshes._]

 "A splendid view charmed me in the morning. Above lay a sky of purest
 azure, flaked with fleecy opal-tinted vapours floating high in the
 empyrean, and catching the first roseate smiles of the unrisen sun.
 Long lines, one bluer than the other, broken by castellated crags and
 towers of the most picturesque form, girdled the far horizon; the
 nearer heights were of a purplish-brown, and snowy mists hung like
 glaciers about their folds. The plain was a park in autumn, burnt
 tawny by the sun or patched with a darker hue where the people were
 firing the grass--a party was at work merrily, as if preparing for an
 English harvest home--to start the animals, to promote the growth
 of a young crop, and, such is the popular belief, to attract rain.
 Calabashes, palmyras, tamarinds, and clumps of evergreen trees, were
 scattered over the scene, each stretching its lordly form over subject
 circlets of deep dew-fed verdure. Here the dove cooed loudly, and the
 guinea-fowl rang its wild cry, whilst the peewit chattered in the open
 stubble, and a little martin, the prettiest of its kind, contrasted by
 its nimble dartings along the ground, with the vulture wheeling slowly
 through the upper air. The most graceful of animals, the zebra and the
 antelope, browsed in the distance; now they stood to gaze upon the
 long line of porters, then, after leisurely pacing, with retrospective
 glances, in an opposite direction, they halted motionless for a
 moment, faced about once more to satiate curiosity, and lastly,
 terrified by their own fancy, they bounded in ricochets over the plain.

 "About noon the fair scene vanished as if by enchantment. We suddenly
 turned northwards into a tangled mass of tall fœtid reeds, rank
 jungle, and forest. One constantly feels, in malarious places,
 suddenly poisoned as if by miasma; a shudder runs through the frame
 and a cold perspiration, like a prelude for a fainting fit, breaks
 from the brow. We came upon the deserted--once flourishing--village
 of Wasagara, called Mbumi. The huts were torn and half burnt, the
 ground strewed with nets and drums, pestles and mortars, cots and
 fragments of rude furniture; the sacking seemed to be about ten days
 old. Two wretched villagers were lurking in the jungle, not daring to
 revisit the wreck of their own homes. The demon of Slavery reigns over
 a solitude of his own creation; can it be, that by some inexplicable
 law, where Nature has done her best for the happiness of Mankind, Man,
 doomed to misery, must work out his own unhappiness?

 [Sidenote: _Ants._]

 "Next day our path was slippery as mud, and man and beast were
 rendered wild by the cruel stings of a small red ant and a huge black
 pismire. They are large headed; they cannot spring, but show great
 quickness in fastening themselves to the foot or ankle as it brushes
 over them. The pismire is a horse-ant, about an inch in length, whose
 bulldog head and powerful mandibles enable it to destroy rats and
 mice, lizards and snakes; its bite burns like a pinch of a red-hot
 needle. When it sets to work, twisting itself round, it may be pulled
 in two without relaxing its hold. As the people stopped to drink they
 were seized by these dreadful creatures, and suddenly began to dance
 and shout like madmen, pulling off their clothes, and frantically
 snatching at their lower limbs. In the evening it was like a savage
 opera scene. One would recite his Korán, another pray; a third told
 funny stories; a fourth trolled out in a minor key lays of love and
 war that were familiar to me upon the Scindian hills. This was varied
 by slapping away the black mosquitoes, ridding ourselves of ants, and
 challenging small parties of savages who passed us from time to time
 with bows and arrows.

 "Now we also began to suffer severely from the tzetze fly, which is
 the true _Glossina morsitans_. It extended from Usagara westward as
 far as the Central Lakes. It has more persistency of purpose than
 an Egyptian fly; when beaten off, it will return half a dozen times
 to the charge. It cannot be killed except by a smart blow, and its
 long sharp proboscis draws blood through a canvas hammock. The sting
 is like an English horse-fly and leaves a lasting trace. This land
 is eminently fitted for breeding cattle and for agriculture, which,
 without animals, cannot be greatly extended. Why this plague should
 have been placed here, unless to exercise human ingenuity, I cannot
 imagine. Perhaps some day it will be exterminated by the introduction
 of some insectiferous bird, which will be the greatest benefactor that
 Central Africa ever knew. The brown ant has cellular hills of about
 three feet high, whereas in Somali-land they become dwarf ruins of
 round towers. When we reached Rumuma the climate was new to us, after
 the incessant rains of the Maritime Valley, and the fogs and mists
 of the Rufuta range; but it was in extremes--the thermometer under
 the influence of dewy gusts sank in the tent to 48° F., a killing
 temperature in these latitudes to half-naked and houseless men. During
 the day it showed 90° F.; the sun was fiery, and a furious south wind
 coursed through skies purer and bluer than I had ever seen in Greece
 or Italy.

 "When we were ill our followers often mutinied, and would do nothing,
 but stole and lost our goods, and would not work. Sometimes, though
 they carried the water, they would refuse us any. Jack was as ill
 as I was. We reached Rubeho, the third and westernmost range of the
 Usagára Mountains, and here we were welcomed with joy, and given milk
 and butter and honey, a real treat. Here we were in danger of being
 attacked by the Wahúmba. Next day a Caravan arrived, under the command
 of four Arab merchants, of which Isa bin Hijji was most kind, and did
 us good service. I was always at home when I got amongst Arabs. They
 always treat me practically as one of themselves. They gave us useful
 information for crossing the Rubeho range, and superintended our
 arrangements. When they went away I charged them not to spread reports
 of our illness. I saw them depart with regret. It had really been a
 relief to hear once more the voice of civility and sympathy.

 [Sidenote: _The War-cry of the Wahúmba._]

 "Our greatest labour was before us. Trembling with ague, with swimming
 heads, ears deafened by weakness, and limbs that would hardly support
 us, we contemplated with dogged despair the perpendicular scramble
 over the mountains and the ladders of root and boulder, up which we
 and our starving, drooping asses had to climb. Jack was so weak that
 he had three supporters; I, having stronger nerves, managed with one.
 We passed wall-like sheets of rock, long steeps of loose white soil
 and rolling stones. Every now and then we were compelled to lie down
 by cough and thirst and fatigue; and when so compelled, fires suddenly
 appeared on the neighbouring hills. The War-cry rang loud from hill
 to hill, and Indian files of archers and spearmen, streaming like
 lines of black ants, appeared in all directions down the paths. It
 was the Wahúmba, who, waiting for the Caravans to depart, were going
 down to fall fiercely on the scattered villages in the lowlands, kill
 the people, and to drive off the cattle, and plunder the villages of
 Inengé. Our followers prepared to desert us, but, strange to say, the
 Wahúmba did not touch us. By resting every few yards, and clinging to
 our supporters, we reached the summit of this terrible path after six
 hours, and we sat down amongst aromatic flowers and bright shrubs,
 to recover strength and breath. Jack was almost in a state of coma,
 and could hardly answer. The view disclosed a retrospect of severe
 hardships past and gone.

 "We eventually arrived, after more walking, at a place called the
 Great Rubeho, where several settlements appeared, and where poor Jack
 was seized with a fever fit and dangerous delirium; he became so
 violent that I had to remove his weapons, and, to judge from certain
 symptoms, the attack had a permanent cerebral effect. Death appeared
 stamped upon his features, and yet our followers clamoured to advance,
 _because it was cold_. This lasted two nights, when he was restored
 and came to himself, and proposed to advance. I had a hammock rigged
 up for him, and the whole Caravan broke ground. We went on ascending
 till we reached the top of the third and westernmost range of the
 Usagára Mountains, raised 5700 feet above sea level, and we begin to
 traverse Ugogi, which is the halfway district between the Coast and
 Unyanyembe, and stands 2760 feet above sea level, and the climate of
 Ugogi pleases by its elasticity and its dry healthy warmth.

 [Sidenote: _Evil Reports._]

 "The African traveller's fitness for the task of Exploration depends
 more upon his faculty of chafing under delays and kicking against the
 pricks than upon his power of displaying the patience of a Griselda
 or a Job. Another Caravan of coast Arabs arrived. They brought news
 from the sea-board, and, wondrous good fortune, the portmanteau
 containing books, which a porter, profiting by the confusion when they
 were attacked by bees, had deposited in the long grass at the place
 where I directed the slaves to look for it. Some half-caste Arabs had
 gone forward and spread evil reports of us. They said we had each
 one eye and four arms; we were full of magic; we caused rain to fall
 in advance, and left droughts in our rear; we cooked water-melons,
 and threw away the seeds, thus generating small-pox; we heated and
 hardened milk, thus breeding a murrain amongst cattle; our wire,
 cloth, and beads caused a variety of misfortunes; we were Kings of the
 Sea, and therefore white-skinned and straight-haired, as are all men
 who live in salt water, and next year we would seize their land.

 [Sidenote: _Game._]

 "As far as _our_ followers were concerned, there was not a soul to
 stand by Jack and me except ourselves. Had anything happened we must
 have perished. We should have been as safe with six as with sixty
 guns, but six hundred stout fellows, well armed, might march through
 the length and breadth of Central Africa." (Richard said when the
 Government sent Gordon to Khartoum they failed because they sent him
 _alone_. Had they sent him with five hundred soldiers there would
 have been no war.) "And now a word to sportsmen in this part of
 Africa. Let no future travellers make my mistake. I expected great
 things without realizing a single hope. In the more populous parts
 the woodman's axe and the hunter's arrows have melted away game. Even
 where large tracks of jungle abound with water and forage, the notes
 of a bird rarely strike the ear, and during the day's march not a
 single large animal will be seen. In places such as the park-lands
 of Dut'húmi, the jungles and forests of Ugogi and Mgunda Mk'hali,
 the barrens of Usukuma, and the tangled thickets of Ujiji, there is
 abundance of noble game--lions, leopards, elephants, rhinoceroses,
 wild cattle, giraffes, gnus, zebras, quaggas, and ostriches; but the
 regions are so dangerous that a sportsman cannot linger. There is
 miasma, malaria, want of food, rarely water, no camels, and every
 porter would desert, whilst the extraordinary expense of provision and
 of carriage would be the work of a very rich man. As for us, we could
 only shoot on halting days at rare periods, and there is nothing left
 but the hippopotamus and the crocodile of the seacoast.

 [Sidenote: _Vermin._]

 "On the 8th of October we fell in with a homeward-bound Caravan headed
 by Abdullah bin Nasib, who was very, very kind to us. He kindly halted
 a day that we might send home a mail, and gave me one of his riding
 animals, and would take nothing for it except a little medicine. We
 left K'hok'ho, a foul strip of crowded jungle, where we were stung
 throughout the fiery day by the tzetze fly, swarms of bees, and
 pertinacious gadflies, where an army of large poisonous ants drove us
 out of the tent by the wounds which they inflicted between the fingers
 and other tender parts of the body, till kettles of boiling water
 persuaded them to abandon us. These ant-fiends made the thin-skinned
 asses mad with torture. In this ill-omened spot my ass Seringe, the
 sole survivor of the riding animals brought from Zanzibar, was so
 torn by a hyæna that it died of its wounds, and fifteen of my porters
 deserted, so that I thought that it was no use continuing my weary
 efforts and anxiety about baggage.

 [Sidenote: _A Hard Jungle March._]

 "I gave Jack my good donkey, because he was worse than I was, and I
 took one of the poor ones, and found that I must either walk or leave
 valuable things behind. Trembling with weakness, I set out to march
 the length of the Mdáburu jungle. The memory of that march is not
 pleasant. The burning sun and the fiery reflected heat arising from
 the parched ground--here a rough, thorny, and waterless jungle, where
 the jessamine flowered and the frankincense was used for fuel; there a
 grassy plain of black and sun-cracked earth--compelled me to lie down
 every half-hour. The water-gourds were soon drained by my attendant
 Beloch; and the sons of Ramji, who, after reaching the resting-place,
 had returned with ample stores for their comrades, hid their vessels
 on my approach. Sarmalla, a donkey-driver, the model of a surly negro,
 whose crumpled brow, tightened eyes, and thick lips, which shot out
 on the least occasion of excitement, showed what was going on within
 his head, openly refused me the use of his gourd, and--thirst is even
 less to be trifled with than hunger--found ample reason to repent
 himself of the proceeding. Near the end of the jungle I came upon a
 party of the Beloch, who, having seized upon a porter belonging to a
 large Caravan of Wanyamwezi that had passed us on that march, were
 persuading him, half by promises and half by threats, to carry their
 sleeping mats and their empty gourds.

 "Towards the end of that long march I saw with pleasure the kindly
 face of Seedy Bombay, who was returning to me in hot haste, leading
 an ass and carrying a few scones and hard-boiled eggs. Mounting, I
 resumed my way, and presently arrived at the confines of Mdáburu,
 where, under a huge calabash, stood our tent, amidst a kraal of grass
 boothies, surrounded by a heaped-up ridge of thorns.

 "We left Ugogi and pursued our way to 'Mgunda Mk'hali,' a very wild
 part, and at last got to Jiwella Mkoa, the halfway house. We were
 cheered by the sight of the red fires glaring in the kraal, but Jack's
 ass, perhaps frightened by some wild beast which we did not see,
 reared high in the air, bucked like a deer, broke his girths, and
 threw Jack, who was sick and weak, heavily upon the hard earth. Our
 people had become so selfish that they always attended to themselves
 first, and Said bin Salim, the leader, actually refused to give us a
 piece of canvas to make a tent. Bombay made a memorable speech: 'If
 you are not ashamed of your Master, O Said, be at least ashamed of his
 servant,' which had such an effect that he sent the whole awning, and
 refused the half which I sent back to him.

 "The three Tribes of this part are the Wagogo (the Wamasai), the
 Wahúmba, and the Wakwafi, who are remarkable for their strength and
 intelligence, and for their obstinate and untamable characters. They
 only sell their fellow tribesmen when convicted of magic, or from
 absolute distress, and many of them would rather die under the stick
 than work. The Wagogo are thieves; they would rob during the day, are
 importunate beggars, and specify their long lists of wants without
 stint or shame. An Arab merchant once went out to the Wahúmba to buy
 asses. He set out from Tura in Eastern Unyamwezi, and traversing
 the country of the wild Watatúru, arrived on the eighth day at the
 frontier district, I'ramba, where there is a river which separates
 the tribes. He was received with civility, but none have ever since
 followed his example.

 "As we neared Unyanyembe the porters became more restive under their
 light loads, their dignity was hurt by shouldering a pack, and day
 after day, till I felt weary of life, they left their burdens upon the
 ground. At Rubuga I was visited by an Arab merchant, who explained
 something which had puzzled me. Whenever an advance beyond Unyanyembe
 was spoken of, Said bin Salim's countenance fell. The merchant asked
 me if I thought the Caravan was strong enough to bear the dangers of
 the road between that and Ujiji, and I replied that I did, but even
 if I did not, I should go on. The perpetual risk of loss, discourages
 the traveller in these lands. In a moment papers which have cost
 him months of toil may be scattered to the winds. Collectors should
 _never_ make them on the _march upwards_, but on their _leisurely
 return_. My field and sketch-books were entrusted to an Arab merchant
 who preceded me to Zanzibar. Jack sent down maps, papers, and
 instruments, and I my vocabularies, ephemeris, and drawing-books,
 which ran no danger, except from Hamerton's successor, who seemed
 careless.

 "The hundred and thirty-fourth day from leaving the coast, after
 marching over six hundred miles, we prepared to enter Kázeh. I was
 met by Arabs who gave me the Moslem salutation, and courteously
 accompanied me. I was to have gone to the _tembe_ kindly placed at my
 disposal by Isa bin Hijji and the Arabs met at Inengé, but by mistake
 we were taken to that of Musa Mzuri, an Indian merchant, for whom
 I bore an introductory letter, graciously given by H.H. the Sayyid
 Majjid of Zanzibar. Here I dismissed the porters, who separated to
 their homes. What a contrast between the open-handed hospitality
 and the hearty good will of this truly noble race (Arabs), and the
 niggardliness of the savage and selfish African! It was heart of
 flesh after heart of stone. They warehoused my goods, disposed of my
 extra stores, and made all arrangements for my down march on return.
 During two long halts at Kázeh, Snay bin Amir never failed to pass
 the evening with me, and, as he thoroughly knew the country all
 around, I derived immense information from his instructive and varied
 conversation.

 "Here were the times when Jack was at such a disadvantage from want
 of language; he could join in none of these things, and this made
 him, I think, a little sour, and partly why he wished to have an
 expedition of his own. Snay bin Amir was familiar with the language,
 the religion, the manners, and the ethnology of all the tribes. He
 was of a quixotic appearance, high featured, tall, gaunt, and large
 limbed. He was well read, had a wonderful memory, fine perceptions,
 and passing power of language. He was the stuff of which I could make
 a friend, brave as all his race, prudent, ready to perish for honour,
 and as honest as he was honourable. At Unyanyembe the merchants
 expect some delay, because the porters, whether hired at the coast or
 at Tanganyika, here disperse, and a fresh gang has to be collected.
 When Snay bin Amir and Musa Mzuri, the Indian, settled at Kázeh,
 it was only a desert; they built houses, sunk wells, and converted
 it into a populous place. The Arabs here live comfortably and even
 splendidly. The houses are single-storied, but large, substantial, and
 capable of defence. They have splendid gardens; they receive regular
 supplies of merchandise, comforts, and luxuries from the coast; they
 are surrounded by troops of concubines and slaves, whom they train to
 divers crafts and callings. The rich have riding asses from Zanzibar,
 and the poorest keep flocks and herds. When a stranger appears he
 receives _hishmat l'il gharib_, or 'the guest welcome.' He is provided
 with lodgings, and introduced by the host to the rest of the society
 at a general banquet. A drawback to their happiness is the failure of
 constitution. A man who escapes illness for a couple of months boasts,
 and, as in Egypt, no one enjoys robust health. The residents are very
 moderate in their appetites, and eat only light dishes that they may
 escape fever.

 [Sidenote: _Description of Caravans and Difficulties._]

 "From Unyanyembe there are twenty marches to Ujiji upon the
 Tanganyika, seldom accomplished under twenty-five days. The two
 greatest places are, first, Msene; the second is the Malagarázi
 river; but now I bade adieu for a time to the march, the camp, and
 the bivouac, and was comfortably housed close to my new friend,
 Shakyh Snay bin Amir. You are all familiar with the Arab Kafilah
 and its hosts of litters, horses, camels, mules, and asses; but the
 porter-journeys in East Africa have, till this year of my arrival,
 escaped the penman's pen. There are three kind of Caravans. These are
 the Wanyamwezi, the Wasawahili free men, and lastly that of the Arabs.
 That of the Arabs is splendid, and next to the Persian, he is the most
 luxurious traveller in the East. A veteran of the way, he knows the
 effects of protracted hardship and scarcity upon a wayfarer's health;
 but the European traveller does not enjoy it, because it marches by
 instinct rather than reason. It dawdles, it hurries, it lingers,
 losing time twice. It is fatal to observation, and nothing will induce
 them to enable an Explorer to strike into an unbeaten path, or to
 progress a few miles out of the main road. Malignant epidemics attack
 Caravans, and make you repent joining them. For the rest, the porters,
 one and all, want to eat, drink, sleep, carry the lightest load or
 none at all; for the slightest service they want double pay; they lose
 your mules and your baggage; they steal what they can; they desert
 when they can; they run away when there is the slightest danger. When
 it is safe, they are mutinous and insolent, because you are dependent
 on them. If you come to a comfortable place, you cannot dislodge them;
 if you come to a dangerous place, they will not give the necessary
 time for food or sleep, or resting the animals. Everything is done to
 get as much out of you as possible, to do as little as they can for
 it; gain and self are almost their only thoughts. Bombay proved more
 or less an exception. During our journey from start to finish, there
 was not one, from Said bin Salim, the leader, to the very porter,
 except Bombay and the two Goanese Catholics, who did not attempt to
 desert.

 "About five p.m. the camp was fairly roused, and a little low chatting
 commences. The porters overnight have promised to start early, and
 to make a long wholesome march; but, 'uncertain, coy, and hard to
 please,' the cold morning makes them unlike the men of the warm
 evening, and so one of them will have fever. In every Caravan there is
 some lazy lout and unmanageable fellow whose sole delight is to give
 trouble. If no march be in prospect, they sit obstinately before the
 fire, warming their hands and feet, and casting quizzical looks at
 their fuming and fidgety employer. If all be unanimous it is vain to
 tempt them; even soft sawder is but 'throwing comfits to cows,' and we
 return to our tent. If, however, there be a division, a little active
 stimulating will cause a march. They hug the fire till driven from it,
 when they unstack the loads piled before our tents and pour out of
 camp or village. Jack and I, when able, mount our asses; we walk when
 we can, but when unable for either we are borne in hammocks. The heat
 of the ground, against which the horniest sole never becomes proof,
 tries the feet like polished leather boots on a quarter-deck in the
 dog-days near the Line. Sometimes, when in good humour, they are very
 sportive. When two bodies meet, that commanded by an Arab claims the
 road. When friendly caravans meet, the two _kirangozis_ sidle up with
 a stage pace, a stride and a stand, and, with sidelong looks, prance
 till they arrive within distance; then suddenly and simultaneously
 'ducking,' like boys 'giving a back,' they come to loggerheads and
 exchange a butt violently as fighting rams. Their example is followed
 by all with a rush and a crush, which might be mistaken for the
 beginning of a fight; but it ends, if there be no bad blood, in shouts
 of laughter.

 "When a Unyamwezi guide is leader of a Caravan the _kirangozi_
 deliberately raises his plain blood-red flag, and they all follow him.
 If any man dares to go before him, or into any but his own place, an
 arrow is extracted from his quiver to substantiate his identity at the
 end of the march.

 "The Wamrima willingly admit strangers into their villages, and the
 Wazaramo would do the same, but they are constantly at feud with the
 Wanyamwezi, and therefore it is dangerous hospitality. My Goanese
 boys, being 'Christians,' that is to say, Roman Catholics, consider
 themselves semi-European, and they will not feed with the heathenry,
 so there are four different messes in the Camp. The dance generally
 assumes, as the excitement increases, the frantic semblance of a ring
 of Egyptian dervishes. The performance often closes with a grand
 promenade, all the dancers being jammed in a rushing mass, a _galop
 infernale_, with features of satyrs, and gestures resembling aught
 but human. Sometimes they compose songs in honour of me. I understand
 them, and the singers know that I do. They sing about the Muzungú
 Mbáya, 'the wicked white man;' to have called me a '_good_ white man'
 would mean that one was a natural, an innocent, who would be plucked
 and flayed without flinching; moreover, despite my wickedness, it
 was always to _me_ that they came for justice and redress if any one
 bullied or ill-treated them.

 "The Caravan scene at night is often very impressive. The dull red
 fires flickering and forming a circle of ruddy light in the depths of
 the black forest, flaming against the tall trunks, and defining the
 foliage of the nearer trees, illuminate lurid groups of savage men,
 in every variety of shape and posture. Above, the dark purple sky,
 studded with golden points, domes the earth with bounds narrowed by
 the gloom of night. And, behold, in the western horizon, a resplendent
 crescent, with a dim, ash-coloured globe in its arms, and crowned by
 Hesperus, sparkling, like a diamond, sinks through the vast space in
 all the glory and gorgeousness of Eternal Nature's sublimest works.
 From such a night, methinks, the Byzantine man took his device, the
 crescent and the star.

 [Sidenote: _Reptiles._]

 "At Kázeh, as in Ugogi and everywhere else, the lodgings are a
 menagerie of hens, pigeons, rats, scorpions, earwigs (the scorpions
 are spiteful), and in Ugogi there is a green scorpion from four to
 five inches long, which inflicts a torturing wound. Here they say that
 it dies after inflicting five consecutive stings, and kills itself if
 a bit of stick be applied to the middle of its back. House crickets
 and cockroaches are plentiful, as well as lizards, and frightful
 spiders weave their webs. One does not count ticks, flies of sorts,
 bugs, fleas, mosquitoes, and small ants, and the fatal bug of Miana,
 which vary in size, after suction, from almost invisible dimensions
 to three-quarters of an inch. The bite does not poison, but the
 irritation causes sad consequences. Huts have to be sprinkled with
 boiling water to do away with some of these nuisances.

 [Sidenote: _Ill and attended by a Witch._]

 "It is customary for Caravans proceeding to the Tanganyika to remain
 for six weeks or two months at Unyanyembe for repose and recovery
 from the labours they are supposed to have endured, to enjoy the
 pleasures of 'civilized society,' to accept the hospitality offered
 by the Arabs. All our party, except Jack and I, considered Unyanyembi
 the end of the exploration, but to us it merely meant a second point
 of departure easier than the first, because we had gained experience.
 We had, however, a cause of delay. Jack had become strong, but all
 the rest got ill. Valentine, my Goanese boy, was insensible for three
 days and nights from bilious fever, and when he recovered Gaetano got
 it and was unconscious. Then followed the bull-headed slave, Mabruki,
 and lastly Bombay, while the rest of the following, who had led a very
 irregular life, began to pay the penalty of excess. They brought us
 a _mganga_, or witch, who doctored us. However, we got distressing
 weakness, liver derangement, burning palms, tingling soles, aching
 eyes, and alternate chills of heat and cold, and we delayed till the
 1st of December, during which we learnt a lot of necessary things.

 "My good Snay bin Amir sent into the country for plantains and
 tamarinds, and brewed a quantity of beer and plantain wine. He lent me
 valuable assistance concerning the country and language, and we were
 able, through him, to learn all about the Nyanza or Northern Lake,
 and the maps forwarded from Kázeh to the Royal Geographical Society
 will establish this fact, as they were subsequently determined, after
 actual exploration, by Jack. Snay bin Amir took charge of all the
 letters and papers for home, and his energy enabled me afterwards to
 receive the much-needed reserve of supplies in the nick of time.

 "On the 15th we went on to Yombo, where I remarked three beauties who
 would be deemed beautiful in any part of the world. Their faces were
 purely Grecian, they had laughing eyes, their figures were models for
 an artist, like the bending statue that delights the world, cast in
 bronze. These beautiful domestic animals smiled graciously when, in my
 best Kinyamwezi, I did my _devoir_ to the sex, and a little tobacco
 always secured for me a seat in the 'undress circle.'

 "On the 22nd of December Jack came back, and we left on the 23rd of
 December, and marched to the district of Eastern Wilyankuru; and there
 we again separated, and I went on alone to Muinyi Chandi, and my
 people were very troublesome. Said bin Salim, believing that my days
 were numbered, passed me on the last march without a word. The sun was
 hot, and he and his party were hastening to shade, and left me with
 only two men to carry the hammock in a dangerous jungle, where shortly
 afterwards an Arab merchant was murdered. On Christmas Day I mounted
 my ass, passed through the western third of the Wilyankuru district,
 and was hospitably received by one Salim bin Said, surnamed Simba the
 Lion, who received me with the greatest hospitality. He was a large,
 middle-aged man, with simple and kindly manners, and an honesty of
 looks and words which rendered his presence extremely prepossessing.

 "The favourite dish in this country is the _pillaw_, or _pilaf_, here
 called _pulao_; and here I want to digress. For the past century,
 which concluded with reducing India to the rank of a British province,
 the proud invader has eaten her rice after a fashion which has secured
 for him the contempt of the East. He deliberately boils it, and after
 drawing off the nutritious starch, or gluten, called _conjee_, which
 forms the perquisite of the Portuguese or his pariah cook, he is fain
 to fill himself with that which has become little more nutritious
 than the prodigal's husks. Great, indeed, is the invader's ignorance
 upon that point. Peace be to the manes of Lord Macaulay, but listen
 to and wonder at his eloquent words: 'The Sepoys came to Clive, not
 to complain of their scanty fare, but to propose that all the grain
 should be given to the Europeans, who required more nourishment than
 the natives of Asia. The thin gruel, they said, which was strained
 away from the rice, would suffice for themselves. History contains no
 more touching instance of military fidelity, or of the influence of a
 commanding mind.' Indians never fail to drink the _conjee_. The Arab,
 on the other hand, mingles with his rice a sufficiency of _ghee_ to
 prevent the extraction of the 'thin gruel,' and thus makes the grain
 as palatable and as nutritious as Nature intended it to be--and dotted
 over with morsels of fowl, so boiled that they shredded like yarn
 under the teeth.

 "Shaykh Masud boasted of his intimacy with the Sultan Msimbira, whose
 subjects had plundered our portmanteau, and offered, on return to
 Unyanyambe, his personal services in ransoming it. I accepted with
 joy, but it afterwards proved that he nearly left his skin in the
 undertaking. The climate of Kíríra, where I arrived on the 27th of
 December, is called by the Arabs a medicine, and I spent a delicious
 night in the cool Barzah after the unhealthy air of Kázeh. Three
 marches more brought me to Msene, where I was led to the _tembe_ of
 one Saadullah, a low-caste Msawahili, and there I found Jack, looking
 very poorly. We were received with great pomp and circumstance; the
 noise was terrific, and Gaetano, Jack's boy, was so excited by the
 scene that he fell down in an epileptic fit, which fits returned
 repeatedly.

 "On the 10th of January we left, and arrived at Mb'hali, and passed
 through dense jungle, and eventually came to Sorora and Kajjanjeri,
 and here we were freshly ill from miasma. About three in the afternoon
 I was forced to lay aside my writing by an unusual sensation of
 nervous irritability, which was followed by a general shudder as
 in the cold paroxysm of fevers. Presently my extremities began to
 weigh, and began to burn as though exposed to a glowing fire, and my
 jack-boots became too tight and heavy to wear. At sunset the attack
 reached its height. I saw yawning wide to receive me--

    'Those dark gates across the wild
    That no man knows.'

 My body was palsied, powerless, motionless; the limbs appeared to
 wither and die; the feet had lost all sensation, except a throbbing
 and a tingling as if pricked by needle points, the arms refused to
 be directed by will, and to the hands the touch of cloth and stone
 was the same. Gradually the attack spread upwards till it seemed to
 compress my ribs, and stopped short there. This at a distance of
 two months of any medical aid, and with the principal labour of the
 expedition still in prospect! If one of us was lost, I said to myself,
 the other might survive to carry home the results of the exploration,
 which I had undertaken with the resolve either to do or die. I had
 done my best, and now nothing appeared to remain for me but to die as
 well.

 [Sidenote: _Partial Paralysis. Blindness. Elephants._]

 "It was partial paralysis, brought on by malaria, well known in India.
 I tried the usual remedies without effect, and the duration of the
 attack presently revealed what it was. The contraction of the muscles,
 which were tightened like ligatures above and below the knees, and
 those λύταγούνατα [Greek: lytagounata], a pathological symptom
 which the old Greek loves to specify, prevented me from walking to
 any distance for nearly a year; the numbness of the hands and feet
 disappeared more slowly, but the _Fundi_ predicted that I should be
 able to move in ten days, and on the 10th I again mounted my ass. At
 Usagozi, Jack, whose blood had been impoverished, and whose system had
 been reduced by many fevers, now began to suffer from inflammation of
 the eyes, which produced an almost total blindness, rendering every
 object enclouded by a misty veil. Goanese Valentine suffered the
 same on the same day, and subsequently, at Ujiji, was tormented by
 inflammatory ophthalmia. I suffered in a minor degree. On the 3rd of
 February we debouched from a jungle upon the river plain; the swift
 brown stream, there fifty yards broad, was swirling through the tall
 wet grasses of its banks on our right hand, hard by our track. Upon
 the off-side, a herd of elephants in Indian file broke through the
 reed fence in front of them.

 [Sidenote: _The Crossing of the Great River Malagarázi._]

 "The Malagarázi, corrupted by speculative geographers to
 Mdjigidgi--the uneuphonious terminology of the 'Mombas Mission
 Map'--to 'Magrassie,' and to 'Magozi,' has been wrongly represented
 to issue from the Sea of Ujiji. According to all travellers in these
 regions, it rises in the mountains of Urundi, at no great distance
 from the Kitangure, or river of Karagwah; but whilst the latter,
 springing from the upper counterslope, feeds the Nyanza, or Northern
 Lake, the Malagarázi, rising in the lower slope of the equatorial
 range, trends to the south-east, till it becomes entangled in the
 decline of the Great Central African Depression--the hydrographical
 basin first indicated in his address of 1852 by Sir Roderick I.
 Murchison, president of the Royal Geographical Society of London.[2]
 Thence it sweeps round the southern base of Urundi, and, deflected
 westwards, it disembogues itself into the Tanganyika. Its mouth
 is in the land of Ukaranga, and the long promontory behind which
 it discharges its waters is distinctly visible from Kawele, the
 head-quarters of Caravans in Ujiji. The Malagarázi is not navigable;
 as in primary and transition countries generally, the bed is broken
 by rapids. Beyond the ferry the slope becomes more pronounced, branch
 and channel islets of sand and verdure divide the stream, and as every
 village near the banks appears to possess one or more canoes, it is
 probably unfordable. The main obstacle to crossing it on foot, over
 the broken and shallower parts near the rock-bars, would be the number
 and the daring of the crocodiles.

 "The _mukunguru_ of Unyamwezi is the severest seasoning-fever in this
 part of Africa; it is a bilious-remittent lasting three days, which
 reduces the patient to nothing, and often followed by a long attack of
 tertian type. The consequences are severe and lasting, even in men of
 the strongest nervous diathesis; burning and painful eyes, hot palms
 and soles, a recurrence of shivering and flushing fits, extremities
 alternately icy cold, then painfully hot and swollen, indigestion,
 sleeplessness, cutaneous eruptions, fever sores, languor, dejection,
 all resulting from torpidity of liver, from inordinate secretion of
 bile, and shows the poison in the system. Sometimes the fever works
 speedily; some become at once delirious, and die on the first or
 second day.

 "From Tura to Unyamwezi the Caravans make seven marches of sixty
 geographical miles. The races requiring notice in this region are
 two--Wakimbu and the Wanyamwezi."

[1] Some of these things disappeared in a very singular manner, and
one was very curiously fated. It was missed here, and came home to me
in six years. Later on, in 1863, it again disappeared for six years.
It was stolen at Fernando Po in 1863; it was marked by somebody on a
bit of parchment, "Burton's Original Manuscript Diary, Africa, 1857."
Colonel Maude, the Queen's Equerry, saw it outside an old book-shop,
was attracted by the label on the Letts's Diary. He bought it for a few
shillings, called on Lord Derby, and left it in the hall, forgetting
it. Lord Derby, coming down, saw the book, recognized my handwriting,
wrote to Colonel Maude for permission to restore the private diary to
its rightful owner. We happened to be in town. He kindly called and
gave it back to us, so that journal twice disappeared for six years,
but had to come home. Who shall say there is no destiny in this?

[2] "The following notice concerning a discovery which must ever be
remembered as a triumph of geological hypothesis, was kindly forwarded
to me by the discoverer:--

"'My speculations as to the whole African interior being a vast watery
plateau-land of some elevation above the sea, but subtended on the east
and west by much higher grounds, were based on the following data:--

"'The discovery in the central portion of the Cape Colony, by Mr. Bain,
of fossil remains in a lacustrine deposit of Secondary age, and the
well-known existence on the coast of loftier mountains known to be of
a Palæozoic or Primary epoch, and circling round the younger deposits,
being followed by the exploration of the Ngami Lake, justified me in
believing that Africa had been raised from beneath the ocean at a
very early geological period; and that ever since that time the same
conditions had prevailed. I thence inferred that an interior network of
lakes and rivers would be found prolonged northwards from Lake Ngami,
though at that time no map was known to me showing the existence of
such central reservoirs. Looking to the west as to the east, I saw
no possibility of explaining how the great rivers could escape from
the central plateau-lands and enter the ocean except through deep
lateral gorges, formed at some ancient period of elevation, when the
lateral chains were subjected to transverse fractures. Knowing that
the Niger and the Zaire, or Congo, escaped by such gorges on the west,
I was confident that the same phenomenon must occur upon the eastern
coast, when properly examined. This hypothesis, as sketched out in
my 'Presidential Address' of 1852, was afterwards received by Dr.
Livingstone just as he was exploring the transverse gorges by which
the Zambesi escapes to the east, and the great traveller has publicly
expressed the surprise he then felt that his discovery should have been
thus previously suggested.'"




CHAPTER XIV.

OUR REWARD--SUCCESS.


 "At length we sight the Lake Tanganyika, or the 'Sea of Ujiji.' The
 route before us lay through a howling wilderness laid waste by the
 fierce Watuta. Mpete, on the right bank of the Malagarázi river, is
 very malarious, and the mosquitoes are dreadful. We bivouacked under
 a shady tree, within sight of the ferry. The passage of this river
 is considered dangerous on account of attacks of the tribes. At one
 place I could only obtain a few corn cobs, and I left the meat,
 with messages, for the rear. In the passages of the river our goods
 and chattels were thoroughly sopped. After a while, from a hillside
 we saw, long after noon, the other part of our Caravan, halted by
 fatigue, upon a slope beyond a weary swamp; a violent storm was
 brewing, and the sky was black, and we were anxious and sorry about
 them.

 "On the 13th February, after about an hour's march, I saw the _Fundi_
 running forward, and changing the direction of the Caravan, and I
 followed him to know _why_ he had taken this responsibility upon
 himself. We breasted a steep stony hill, sparsely clad with thorny
 trees, which killed Jack's riding ass. Our fagged beasts refused to
 proceed. 'What is that streak of light which lies below?' said I to
 Bombay. 'I am of opinion,' said Bombay, 'that that _is the_ water you
 are in search of.' I gazed in dismay; the remains of my blindness, the
 veil of trees, a broad ray of sunshine illuminating but one reach of
 the lake, had shrunk its fair proportions. I began to lament my folly
 in having risked life and lost health for so poor a prize, to curse
 Arab exaggeration, and to propose an immediate return to explore the
 Nyanza, or Northern Lake.

 [Sidenote: _Scenery._]

 "Advancing a few yards, the whole scene suddenly burst upon my view,
 filling me with admiration, wonder, and delight. Nothing I in sooth
 could be more picturesque than this first view of Tanganyika Lake, as
 it lay in the lap of the mountains, basking in the gorgeous tropical
 sunshine. There were precipitous hills, a narrow strip of emerald
 green, a ribbon of glistening yellow sand, sedgy rushes, cut by the
 breaking wavelets, an expanse of light, soft blue water foam thirty to
 thirty-five miles wide, sprinkled by crisp tiny crescents of snowy
 foam, with a background of high broken wall of steel-coloured mountain
 flecked and capped with pearly mist, sharply pencilled against the
 azure sky, yawning chasms of plum-colour falling towards dwarf hills,
 which apparently dip their feet in the wave. One could see villages,
 cultivated lands, fishermen's canoes on the water, and a profuse
 lavishness and magnificence of Nature and vegetation. The smiling
 shores of this vast crevasse appeared doubly beautiful to me after the
 silent and spectral mangrove-creeks on the East African sea-board, and
 the melancholy monotonous experience of desert and jungle scenery,
 tawny rock and sun-parched plain, or rank herbage and flats of black
 mire. Truly it was a revel for Soul and Sight! Forgetting toils,
 dangers, and the doubtfulness of return, I felt willing to endure
 double what I had endured; and all the party seemed to join with me in
 joy. Poor purblind Jack found nothing to grumble at, except the 'mist
 and glare before his eyes.' Said bin Salim looked exulting--_he_ had
 procured for me this pleasure; the monoculous _Jemadar_ grinned his
 congratulations, and even the surly Beloch made civil salaams.

 [Sidenote: _In an Arab Craft to Ujiji._]

 "As soon as we were bivouacked, I proceeded to get a solid-built Arab
 craft, capable of containing thirty or thirty-five men, belonging to
 an absent merchant. It was the second largest on the lake, and being
 too large for paddling, the crew rowed, and at eight next morning we
 began coasting along the eastern shore of the lake in a north-westerly
 direction, towards the Kawele district. The picturesque and varied
 forms of the mountains rising above and dipping into the lake were
 clad in purplish blue, set off by the rosy tints of the morning, and
 so we reached the great Ujiji. A few scattered huts in the humblest
 beehive shape represent the Port town. This fifth region includes
 the alluvial valley of the Malagarázi river, which subtends the
 lowest spires of the highlands of Karagwah, and Urundi, the western
 prolongation of the chain which has obtained, _probably_ from African
 tradition, the name of 'Lunar Mountains.'

 "At Ujiji terminates, after twelve stages, the transit of the fifth
 region. The traveller has now accomplished a hundred stages, which
 with necessary rests, but not including detentions and long halts,
 should occupy a hundred and fifty days. The distance, on account of
 the sinuosities of the road, numbers nine hundred and fifty statute
 miles, which occupied us seven and a half months on account of our
 disadvantages and illnesses. Arab Caravans seldom arrive at the
 Tanganyika, for the same reasons, under six months, but the lightly
 laden and the fortunate may get to Unyamyembe in two and a half, and
 to the Tanganyika in four months. It is evident that the African
 authorities (this was written thirty-five years ago) have hitherto
 confounded the Nyanza, the Tanganyika, and the Nyassa Lakes. Ujiji was
 first visited in 1840 by the Arabs, and after that they penetrated
 to Unyamwesi. They found it conveniently situated as a central point
 from whence their factors and slaves could navigate the waters, and
 collect slaves and ivory from the tribes upon its banks, but the
 climate proved unhealthy, the people dangerous, and the coasting
 voyages ended in disaster. Ujiji never rose to the rank of Unyamyembe,
 or Msene. Now, from May to September, flying Caravans touch here,
 and return to Unyamyembe so soon as they have loaded their porters.
 The principal tribes are the Wajiji, the Wavínza, the Wakaránga, the
 Watúta, the Wabuha, and the Wáhha; but the fiercest races in the whole
 land, and also the darkest, are the Wazarámo, the Wajíji, and the
 Watatúru. The Lakists are almost an amphibious race, are excellent
 divers, strong swimmers and fishermen, and vigorous eaters of fish,
 and in the water they indulge in gambols like sportive water-fowls,
 whether skimming in their hollow logs, or swimming.

 "It is a great mistake not to go as a Trader. It explains the
 Traveller's motives, which are always suspected to be bad ones. Thus
 the Explorer can push forward into unknown countries, will be civilly
 received and lightly fined, because the host expects to see him or his
 friends again: to go without any motive only induces suspicion, and
 he is opposed in every way. Nobody believes him to be so stupid as to
 go through such danger and discomfort for exploring or science, which
 they simply do not understand.

 "The cold damp climate, the over-rich and fat fish diet, and the
 abundance of vegetables, which made us commit excesses, at first
 disagreed with us. I lay for a fortnight upon the earth, too blind to
 read or write, too weak to ride, too ill to converse. Jack was almost
 as groggy upon his legs as I was, suffering from a painful ophthalmia,
 and a curious contortion of the face, which made him chew sideways,
 like an animal that chews the cud. Valentine was the same. Jack and
 Valentine were always ill of the same things, and on the same days,
 showing that certain climates affected certain temperaments and not
 others. Gaetano ate too much and brought on a fever. I was determined
 to explore the northern extremity of the lake, whence, every one said,
 issued a large river flowing northwards, so I tried to hire the only
 dhow or sailing craft, and provision it for a month's cruise, and at
 last Jack went to look after it, and I was twenty-seven days alone.

 "I spent my time chiefly in eating, drinking, smoking, dozing. At two
 or three in the morning I lay anxiously expecting the grey light to
 creep through the door-chinks; then came the cawing of crows, and the
 crowing of the village cocks. When the golden rays began to stream
 over the red earth, torpid Valentine brought me rice-flour boiled in
 water with cold milk. Then came the slavey with a leafy branch to
 sweep the floor and to slay the huge wasps. This done, he lit the
 fire, the excessive damp requiring it, and sitting over it, he bathed
 his face and hands--luxurious dog!--in the pungent smoke. Then came
 visits from Said bin Salim and the _Jemadar_ (our two headmen), who
 sat and stared at me, were disappointed to see no fresh symptoms of
 approaching dissolution, told me so with their eyes and faces, and
 went away; and I lay like a log upon my cot, smoking, _dreaming of
 things past, visioning things present,_ and indulging myself in a few
 lines of reading and writing.

 [Sidenote: _More Scenery._]

 "As evening approached, I made an attempt to sit under the broad
 eaves of the _tembe_, and to enjoy the delicious spectacle of this
 virgin Nature, and the reveries to which it gave birth--

    'A pleasing land of drowsihed it was,
       Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye,
    And of gay castles in the clouds that pass
       For ever flushing round a summer sky.'

 "It reminded me of the loveliest glimpses of the Mediterranean; there
 were the same 'laughing tides,' pellucid sheets of dark blue water,
 borrowing their tints from the vinous shores beyond; the same purple
 light of youth upon the cheek of the earlier evening; the same bright
 sunsets, with their radiant vistas of crimson and gold opening like
 the portals of a world beyond the skies; the same short-lived grace
 and loveliness of the twilight; and, as night closed over the earth,
 the same cool flood of transparent moonbeams, pouring on the tufty
 heights and bathing their sides with the whiteness of virgin snow.

 "At seven p.m., as the last flush faded from the occident, the lamp--a
 wick in a broken pot full of palm oil--was brought in. A dreary,
 dismal day you will exclaim, a day that--

      'lasts out a night in Russia,
    When nights are longest there.'

 [Sidenote: _After Twenty-seven Days Speke returns._]

 "On the 29th of March the rattling of matchlocks announced Jack's
 return. He was moist, mildewed, and wet to the bone, and all his
 things were in a similar state; his guns grained with rust, his
 fireproof powder-magazine full of rain, and, worse than that, he
 had not been able to gain anything but a promise that, _after three
 months,_ the dhow should be let to us for five hundred dollars. The
 very dhow that had been promised to me whenever I chose to send for
 it! The faces of my following were indeed a study.

 "I then set to work to help Jack with his diaries, which afterwards
 appeared in _Blackwood_, September, 1859, when I was immensely
 surprised to find, amongst many other things, a vast horseshoe of
 lofty mountains that Jack placed, in a map attached to the paper,
 near the very heart of Sir R. Murchison's Depression. I had seen the
 mountains growing upon paper under Jack's hand, from a thin ridge of
 hills fringing the Tanganyika until they grew to the size given in
 _Blackwood_, and Jack gravely printed in the largest capitals, 'This
 mountain range I consider to be the true Mountains of the Moon;' thus
 men _do_ geography, and thus discovery is stultified. The poor fellow
 had got a beetle in his ear, which began like a rabbit at a hole to
 dig violently at the tympanum, and maddened him. Neither tobacco,
 salt, nor oil could be found; he tried melted butter, and all failing,
 he applied the point of a penknife to its back, and wounded his ear
 so badly that inflammation set in and affected his facial glands,
 till he could not open his mouth, and had to feed on suction. Six or
 seven months after, the beetle came away in the wax. At last I got
 hold of Kannena the Chief, and after great difficulty and enormous
 extortion, I promised him a rich reward if he kept his word; for I
 was resolved at all costs, even if we were reduced to actual want, to
 visit the mysterious stream. I threw over his shoulders a six-foot
 length of scarlet broadcloth, which made him tremble with joy, and all
 the people concerned in my getting the dhow received a great deal more
 than its worth. I secured two large canoes and fifty-five men.

 "On the 11th of April, at four in the morning, I slept comfortably on
 the crest of a sand-wave, and under a mackintosh escaped the pitiless
 storm, so as to be ready to start lest they should repent, and at 7.20
 on the 12th of April, 1858, my canoe, bearing for the first time on
 those dark waters--

    'The flag that braved a thousand years
    The battle and the breeze,'

 stood out of Bangwe Bay, and, followed by Jack's canoe, we made for
 the cloudy and storm-vexed north. The best escort to a European
 capable of communicating with and commanding them, would be a small
 party of Arabs, fresh from Hazramaut, untaught in the ways and tongues
 of Africa. They would save money to the explorer, and also his life.
 There were great rejoicings at our arrival at Uvira, the _ne plus
 ultra_, the northernmost station to which merchants have as yet been
 admitted. Opposite still, rose in a high broken line the mountains
 of the inhospitable Urundi, apparently prolonged beyond the northern
 extremity of the waters. Some say the voyage is of two days, some say
 six hours; the breadth of the Tanganyika here is between seven and
 eight miles.

 "Now my hopes were rudely dashed to the ground. The stalwart sons
 of the Sultan Maruta, the noblest type of Negroid seen near the
 lake, visited me. They told me they had been there, and that the
 Rusizi enters _into_ and does not _flow out_ of the Tanganyika. I
 felt sick at heart. Bombay declared that Jack had misunderstood, and
 _his_ (Bombay's) informer _now_ owned that he had never been beyond
 Uvira, and never intended to do so. We stopped there nine days, and
 there I got such a severe ulceration of the tongue that I could not
 articulate. An African traveller may be arrested at the very bourne of
 his journey, on the very threshold of his success, by a single stage,
 as effectually as if all the waves of the Atlantic or the sands of
 Arabia lay between him and it. Now Maruta and his young giants claimed
 their blackmail, and also Kannena, and I had to pay up. Slaves are
 cheaper here than in the market of Ujiji. Gales began to threaten, and
 the crews, fearing wind and water, insisted on putting out to sea on
 the 6th of May.

 [Sidenote: _A Fight._]

 "We touched at various stages and anchored at Mzimu, our former
 halting-place, where the crew swarmed up a ladder of rock, and
 returned with pots of palm oil. We left again at sunset; the waves
 began to rise, the wind also, and rain in torrents, and it was a doubt
 whether the cockleshell craft could live through the short chopping
 sea in heavy weather. The crew was frightened, but held on gallantly,
 and Bombay, a noted Agnostic in fine weather, spent the length of that
 wild night in reminiscences of prayer. I sheltered myself under my
 then best friend, my mackintosh, and thought of the couplet--

    'This collied night, these horrid waves, these gusts that sweep the whirling deep;
    What reck they of our evil plight, who on the shore securely sleep?'

 Fortunately the rain beat down the wind and sea, or nothing could have
 saved us. The next morning Mabruki rushed into the tent, thrust my
 sword into my hands, said the Warundi were upon us, and that the crews
 were rushing to their boats and pushing them off. Knowing that they
 _would_ leave us stranded in case of danger, we hurried in without
 delay; but presently no enemy appeared, and Kannena, the Chief,
 persuaded them to re-land, and demand satisfaction of a drunken Chief
 who had badly wounded a man, and then there was a general firing and
 drawing of daggers. The crew immediately confiscated the three goats
 that were for our return, cut their throats, and spitted the meat upon
 their spears. Thus the lamb died and the wolf dined; the innocent
 suffered, the plunderer was joyed; the strong showed his strength,
 the weak his weakness--as usual. I saw the sufferer's wounds washed,
 forbade his friends to knead and wrench him as they were doing, and
 gave him a purgative which did him good. On the second day he was able
 to rise. This did not prevent the report at home that I had killed the
 man.

 "On the 11th of May we paddled round to Wafanya Bay, to Makimoni, a
 little grassy inlet, where our canoes were defended from the heavy
 surf. On the 12th we went to Kyasanga, and the next night we spent in
 Bangwe Bay. We were too proud to sneak home in the dark; we deserved
 the Victoria Cross, we were heroes, braves of braves; we wanted to be
 looked at by the fair, to be howled at by the valiant.

 [Sidenote: _Are received with Honour._]

 "On the 13th of May we appeared at the entrance of Kawele, and had a
 triumphal entrance; the people of the whole country-side collected
 to welcome us, and pressed waist-deep into the water. Jack and I
 were repeatedly 'called for,' but true merit is always modest; it
 aspires to 'Honour, not honours.'[1] We regained the old _tembe_,
 were salaamed to by everybody, and felt like a 'return home.' We had
 expended upwards of a month boating about the Tanganyika Lake. All the
 way down, we were like baited bears, mobbed every moment; they seemed
 to devour us; in an ecstasy of curiosity they shifted from Jack to
 me, and back again, like the well-known ass between the bundles of
 hay. Our health palpably improved. Jack was still deaf, but cured of
 his blindness; the ulcerated mouth, which had compelled me to live
 on milk for seventeen days, returned to its usual state, my strength
 increased, my feet were still swollen, but my hands lost their
 numbness, and I could again read and write. I attribute the change
 from the days and nights spent in the canoe, and upon the mud of the
 lake. Mind also acted upon matter; the object of my Mission was now
 effected, and I threw off the burden of grinding care, with which the
 imminent prospect of a failure had before sorely laden me."

Although Richard did not get the meed of success in England, and it
has taken the world thirty-four years to realize the grandeur of that
Exploration, he was the Pioneer (without money, without food, without
men or proper escort, without the bare necessaries of life, to dare
and do, in spite of every obstacle, and every crushing thing, bodily
and mentally) who opened up that country. It is to _him_ that later
followers, that Grant and Speke, and Baker and Stanley, Cameron, and
all the other men that have ever followed, owe it, that he opened the
oyster-shell for them, and they went in to take the pearl. I do not
want to detract from any other traveller's merits, for they are all
brave and great, but I _will_ say that if Richard Burton had had Mr.
Stanley's money, escort, luxuries, porterage, and white comrades,
backed by influence, there would not have been one single white spot
on the whole map of the great Continent of Africa that would not have
been filled up. Owing to shameful intrigues (which prospered none of
the doers, but injured him, the man who did all this), he got very few
words of praise, and that from a few, yet the World owes it to him
now that there are Missions and Schools and Churches, and Commerce,
and peaceful Settlements, and that anybody can go there. To _him_ you
owe "Tanganyika in a Bath-Chair;" but Speke got the cheering of the
gallery and the pit, and Stanley inherited them. And here I insert the
innocent joy-bells of his own heart, as I found them scribbled on the
edge of his private journal, and anybody thinking of what he had done
and what he had passed through, can warmly enter into his feelings of
self-gratulation, so modestly hidden--

    "I have built me a monument stronger than brass,
      And higher than the Pyramids' regal site;
    Nor the bitterness shown, nor the impotent wind,
      Nor the years' long line, nor the ages' flight
                              Shall e'en lay low!

    "Not _all_ shall I perish; much of _me_
      Shall vanquish the grave, and be living still,
    When Mr. Macaulay's Zealanders view
      The ivied ruin on Tower Hill,
                              And men shall know

    "That when Isis hung, in the youth of Time,
      Her veil mysterious over the land,
    And defied mankind and men's puny will,
      All that lay in the shadow, my daring hand
                              Was _first_ to show,

    "Then rejoice thee, superb in the triumph of mind,
    And the Delphian bay-leaf, O sweet Muse, bind
                              Around my brow!"


 [Sidenote: _A Caravan arrives._]

 "The rainy monsoon broke up after our return to Kawele. The
 climate became truly enjoyable, but it did not prevent the strange
 inexplicable melancholy which accompanies all travellers in tropical
 countries. Nature is beautiful in all that meets the eye; all is soft
 that affects the senses; but she is a syren whose pleasures pall,
 and one sighs for the rare simplicity of the desert. I never felt
 this sadness in Egypt and Arabia; I was never without it in India
 and Zanzibar. We got not one single word from the agents who were to
 forward our things, and Want began to stare us in the face. We had to
 engage porters for the hammocks, to feed seventy-five mouths, to fee
 several Sultans, and to incur the heavy expenses of two hundred and
 sixty miles' march back to Unyanyembe, so I had to supplement with my
 own little patrimony. One thousand pounds does not go very far, when
 it has to be divided amongst a couple of hundred greedy savages in two
 and a half years. On the 22nd of May musket-shots announced arrivals,
 and after a dead silence of eleven months arrived a Caravan with
 boxes, bales, porters, slaves, and a parcel of papers and letters from
 Europe, India, and Zanzibar. Here we first knew of the Indian Mutiny.
 This good fortune happened at a crisis when it was really wanted, but
 as my agent could find no porters for the packages, he had kept back
 some, and what he had sent me, were the worst. They would take us to
 Unyamyembe, but were wholly inadequate for exploring the southern
 end of the Tanganyika, far less for returning to Zanzibar, _viâ_ the
 Nyassa Lake and Kilwa, as I hoped to do.

 [Sidenote: _Geographical Remarks._]

 "At the time I write, the Tanganyika, though situated in the
 unexplored centre of intertropical Africa, and until 1858 unvisited by
 any European, has a traditionary history of its own, extending over
 three centuries. The Tanganyika, 250 miles in length, occupies the
 centre of the length of the African continent. The general formation
 suggests the idea of a volcanic depression, while the Nyanza is a vast
 reservoir formed by the drainage of the mountains. The lay is almost
 due north and south, and the form a long oval widening at the centre,
 and contracting at the extremities; the breadth varies from thirty
 to thirty-five miles, the circumference about 550 miles, and the
 superficial area covers about 5000 square miles. By the thermometers
 we had with us, the altitude was 850 feet above sea-level, and about
 2000 feet below the Nyanza or Northern Lake, with high hill ranges
 between the lakes, which precluded a possibility of a connection
 between the waters. The parallel of the northern extremity of the
 Tanganyika nearly corresponds with the southern creek of the Nyanza,
 and they are separated by an arc of the meridian of about three
 hundred and forty-three miles. The waters of the Nyanza are superior
 to those of Tanganyika. The Tanganyika has a clear soft blue, like
 the ultramarine of the Mediterranean, with the light and milky tints
 of tropical seas. I believe that the Tanganyika receives and absorbs
 the whole river system, the network of streams, nullahs, and torrents
 of that portion of the Central African Depression, whose watershed
 converges towards the great reservoir. I think that the Tanganyika,
 like the Dead Sea, _as_ a reservoir, supplies with humidity the winds
 which have parted with their moisture in the barren and arid regions
 of the south, and maintains its general level by the exact balance
 of supply and evaporation, and I think it possible that the saline
 particles deposited in its waters may be wanting in some constituent,
 which renders them evident to the taste; hence the freshness.

 "According to the Wajiji, from their country to the Marungú river,
 which enters the lake at the _south_, there are twelve stages,
 numbering one hundred and twenty stations, but at most of them
 provisions are not procurable, and there are sixteen tribes and
 districts. The people of Usige, _north_ of the Tanganyika, say that
 six rivers fall into the Tanganyika from the _east_, and _westernmost_
 is the Rusizi, and that it is an _influent_.

 "The Chief Kazembe is like a viceroy of the country lying south-west
 of the Tanganyika, and was first visited by Dr. Lacerda, Governor of
 the Rios de Sena, in 1798-99. He died, and his party remained nine
 months in the country, without recording the name and position of this
 African capital. A second expedition went in 1831, and the present
 Chief was the grandson of Dr. Lacerda's Kazembe. He is a very great
 personage in these parts, and many Arabs are said to be living with
 him in high esteem. Marungú, though dangerous, was visited by a party
 of Arab merchants in 1842, who assisted Sámá in an expedition against
 a rival. He compelled the merchants to remain with him; they had found
 means of sending letters to their friends, they are unable to leave
 the country, but they are living in high favour with the Kazembe
 who enriched them. Of course there are people who doubt their good
 fortune. I collect my details from a mass of Arab _oral_ geography.

 "The 26th of May, 1858, was the day appointed for our departure _en
 route_ for Unyamyembe. Kannena had been drunk for a fortnight, and was
 attacked by the Watuta, and fled. I heard of him no more. He showed
 no pity for the homeless stranger--may the World show none to him! I
 shall long remember my last sunrise look at Tanganyika, enhanced by
 the reflection that I might never again behold it. Masses of brown
 purple clouds covered the sunrise. The mists, luminously fringed with
 Tyrian purple, were cut by filmy rays, and the internal living fire
 shot forth broad beams like the spokes of a huge aërial wheel, rolling
 a flood of gold over the light blue waters of the lake, and a soft
 breeze, the breath of morn, awoke the waters into life.

 [Sidenote: _Troublesome Following._]

 "The followers were very tiresome, mutinous, and inconsequent in their
 anxiety to escape from Kannena and the fighting Watuta. So, desiring
 the headman to precede me with a headstrong gang to the first stage,
 and to send back men to carry my hammock and remove a few loose loads,
 I breakfasted, and waited alone till the afternoon in the empty and
 deserted _tembe_; but no one came back, and the utter misery depicted
 in the countenance of the Beloch induced me to mount my _manchil_,
 and to set out carried by only two men. As the shades of evening
 closed around us we reached the ferry of the Ruche river, and we
 found no camp. The mosquitoes were like wasps, and the hippopotamus
 bellowed, snorted, and grunted; the roars of the crocodiles made the
 party miserable, as the porters waded through water waist-deep, and
 crept across plains of mud, mire, and sea-ooze. As it was too dark
 and dangerous to continue the march, and that, had I permitted, they
 would have wandered through the outer gloom, without fixed purpose,
 till permanently bogged, I called a halt, and we snatched, under a
 resplendent moon and a dew that soaked through the blankets, a few
 hours of sleep. We were destitute of tobacco and food, and when the
 dawn broke, I awoke and found myself alone; they had all fled and left
 me. About two p.m., some of them came back to fetch me; but they were
 so impertinent, ordering me to endure the midday heat and labour,
 that I turned them out, and told them to send back their master,
 Said bin Salim, in the evening or the next morning. Accordingly, the
 next morning, the 28th of May, at nine o'clock, appeared Said, the
 _Jemadar_, and a full gang of bearers. He was impertinent too, but
 I soon silenced him, and then we advanced till evening: for having
 tricked me he lost two days. Later on, a porter placed his burden upon
 the ground and levanted, and being cognac and vinegar, it was deeply
 regretted. Then the Unyamwezi guide (because his newly purchased
 slave-girl had become footsore and was unable to advance) cut off
 her head, lest out of his evil should come good to another. The
 bull-headed Mabruki bought a little slave of six years old. He trotted
 manfully alongside the porters, bore his burden of hide bed and water
 gourd upon his tiny shoulders. At first Mabruki was like a girl with
 a new doll, but when the novelty wore off, the poor little devil was
 so savagely beaten that I had to take him under my own protection. All
 these disagreeables I was obliged to smooth down, because a traveller
 who cannot utilize the raw material that comes to his hand, will make
 but little progress. Their dread of the Wavinza increased as they
 again approached the Malagarázi ferry. Here there are magnificent
 spectacles of conflagration.

 [Sidenote: _Forest on Fire._]

 "A sheet of flame, beginning with the size of a spark, overspreads
 the hillside, advancing on the wings of the wind with the roaring
 rushing sound of many hosts where the grass lay thick, shooting huge
 forky tongues high into the dark air, where tall trees, the patriarchs
 of the forest, yielded their lives to the blast, smouldering and
 darkening, as if about to be quenched, where the rock afforded scanty
 fuel, then flickering, blazing up and soaring again till, topping the
 brow of the hill, the sheet became a thin line of fire, and gradually
 vanished from the view, leaving its reflection upon the canopy of
 lurid smoke studded with sparks and bits of live braise, which marked
 its descent on the other side of the buttress.

 "We were treated with cruel extortion at the crossing of the
 Malagarázi, but the armies of ants, and an earthquake at 11.15 a.m.
 on the 4th of June, which induced us to consent, was considered a bad
 omen by my party. They took seven hours to transport us, and at four
 p.m. we found ourselves, with hearts relieved of a heavy load, once
 more at Ugogi, on the left bank of the river. Fortunately I arrived
 just in time to prevent Jack from buying a little pig for which he was
 in treaty, otherwise we should have lost our good name amongst the
 Moslem population. On the 8th of June we emerged from the inhospitable
 Uvinza into neutral ground, where we were pronounced 'out of danger.'
 The next day, when in the meridian of Usagozi, we were admitted for
 the first time to the comforts of a village.

 "On the 17th of June, in spite of desertions, we came to Irora, the
 village of Salim bin Salih, who received us very hospitably. Here we
 saw the blue hills of Unyanyembe, our destination. Next day we got to
 Yombo, where we met some of our things coming up by the coast, sent
 by the Consul of France--the French do things smartly--and a second
 packet of letters. Every one had lost some friend or relation near and
 dear to him. My father had died on the 6th of last September, after a
 six weeks' illness, at Bath, and was buried on the 10th, and I only
 knew it on the 18th of June--the following year. Such tidings are
 severely felt by the wanderer who, living long behind the world, is
 unable to mark its gradual changes, lulls (by dwelling upon the past)
 apprehension into a belief that _his_ home has known no loss, and who
 expects again to meet each old familiar face ready to smile upon his
 return, as it was to weep at his departure.

 "We collected porters at Yombo, passed Zimbili, the village of our
 former miseries, and re-entered Kázeh, where we were warmly welcomed
 by our hospitable Snay bin Amir, who had prepared his house and
 everything grateful to starving travellers. Our return from Ujiji to
 Unyanyembe had been accomplished in twenty-two stations, two hundred
 and sixty-five miles. After a day's repose, all the Arab merchants
 called upon me, and I had the satisfaction of finding that my last
 order on Zanzibar for four hundred dollars' worth of cloth and beads
 had arrived, and I also recovered the lost table and chair which the
 slaves had abandoned.

 "During the first week following the march, we all paid the penalty of
 the toilsome trudge through a perilous jungly country in the deadly
 season of the year, when the waters are drying up under a fiery sun,
 and a violent _vent de bise_ from the east pours through the tepid air
 like cold water into a warm bath. I again got swelling and numbness of
 the extremities; Jack was a martyr to deafness and dimness of sight,
 which prevented him from reading, writing, and observing correctly;
 the Goanese were down with fever, severe rheumatism, and liver pains;
 Valentine got tertian type, and was so long insensible that I resolved
 to try the _tinctura Warburgii_. Oh, Doctor Warburg! true apothecary!
 we all owe you a humble tribute of gratitude; let no traveller be
 without you. The result was miraculous; the paroxysms did not return,
 the painful sickness at once ceased; from a death-like lethargy, sweet
 childish sleep again visited his aching eyes; chief boon of all, the
 corroding thirst gave way to appetite, followed by digestion. We all
 progressed towards convalescence, and in my case, stronger than any
 physical relief, was the moral effect of Success and the cessation of
 ghastly doubts and fears, and the terrible wear and tear of mind. I
 felt the proud consciousness of having done my best, under conditions,
 from beginning to end, the worst and most unpromising, and that
 whatever future evils Fate might have in store for me, it could not
 rob me of the meed won by the hardships and sufferings of the past.

 [Sidenote: _He sends Speke to find the Nyanza._]

 "I had not given up the project of returning to the seaboard _viâ_
 Kilwa. As has already been mentioned, the merchants had detailed to
 me, during my first halt here, their discovery of a large lake, lying
 about sixteen marches to the north; and, from their descriptions
 and bearings, Jack laid down the water in a hand-map, and forwarded
 it to the Royal Geographical Society. All agreed in claiming for it
 superiority of size over the Tanganyika, and I saw that, if we could
 prove this, much would be cleared up. Jack was in a much fitter state
 of health to go. There was no need for two of us going, and I was
 afraid to leave him behind at Kázeh. It is very difficult to associate
 with Arabs as one of themselves. Jack was an Anglo-Indian, without
 any knowledge of Eastern manners and customs and religion, and of
 any Oriental language beyond broken Hindostanee. Now, Anglo-Indians,
 as everybody knows, often take offence without reason; they expect
 civility as their _due_, they treat all skins a shade darker than
 their own as 'niggers,' and Arabs are, or can be, the most courteous
 gentlemen, and exceedingly punctilious.[2]

 "Jack did not afterwards represent this fairly in _Blackwood_,
 October, 1859. He said I 'was most unfortunately quite done up, and
 most graciously consented to wait with the Arabs and recruit my
 health;' but in July, 1858, _writing on the spot_, he wrote, 'To
 diminish the disappointment caused by the shortcoming of our cloth,
 and in not seeing the whole of the Sea of Ujiji, I have proposed
 to take a flying trip to the unknown lake, while Captain Burton
 prepares for our return homewards.' Said bin Salim did all he could
 to thwart the project, and Jack threatened him with the _forfeiture
 of his reward_ after he returned to Zanzibar. Indeed, he told him _it
 was already forfeited_. He said 'he should certainly recommend the
 Government _not to pay the gratuity, which the Consul had promised on
 condition that he worked entirely for our satisfaction, in assisting
 the expedition to carry out the arranged plans._' How Jack reconciled
 himself to misrepresent my conduct about the payment on reaching home,
 will never be understood.

 "Our followers were to receive _certain_ pay in _any case_, which they
 _did_ receive, and a reward in _case they behaved well_; our asses,
 thirty-six in number, all died or were lost; our porters ran away; our
 goods were left behind and stolen; specimens of the fine poultry of
 Unyamwezi, intended to be naturalized in England, were bumped to death
 in the cases; our black escort were so unmanageable as to require
 dismissal; the weakness of our party invited attacks, and our wretched
 Beloch deserted us in the jungle, and throughout were the cause of an
 infinity of trouble. Jack agreed with me thoroughly, that it would be
 an _act of weakness_ to pay the _reward_ of _ill-conduct_; instead of
 putting it down to generosity, they would have put it down to fear,
 and they would have played the devil with every future traveller; yet
 he used this afterwards as a means to procure the Command of the next
 Expedition for himself, and pointed it at me as a disgrace.

 "By dint of severe exertion, Jack was able to leave Kázeh on the 10th
 of July. These northern kingdoms were Karágwah, Uganda, and Unyoro.
 The _Mkámá_, or Sultan, of Karágwah was Armaníka, son of Ndagára, who
 was a very great man. He is an absolute Ruler, and governs without
 squeamishness. He receives the traveller with courtesy, he demands
 no blackmail, but you are valued according to your gifts. A European
 would be received with great kindness, but only a rich man could
 support the dignity of the white face. Corpulence is a beauty. Girls
 are fattened to a vast bulk by drenches of curds and cream, thickened
 with flour, and are beaten when they refuse, and they grow an enormous
 size.

 [Sidenote: _The Chief Suna._]

 "From the Kitangure river, fifteen stations conduct the traveller to
 Kibuga, the capital of Uganda, the residence of its powerful despot,
 Suna. The Chief of Uganda has but two wants, with which he troubles
 his visitors. One is a medicine against Death, the other a charm to
 avert thunderbolts, and immense wealth would reward the man who would
 give him either of these two things. The army of Uganda numbers three
 hundred thousand men; each brings an egg to muster, and thus something
 like a reckoning of the people is made. Each soldier carries one
 spear, two assegais, a long dagger, and a shield; bows and swords are
 unknown. The women and children accompany, carrying spare weapons,
 provisions, and water. They fight to the sound of drums, which are
 beaten with sticks like ours; should this performance cease, all fly
 the field.

 "Suna, when last visited by the Arabs, was a red man, of about
 forty-five, tall, robust, powerful of limb, with a right kingly
 presence, a warrior carriage, and a fierce and formidable aspect. He
 always carried his spear, and wore a long piece of bark-cloth from
 neck to ground; he makes over to his women the rich clothes presented
 by the Arabs. He has a variety of names, all expressing something
 terrible, bitter, and mighty. He used to shock the Arabs by his
 natural, unaffected impiety. He boasted to them that he was the God
 of earth, as their Allah was the Lord of heaven. He murmured loudly
 against the abuse of lightning, and claimed from his subjects divine
 honours, such as the facile Romans yielded to their Emperors. His
 sons, numbering more than a hundred, were confined in dungeons; the
 heir _elect_ was dragged from his chains to fill a throne, and the
 cadets linger through their dreadful lives till death releases them.
 His female children were kept under the most rigid surveillance within
 the palace; but he had one favourite daughter, named Nasurú, whose
 society was so necessary to him, that he allowed her to appear with
 him in public.

 [Sidenote: _Richard collects a Vocabulary._]

 "Suna encouraged, by gifts and attentions, the Arab merchants to trade
 in his capital, but the distance has prevented more than half a dozen
 caravans from reaching him; yet all loudly praised his courtesy and
 hospitality. My friend Snay Bin Amir paid him a visit in 1852. He
 was received in the audience hall, outside which were two thousand
 guards, armed only with staves. He was allowed to retain his weapons.
 He saluted the Chief, who motioned his guest to sit in front of him.
 Two spears were close to his hand. He has a large and favourite dog,
 resembling an Arab greyhound. The dog was, and is always, by his side.
 The ministers and the women were also present, but placed so that
 they could only see the visitor's back. He was eager of news. When
 the despot rose, all dispersed. At the second visit, Snay presented
 his blackmail, and it was intimated to the 'King's Stranger' that
 he might lay hands upon whatever he pleased, animate or inanimate;
 but Snay was too wise to avail himself of this privilege. There were
 four interviews, in which Suna inquired much about the Europeans,
 and was anxious for a close alliance with the Sultan of Zanzibar.
 He treated Snay very generously; but Snay, when he could without
 offence, respectfully declined things. Like all African Chiefs, the
 despot considered these visits as personal honours paid to himself.
 It would depend, however, upon his ingenuity and good fortune whether
 a traveller would be allowed to explore further, and perhaps the
 best way would have been to buy or to build boats upon the nearest
 western shore, with Suna's permission. During Jack's absence, I
 collected specimens of the multitudinous dialects. Kisawahili, or
 coast language, into which the great South African family here divides
 itself, is the most useful, because most generally known, and, once
 mastered, it renders the rest easy. With the aid of the slaves, I
 collected about five hundred words in the three principal dialects
 upon this line of road--the Kisawahili, the Kizaramo, which included
 the Kik'hutu, and the Kinyamwezi. It was very difficult, for they
 always used to answer me, 'Verily in the coast tongue, words never
 take root, nor do they ever bear branches.' The rest of my time was
 devoted to preparation for journeying, and absolute work--tailoring,
 sail-making, umbrella-mending, etc.

 "On the 14th of July the last Arab Caravan left Unyanyembe, under the
 command of Sayf bin Said el Wardi. He offered to convey letters and
 anything else, and I forwarded the useless surveying instruments,
 manuscripts, maps, field and sketch books, and reports to the Royal
 Geographical Society. This excitement over, I began to weary of Kázeh.


 DIFFERENCES BEGIN BETWEEN SPEKE AND RICHARD.


 "Already I was preparing to organize a little expedition to K'hokoro
 and the southern provinces, when unexpectedly--in these lands a few
 cries and gun-shots are the only credible precursors of a Caravan--on
 the morning of the 25th of August reappeared Jack.

 [Sidenote: _Speke returns and the Differences arose._]

 "At length Jack had been successful. His 'flying trip' had led him to
 the northern water, and he had found its dimensions surpassing our
 most sanguine expectations. We had scarcely, however, breakfasted
 before he announced to me the startling fact that 'he had discovered
 the sources of the White Nile.' It was an inspiration perhaps. The
 moment he sighted the Nyanza, he felt at once no doubt but that the
 'lake at his feet gave birth to that interesting river, which has
 been the subject of so much speculation and the object of so many
 explorers.' The fortunate discoverer's conviction was strong. His
 reasons were weak, were of the category alluded to by the damsel
 Lucetta, when justifying her penchant in favour of the 'lovely
 gentleman,' Sir Proteus--

    'I have no other but a woman's reason--
    I think him so because I think him so;'[3]

 and probably his Sources of the Nile grew in his mind as his Mountains
 of the Moon had grown under his hand.

 "His main argument in favour of the lake representing the great
 reservoir of the White Nile was that the 'principal men' at the
 southern extremity ignored the extent northward. 'On my inquiring
 about the lake's length,' said Jack, 'the man (the greatest traveller
 in the place) faced to the north, and began nodding his head to it.
 At the same time he kept throwing forward his right hand, and making
 repeated snaps of his fingers, endeavouring to indicate something
 immeasurable; and added that nobody knew, but he thought it probably
 extended to the end of the world.' Strongly impressed by this valuable
 statistical information, Jack therefore placed the northern limit
 about 4° to 5° N. lat., whereas the Egyptian Expedition sent by the
 late Mohammed Ali Pacha, about twenty years ago, to explore the coy
 Sources, reached 3° 22' N. lat. The expedition therefore ought to
 have sailed fifty miles upon the Nyanza Lake. On the contrary, from
 information derived on the spot, that expedition placed the fountains
 at one month's journey--three hundred to three hundred and fifty
 miles--to the south-east, or upon the northern counterslope of Mount
 Kenia.

 "Whilst marching to the coast, Jack--he tells us--was assured by a
 'respectable Sawahili merchant that when engaged in traffic, some
 years previously, to the northward of the Line and the westward of
 this lake, he had heard it commonly reported that large vessels
 frequented the northern extremity of these waters, in which the
 officers engaged in navigating them used sextants and kept a log,
 precisely similar to what is found in vessels on the ocean. Query,
 Could this be in allusion to the expedition sent by Mohammed Ali up
 the Nile in former years?' (_Proceedings of the Royal Geographical
 Society_, May 9, 1859). Clearly, if Abdullah bin Nasib, the Msawahili
 alluded to, had reported these words, he merely erred. The Egyptian
 Expedition, as has been shown, not only did not find, they never even
 heard of a lake. But not being present at the conversation, besides
 the geographical difficulties which any scientific geographer could
 see at a glance, I am tempted to assign further explanation. Jack,
 wholly ignorant of Arabic, was obliged to depend upon 'Bombay.'
 Bombay misunderstood Jack's bad Hindostani. He then mistranslated the
 words in Kisawahili to the best African, who, in his turn, passed
 it on in a still wilder dialect to the noble savages who were under
 cross-examination. My experience is that words in journeys to and fro
 are liable to the severest accidents and have often bad consequences,
 and now I felt that an _influent_ of the Nyanza was described as an
 _effluent_, and the real original and only genuine White Nile would
 remain thus described for years to our shame, and it is easy to see
 how the blunder originated.

 "The Arabic _bahr_ and the Kisawahili _báhari_ are equally applicable,
 in vulgar parlance, to a river or sea, a lake or river. Traditions
 concerning a Western sea--the to them now unknown Atlantic--over
 which the white men voyage, are familiar to many East Africans; I
 have heard at Harar precisely the same report concerning the log and
 sextants. Either, then, Abdullah bin Nasib confounded, or Jack's
 '_interrupter_' caused _him_ to confound, the Atlantic and the lake.
 In the maps forwarded from Kázeh by Jack, the river Kivira was, after
 ample inquiry, made a western _influent_ of the Nyanza Lake. In the
 map appended to the paper in _Blackwood_, before alluded to, it has
 become an _effluent_, and the only minute concerning so very important
 a modification is, 'This river (although I must confess at first I did
 not think so) is the Nile itself.'

 "Beyond the assertion, therefore, that no man had visited the north,
 and the appearance of 'sextants' and 'logs' upon the waters, there
 is not a shade of proof _pro_. Far graver considerations lie on the
 _con_ side; the reports of the Egyptian Expedition, and the dates
 of the several inundations which--as will presently appear--alone
 suffice to disprove the possibility of the Nyanza causing the flood
 of the Nile. It is doubtless a satisfactory thing to disclose to an
 admiring public of 'Statesmen, Churchmen, Missionaries, Merchants,
 and more particularly Geographers,' the 'solution of a problem, which
 it had been the first geographical desideratum of many thousand
 years to ascertain, and the ambition of the first Monarchs in the
 World to unravel' (_Blackwood's Magazine_, October, 1859). But how
 many times since the days of a certain Claudius Ptolemæius, surnamed
 Pelusiota, have not the fountains of the White Nile been discovered
 and re-discovered after this fashion?

 "What tended at the time to make me the more sceptical, was the
 substantial incorrectness of the geographical and other details
 brought back by Jack. This was natural enough. The first thing
 reported to me was 'the falsehood of the Arabs at Kázeh, who had
 calumniated the good Sultan Muhayya, and had praised the bad Sultan
 Machunda:' subsequent inquiries proved their rigid correctness. Jack's
 principal informant was one Mansur bin Salim, a half-caste Arab,
 who had been flogged out of Kázeh by his compatriots; he pronounced
 Muhayya to be a 'very excellent and obliging person,' and of
 course he was believed. I then heard a detailed account 'of how the
 Caravan of Salim bin Rashid had been attacked, beaten, captured, and
 detained at Ukerewe, by its Sultan Machunda.' The Arabs received the
 intelligence with a smile of ridicule, and in a few days Salim bin
 Rashid appeared in person to disprove the report. These are but _two_
 cases of _many_. And what knowledge of Asiatic customs can be expected
 from the writer of the following lines?--'The Arabs at Unyanyembe had
 advised my donning their habit for the trip in order to attract less
 attention; a vain precaution, which I believe they suggested more to
 gratify their own vanity in _seeing an Englishman lower himself to
 their position_ (?), than for any benefit that I might receive by
 doing so' (_Blackwood, loco cit._). This galamatias of the Arabs! the
 haughtiest and the most clannish of all Oriental peoples.

 [Sidenote: _Richard soliloquizes on Speke's Change of Front._]

 "Jack changed his manners to me from this date. His difference of
 opinion was allowed to alter companionship. After a few days it became
 evident to me that not a word could be uttered upon the subject of the
 lake, the Nile, and his _trouvaille_ generally without offence. By a
 tacit agreement it was, therefore, avoided, and I should never have
 resumed it, had Jack not stultified the results of my expedition by
 putting forth a claim which no geographer can admit, and which is at
 the same time so weak and flimsy, that no geographer has yet taken the
 trouble to contradict it.

 "Now, for the first time, although I had pursued my journey under
 great provocations from time to time, I never realized what an
 injury I had done the Expedition publicly, as well as myself, by
 not travelling alone, or with Arab companions, or at least with a
 less crooked-minded, cantankerous Englishman. He is energetic, he is
 courageous and persevering. He distinguished himself in the Punjaub
 Campaign. I first found him in Aden with a three years' furlough.
 His heart was set on spending two years of his leave in collecting
 animals north of the Line in Africa. He never _thought_ in any way
 of the Nile, and he was astonished at _my_ views, which he deemed
 impracticable. He had no qualifications for the excursion that he
 proposed to himself, except that of being a good sportsman. He was
 ignorant of the native races in Africa, he had brought with him
 about £400 worth of cheap and useless guns and revolvers, swords and
 cutlery, beads and cloth, which the Africans would have rejected with
 disdain. He did not know any of the manners and customs of the East;
 he did not know any language except a little Anglo-Hindostani; he
 did not _even_ know the names of the Coast Towns. I saw him engage,
 as protectors or _Abbans_, any Somali donkey-boys who could speak a
 little English. I saw that he was going to lose his money and his
 'leave' and his life. Why should I have cared? I do not know; but as
 'virtue is really its own reward,' I did so, and have got a slap in
 the face, which I suppose I deserve. I first took him to Somali-land;
 then I applied officially for him, and thus saved his furlough and
 his money by putting him on full service. You would now think, to see
 his conduct, that the case was reversed--that he had taken me, not
 I him; whereas I can confidently say that, except his shooting and
 his rags of Anglo-Hindostani, I have taught him everything he knows.
 He had suffered in purse and person at Berberah, and though he does
 not know French or Arabic, though he is not a man of science, nor an
 acute astronomical observer, I thought it only just to offer him the
 opportunity of accompanying me as second in command into Africa. He
 quite understood that it _was_ in a subordinate capacity, as we should
 have to travel amongst Arabs, Belochs, and Africans, whose language
 he did not know. The Court of Directors refused me, but I obtained
 it by an application, to the Local Authorities at Bombay. He knew by
 experience in Somali-land what travelling with _me_ meant, and yet he
 was only too glad to come.

 "I have also done more than Jack in the cause. The Royal Geographical
 Society only allowed us £1000, and sooner than fail I have sacrificed
 a part of the little patrimony I inherited, and my reward is, that
 I and my expenditure, and the cause for which I have sacrificed
 everything, are made ridiculous."

N.B.--Richard's kind-heartedness and forethought for others often
militated against himself, owing to the meanness and unworthiness of
the objects it was bestowed upon.


A FEW DETAILS OF THE LAKES FOR GEOGRAPHERS.


 [Sidenote: _For Geographers._]

 "I will here offer to the reader a few details concerning the lake in
 question; they are principally borrowed from Jack's diary, carefully
 corrected, however, by Snay bin Amir, Salim bin Rashid,[4] and other
 merchants at Kázeh.

 "This fresh-water sea is known throughout the African tribes as
 Nyanza, and the similarity of the sound to 'Nyassa,' the indigenous
 name of the little Maravi, or Kilwa Lake, may have caused in part the
 wild confusion in which speculative geographers have involved the Lake
 Regions of Central Africa. The Arabs, after their fashion of deriving
 comprehensive names from local and minor features, call it Ukerewe,
 in the Kisukuma dialect meaning the 'place of Kerewe' (Kelewe), an
 islet. As has been mentioned, they sometimes attempt to join by a
 river, a creek, or some other theoretical creation, the Nyanza with
 the Tanganyika, the altitude of the former being 3750 feet above
 sea-level, or 1900 feet above the latter, and the mountain regions
 which divide the two having been frequently travelled over by Arab and
 African caravans. Hence the name Ukerewe has been transferred in the
 'Mombas Mission Map' to the northern waters of the Tanganyika. The
 Nyanza, as regards name, position, and even existence, has hitherto
 been unknown to European geographers; but, as will presently appear,
 descriptions of this sea by native travellers have been unconsciously
 transferred by our writers to the Tanganyika to Ujiji, and even to the
 Nyassa of Kilwa.

 "M. Brun-Rollet ('Le Nil Blanc et le Soudan,' p. 209) heard that on
 the west of the Padongo tribe--which he places to the south of Mount
 Kambirah, or below 1° S. lat.--lies a great lake, from whose northern
 extremity issues a river whose course is unknown. In a map appended
 to his volume this water is placed between 1° S. and 3° N. lat., and
 about 25° 50' E. long. (Greenwich), and the reservoir is made an
 influent of the White Nile.

 "Bowditch ('Discoveries of the Portuguese,' pp. 131, 132), when
 speaking of the Maravi Lake (the Nyassa), mentions that the 'negroes
 or the Moors of Melinde' have mentioned a great water which is
 known to reach Mombaça, which the Jesuit missionaries conjectured
 to communicate with Abyssinia, and of which Father Lewis Marianna,
 who formerly resided at Tete, recommended a discovery, in a letter
 addressed to the Government at Goa, which is still preserved among
 the public archives of that city. Here the confusion of the Nyanza,
 to which there was of old a route from Mombasah, with the Nyassa is
 apparent.

 "At the southern point, where the Muingwira river falls into the
 tortuous creek, whose surface is a little archipelago of brown rocky
 islets crowned with trees and emerging from the blue waters, the
 observed latitude of the Nyanza Lake is 2° 24' S.; the longitude by
 dead reckoning from Kázeh is E. long. 33° and nearly due north, and
 the altitude by B. P. thermometer 3750 feet above sea-level. Its
 extent to the north is unknown to the people of the southern regions,
 which rather denotes some difficulty in travelling than any great
 extent. They informed Jack that from Mwanza to the southern frontier
 of Karágwah is a land journey of one month, or a sea voyage of five
 days towards north-north-west, and then to the north. They also
 pointed out the direction of Unyoro N. 20° W. The Arab merchants of
 Kázeh have seen the Nyanza opposite Weranhanja, the capital district
 of Armanika, King of Karágwah, and declares that it receives the
 Kitangure river, whose mouth has been placed about the equator.

 "Beyond that point all is doubtful. The merchants have heard that
 Suna, the late despot of Uganda, built _matumbi_, or undecked
 vessels, capable of containing forty or fifty men, in order to
 attack his enemies, the Wasoga, upon the creeks which indent the
 western shores of the Nyanza. This, if true, would protract the lake
 to between 1° and 1° 30' of N. lat, and give it a total length of
 about 4°, or 250 miles. This point, however, is still involved in
 the deepest obscurity. Its breadth was estimated as follows:--A hill
 about two hundred feet above the water-level, shows a conspicuous
 landmark on the eastern shore, which was set down as forty miles
 distant. On the south-western angle of the line from the same point,
 ground appeared; it was not, however, perceptible north-west. The
 total breadth, therefore, has been assumed at eighty miles--a
 figure which approaches the traditions unconsciously chronicled by
 European geographers. In the vicinity of Usoga, the lake, according
 to the Arabs, broadens out; of this, however, and in fact of all the
 formation north of the equator, it is at present impossible to arrive
 at certainty.

 "The Nyanza is an elevated basin or reservoir, the recipient of the
 surplus monsoon rain, which falls in the extensive regions of the
 Wamasai and their kinsmen to the east, the Karágwah line of the
 Lunar Mountains to the west, and to the south Usukuma, or Northern
 Unyamwezi. Extending to the equator in the central length of the
 African peninsula, and elevated above the limits of the depression in
 the heart of the continent, it appeared to be a gap in the irregular
 chain which, running from Usumbara and Kilima-ngao to Karágwah,
 represents the formation anciently termed the Mountains of the Moon.
 The physical features, as far as they were observed, suggest this
 view. The shores are low and flat, dotted here and there with little
 hills; the smaller islands also are hill-tops, and any part of the
 country immediately on the south would, if inundated to the same
 extent, present a similar aspect.

 "The lake lies open and elevated, rather like the drainage and the
 temporary deposit of extensive floods than a volcanic creation like
 the Tanganyika, a long narrow mountain-girt basin. The waters are said
 to be deep, and the extent of the inundation about the southern creek
 proves that they receive during the season an important accession. The
 colour was observed to be clear and blue, especially from afar in the
 early morning; after nine a.m., when the prevalent south-east wind
 arose, the surface appears greyish or of a dull milky white, probably
 the effect of atmospheric reflection. The tint, however, does not,
 according to travellers, ever become red or green like the waters of
 the Nile. But the produce of the lake resembles that of the river in
 its purity; the people living on the shores prefer it, unlike that
 of the Tanganyika, to the highest and clearest springs; all visitors
 agree in commending its lightness and sweetness, and declare that the
 taste is rather of river or of rain water, than resembling the soft
 slimy produce of stagnant, muddy bottoms, or the rough harsh flavour
 of melted ice and snow.

 "From the southern creek of the Nyanza, and beyond the archipelago of
 neighbouring islets, appear the two features which have given to this
 lake the name of Ukerewe. The Arabs call them 'Jezirah'--an ambiguous
 term, meaning equally insula and peninsula--but they can scarcely
 be called islands. The high and rocky Mazita to the east, and the
 comparatively flat Ukerewe on the west, are described by the Arabs as
 points terminating seawards in bluffs, and connected with the eastern
 shore by a low neck of land--probably a continuous reef--flooded
 during the rains, but never so deeply as to prevent cattle fording
 the isthmus. The northern and western extremities front deep water,
 and a broad channel separates them from the southern shore, Usukuma.
 The Arabs, when visiting Ukerewe or its neighbour, prefer hiring the
 canoes of the Wasakuma, and paddling round the south-eastern extremity
 of the Nyanza, to exposing their property and lives by marching
 through the dangerous tribes of the coast.

 "The altitude, the conformation of the Nyanza Lake, the argilaceous
 colour and the sweetness of its waters, combine to suggest that it
 may be one of the feeders of the White Nile. In the map appended to
 M. Brun Rollet's volume, before alluded to, the large water west of
 the Padongo tribe, which clearly represents the Nyanza or Ukerewe,
 is, I have observed, made to drain northwards into the Fitri Lake,
 and eventually to swell the main stream of the White River. The
 details supplied by the Egyptian Expedition, which, about twenty
 years ago, ascended the White River to 3° 22' N. lat. and 31° 30' E.
 long., and gave the general bearing of the river from that point of
 its source as south-east, with a distance of one month's journey, or
 from three hundred to three hundred and fifty miles, would place the
 actual sources 2° S. lat. and 35° E. long., or in 2° eastward of the
 southern creek of the Nyanza Lake. This position would occupy the
 northern counterslope of the Lunar Mountains, the upper watershed of
 the high region whose culminating apices are Kilima-ngao, Kenia, and
 Doengo Engai. The distance of these peaks from the coast as given by
 Dr. Krapf must be considerably reduced, and little authority can be
 attached to his river Tumbiri.[5] The site, supposed by Mr. Macqueen
 (_Proceedings of the Geographical Society of London_, January 24th,
 1859) to be at least twenty-one thousand feet above the level of the
 sea, and consequently three or four thousand feet above the line of
 perpetual congelation, would admirably explain the two most ancient
 theories concerning the source of the White River, namely, that it
 arises in snowy regions, and that its inundation is the result of
 tropical rains.

 "It is impossible not to suspect that between the upper portion
 of the Nyanza and the watershed of the White Nile there exists a
 longitudinal range of elevated ground, running from east to west--a
 _furca_ draining northwards into the Nile and southwards into the
 Nyanza Lake--like that which separates the Tanganyika from the Maravi
 or Nyassa of Kilwa. According to Don Angelo Vinco, who visited Loquéck
 in 1852, beyond the Cataract of Garbo--supposed to be in N. lat. 2°
 40'--at a distance of sixty miles lie Robego, the capital of Kuenda
 and Lokoya (Logoja), of which the latter receives an affluent from the
 east. Beyond Lokoya the White Nile is described as a _small and rocky
 mountain river_, presenting none of the features of a stream flowing
 from a broad expanse of water like the great Nyanza reservoir.

 "The periodical swelling of the Nyanza Lake, which, flooding a
 considerable tract of land on the south, may be supposed--as it lies
 flush with the basal surface of the country--to inundate extensively
 all the low lands that form its periphery, forbids belief in the
 possibility of its being the head-stream of the Nile, or the reservoir
 of its periodical inundation. In Karágwah, upon the western shore,
 the _masika_, or monsoon, last from October to May or June, after
 which the dry season sets in. The Egyptian Expedition found the river
 falling fast at the end of January, and they learned from the people
 that it would rise again about the end of March, at which season the
 sun is vertical over the equator. About the summer solstice (June),
 when the rains cease in the regions south of and upon the equator,
 the White Nile begins to flood. From March to the autumnal equinox
 (September) it continues to overflow its banks till it attains its
 magnitude, and from that time it shrinks through the winter solstice
 (December) till March.

 "The Nile is, therefore, full during the dry season and low during
 the rainy season, south of and immediately upon the equator. And as
 the northern counterslope of Kenia will, to a certain extent, be
 a lee-land like Ugogi, it cannot have the superfluity of moisture
 necessary to send forth a first-class stream. The inundation is
 synchronous with the great falls of the northern equatorial regions,
 which extend from July to September, and is dependent solely upon the
 tropical rains. It is therefore probable that the true sources of the
 'Holy River' will be found to be a network of runnels and rivulets of
 scanty dimensions, filled by monsoon torrents, and perhaps a little
 swollen by melted snow on the northern water-parting of the eastern
 Lunar Mountains.


 OUR RETURN.


 "At Kázeh, to my great disappointment, it was settled, in a full Arab
 conclave, that we must return to the coast by the path with which
 we were painfully familiar. It was only the state of our finances
 which prevented us, whilst at Ujiji, from navigating the Tanganyika
 southwards and arriving, after a journey of three months, at Kilwa.
 That and 'leave' prevented us from going to Karágwah and Uganda. The
 rains, which rendered travelling impossible, set in about September;
 our two years' leave of absence were drawing to a close, and we were
 afraid to risk it, but we meant to return and do these things, tracing
 the course of the Rufiji river (Rwaha) and visiting the coast between
 the Usagára Mountains and Kilwa, an unknown line.

 [Sidenote: _The Kindness of Musa Mzuri and Snay bin Amir._]

 "Musa Mzuri returned with great pomp to Kázeh; he is between
 forty-five and fifty, tall, gaunt, with delicate extremities, and the
 regular handsome features of a high-caste Indian Moslem. He is sad
 and staid, wears a snowy skull-cap, and well-fitting sandals. His
 abode is a village in size, with lofty gates, spacious courts, full
 of slaves and hangers-on, a great contrast to the humility of the
 Semite tenements. His son knew a little English, but he had learnt no
 Hindostani from his father, who, though expatriated for thirty-five
 years, spoke his mother tongue purely and well. Musa was a man of
 quiet, unaffected manner, dashed with a little Indian reserve. One
 Salim bin Rashid, while collecting ivory to the eastward of the Nyanza
 Lake, had recovered a Msawahili porter, who, having fallen sick on
 the road, had been left by a Caravan amongst the wildest of the East
 African tribes, the Wahuma (the Wamasai). From this man, who spent
 two years amongst these plunderers and their rivals in villany, the
 Warudi, I gained most valuable information. I also was called upon by
 Amayr bin Said el Shaksi, a strong-framed, stout-hearted Arab, who,
 when his vessel foundered in the Tanganyika, swam for his life, and
 lived for five months on roots and grasses, until restored to Ujiji by
 an Arab canoe. He spent many hours a day with me--he gave me immense
 information; and Hilal bin Nasur, a well-born Harisi returned from
 K'hokoro, also gave me most valuable facts.

 "It is needless to say that, with all our economy and care, we arrived
 at the coast destitute. The hospitable Snay bin Amir came personally,
 although only a convalescent, to superintend our departure, provided
 us with his own slaves and a charming Arab breakfast; he spent the
 whole of that day with us, and followed us out of the compound
 through a white-hot sun and a chilling wind; nay, he did more--he
 followed us to our next station with Musa, and he helped us to put
 the finishing touches to the journals. I thanked these kind-hearted
 men for their many good deeds and services, and promised to report
 to H.H. the Sayyid Majid the hospitable reception of his subjects
 generally, and of Snay and Musa in particular. In the evening we took
 a most affecting farewell.[6] On the 4th of October, insufficiency
 of porterage compelled me to send back men for articles left by them
 at several of the villages, and we at last reached Hanga, our former
 quarters. Desertions were rife, and so were quarrels, in which I was
 always begged to take an active part, but experience amongst the
 Bashi-Bazouks in the Dardanelles taught me better.


 LITTLE IRONS.


 [Sidenote: _Speke's Illness._]

 "At Hanga, Jack had been chilled on the march from the cruel easterly
 wind, and at the second march he had ague. At Hanga we were lodged in
 a foul cowhouse full of vermin, and exposed to the fury of the gales.
 He had a deaf ear, an inflamed eye, and a swollen face, but worst of
 all was a mysterious pain, which shifted--he could not say whether
 it was liver or spleen. It began with a burning sensation as by a
 branding iron above the right breast, and then extended to the heart
 with sharp twinges. It then ranged round the spleen, attacked the
 upper part of the right lung, and finally settled in the liver.

 "On the 10th of October, at dawn, he woke with a horrible dream of
 tigers, leopards, and other beasts, harnessed with a network of iron
 hooks, dragging him, like the rush of a whirlwind, over the ground. He
 sat up on the side of his bed, forcibly clasping both sides with his
 hands. Half stupefied by pain, he called to Bombay, who had formerly
 suffered from this _kichyomachyoma_, 'the little irons,' who put him
 in the position a man must lie in, who gets this attack. The next
 spasm was less severe, but he began to wander. In twenty-four hours,
 supported by two men, he staggered towards the tent to a chair; but
 the spasms returning, he was assisted back into the house, where he
 had a third fit of epileptic description, like hydrophobia. Again he
 was haunted by crowds of devils, giants, lion-headed demons, who were
 wrenching with superhuman force, and stripping the sinews and tendons
 of his legs down to his ankles. With limbs racked by cramps, features
 drawn and ghastly, frame fixed and rigid, eyes glazed and glassy, he
 began to bark with a peculiar chopping motion of the mouth and tongue,
 with lips protruding, the effect of difficulty of breathing, which so
 altered his appearance that he was not recognizable, and terrified
 all beholders. When the third and severest spasm had passed away, and
 he could speak, he called for pen and paper, and wrote an incoherent
 letter of farewell to his family. That was the crisis. I never left
 him, taking all possible precautions, never letting him move without
 my assistance, and always having a resting-place prepared for him;
 but for some weeks he had to sleep in a half sitting-up position,
 pillow-propped, and he could not lie upon his side. Although the pains
 were mitigated, they did not entirely cease; this he expressed by
 saying, 'Dick, the knives are sheathed!'

 "During Jack's delirium he let out all his little grievances of
 fancied wrongs, of which I had not had even the remotest idea. He was
 vexed that his diary (which I had edited so carefully, and put into
 the Appendix of 'First Footsteps in Eastern Africa') had not been
 printed _as_ he wrote it--geographical blunders and all; also because
 he had not been paid for it, I having lost money over the book
 myself. He asked me to send his collections to the Calcutta Museum of
 Natural History; now he was hurt because I had done so. He was awfully
 grieved because in the thick of the fight at Berberah, three years
 before, I had said to him, 'Don't step back, or they will think we
 are running.' I cannot tell how many more things I had unconsciously
 done, and I crowned it by not accepting immediately his loud assertion
 _that he had discovered the Sources of the Nile_; and I never should
 have known that he was pondering these things in his heart, if he had
 not raved them out in delirium. I only noticed that his alacrity had
 vanished; that he was never contented with any arrangement; that he
 left all the management to me, and that then he complained that he
 had never been consulted; that he quarrelled with our followers, and
 got himself insulted; and, previously to our journey, having been
 unaccustomed to sickness, he neither could endure it himself, nor
 feel for it in others. He took pleasure in saying unkind, unpleasant
 things, and said he could not take an interest in any exploration if
 he did not command it.

 "These illnesses are the effects of fever, and a mysterious
 manifestation of miasma in certain latitudes; for in some tracts we
 were perfectly well, in other tracts we were mortally sick, and the
 changes were instantaneous. Cultivation and Civilization will probably
 wear these effects out, by planting, clearing jungle, and so on.

 "I immediately sent an express back to Snay bin Amir, for the proper
 treatment, and found that they powdered myrrh with yolk of egg and
 flour of _mung_ for poultices. I saw that, in default of physic,
 change of air was the only thing for him, and I had a hammock rigged
 up for him, and by good fortune an unloaded Caravan was passing down
 to the coast. We got hold of thirteen unloaded porters, who for a
 large sum consented to carry us to Rubuga, else we should have been
 left to die in the wilderness. Bombay had long since returned to his
 former attitude, that of a respectful and most ready servant. He
 had on one trip broken my elephant gun, killed my riding-ass, and
 lost his bridle, and did all sorts of irrational things, but for all
 that he was a most valuable servant, for his unwearied activity, his
 undeviating honesty, and his kindness of heart. Said bin Salim had
 long forfeited my confidence by his carelessness and extravagance, and
 the disappearance of the outfit committed to him at Ujiji--in favour
 of one of his friends, as I afterwards learned--rendered him unfit for
 stewardship. The others praised each other openly and without reserve,
 and if an evil tale ever reached my ear, it was against innocent
 Bombay, its object being to ruin him in my estimation.

 [Sidenote: _They cross the "Fiery Field."_]

 As I knew we should be short of water, I prepared by packing a box
 with empty bottles, which we could fill at the best springs, and by
 the result of that after-wisdom which some have termed 'fool's wit,'
 I commenced the down march happy as a _bourgeois_ or a trapper in the
 Pays Sauvage. Before entering the 'Fiery Field' the hammock-bearers
 became so exorbitant that I drew on my jackboots and mounted an
 ass, and Jack had so far convalesced that he wanted to ride too. He
 had still, however, harassing heartache, nausea, and other bilious
 symptoms, when exposed to the burning sun; but when he got to K'hok'ho
 in Ugogi, sleep and appetite came, he could carry a heavy rifle,
 and do damage amongst the antelope and guineafowl. Now all began
 to wax civil, even to servility, grumbling ceased, smiles mantled
 every countenance, and even the most troublesome rascal was to be
 seen meekly sweeping out our tents with a bunch of thorns. We made
 seven marches between Hanga and Tura, where we arrived on the 28th of
 October, and halted six days to procure food. My own party were 10;
 Said bin Salim's, 12; the Beloch, 38; Ramji's party, 24; the porters,
 68--in all 152 souls. We plunged manfully into the 'Fiery Field,' and
 after seven marches in seven days, we bivouacked at Jiwe la Mkoa,
 and on the 12th of November, after two days' march, came into the
 fertile red plain of Mdaduru, in the transit of Ugogi. After that,
 where I had been taught to expect danger, it reduced itself to large
 disappearances of cloth and beads. Gul Mahommed was our Missionary,
 but he was just like the European old lady, who believes that on such
 subjects all the world must think with her. I have long been suspected
 of telling lies, when describing the worship of a god with four arms,
 and the goddesses with two heads. The transit of Ugogi occupied
 three weeks. At Kanyenye we were joined by a large down-Caravan of
 Wanyamwezi, who, amongst other news, told us that our former line
 through Usagára was closed through the fighting of the tribes.

 [Sidenote: _An Official Wigging._]

 "On the 6th of December we arrived at our old ground in the Ugogi
 Dhun, and met another Caravan, which presently drew forth a packet of
 letters and papers. This post brought me rather an amusing official
 wigging. Firstly, there was a note from Captain Rigby, my friend
 Hamerton's successor at Zanzibar. Secondly, the following letter:--

  "'3, Savile Row.

  "'DEAR BURTON,

  "'Go ahead! Vogel and MacGuire dead--murdered. Write often.

  "'Yours truly,

  "'NORTON SHAW.'

 "The 'wig' was this. I had paid the Government the compliment of
 sending it, through the Royal Geographical Society, an account of
 political affairs in the Red Sea, saying I feared trouble at Jeddah,
 which I had had from my usual private information from the interior,
 being fearful that there would be troubles at Jeddah; and the only
 thanks I got was a letter, stating 'that my want of discretion and
 due regard for the authorities to whom I am subordinate, has been
 regarded with displeasure by the Government.' They are cold and crusty
 to reward a little word of wisdom from their babes and sucklings; but
 what was so comically sad was this:--The official wig was dated the
 1st of July, 1857. Posts are slow in Africa, so that by the same
 post I got a newspaper with an account of the massacre of nearly all
 the Christians at Jeddah on the Red Sea, expressing great fears that
 the Arab population of Suez also might be excited to commit similar
 outrages. This took place on the 30th of June, 1858, exactly eleven
 months after I had warned the Government.

 "We loaded on the 7th of December, and commenced the passage of the
 Usagára Mountains by the Kiringawána line. This is the southern route,
 separated from the northern by an interval of forty-three miles. It
 contains settlements like Maroro and Kisanga. It is nineteen short
 stages; provisions are procurable, water plentiful, and plenty of
 grass, as long as you can pass the Warori tribe. Mosquitoes are
 plentiful. The owners of the land have a chronic horror of the Warori,
 and on sighting our peaceful Caravan they raised the war-cry, and were
 only quieted on knowing that we were much more frightened than they
 were. We had wild weather, we stayed at Maroro for food; at Kiperepeta
 there were gangs of four hundred touters, with their muskets, waiting
 the arrival of Caravans.

 [Sidenote: _Christmas Day,_ 1858.]

 "On Christmas Day, 1858, at dawn, we toiled along the Kikoboga river,
 which we forded four times. Jack and I had a fat capon instead of
 roast beef, and a mess of ground nuts sweetened with sugar-cane,
 which did duty for plum-pudding. The contrast of what was, with what
 might be, now however suggested pleasurable sensations. We might now
 see Christmas Day of 1859, whereas on Christmas Day, 1857, we saw
 no chance of that of 1858. Fourteen marches took us from the foot
 of Usagára Mountains to Central Zungomero, traversing the districts
 of Eastern Mbwiga, Marundwe, and Kirengwe. It is a road hideous and
 grotesque: no animals, flocks, or poultry; the villages look like
 birds' nests torn from the trees; the people slink away--they are all
 armed with bows and poisoned arrows. At Zungomero, the village on the
 left bank of the Mgeta, which we had occupied on the outer march,
 was razed to the ground. I here offered a liberal reward to get to
 Kilwa. However, I did not succeed, and there was some intrigue about
 the pay afterwards, which I never understood, which was annoying to
 me; but such events are common on the slave-paths in Eastern Africa.
 Of the seven gangs of porters engaged on this journey, _only one_, an
 unusually small portion, _left me without being fully satisfied_, and
 _that one fully deserved to be disappointed_.

 "On the 14th of January, 1859, we received Mr. Apothecary Frost's
 letters, drugs, and medical comforts, for which we had written to
 him July, 1857. After crossing the Mgeta, we sat down patiently on
 a bank, in spite of the ants, to await the arrival of a Caravan to
 complete our gang, but the new medical comforts enabled us to have
 ether-sherbet and ether-lemonade, and it did not hurt us. On the 17th
 of January a Caravan came, which I had been longing to meet. The Arab
 Chiefs Sulayman bin Rashid el Riami and Mohammed bin Gharib, who
 called upon me without delay, gave me most interesting information. To
 the south, from Uhehe to Ubena, was a continuous chain of highlands
 pouring affluents across the road into the Rwaha river, and water
 was only procurable in the beds of the nullahs and _fiumaras_. If
 this chain be of any considerable length, it may represent the
 water-parting between the Tanganyika and Nyassa Lakes, and thus divide
 by another and a southerly lateral band the great Depression of
 Central Africa.

 "The 21st of January we left Zungomero, and made Konduchi on the 3rd
 of February in twelve marches. The mud was almost throat-deep near
 Dut'humi, and we had a weary trudge of thick slabby mire up to the
 knees. In places, after toiling under a sickly sun, we crept under
 the tunnels of thick jungle-growth veiling the streams, the dank
 fœtid cold of which caused a deadly sensation of faintness, which was
 only relieved by a glass of ether-sherbet or a pipe of the strongest
 tobacco. By degrees it was found necessary to abandon the greater part
 of the remaining outfit and luggage. The 27th of January saw us pass
 safely by the village where M. Maizan was murdered.

 "On the 28th there was a report that we were to be attacked at a
 certain place, and Said bin Salim came to tell me that the road was
 cut off, and that I must delay till an escort could be summoned from
 the coast. I knew quite well that it was only an intrigue, but I
 feared that real obstacles might be placed in our way by the wily
 little man, and as soon as _bakshish_ was mentioned, four naked
 varlets appeared in a quarter of an hour as escort.

 "On the 30th of January the men screamed with delight at the sight of
 the mango tree, and all their old familiar fruits.

 "On the 2nd of February, 1859, Jack and I caught sight of the sea. We
 lifted our caps, and gave 'three times three and one more.' The 3rd
 of February saw us passing through the poles decorated with skulls--a
 sort of negro Temple Bar--at the entrance of Konduchi; they now grin
 in the London Royal College of Surgeons.

 "Our entrance was immense. The war-men danced, shot, shouted; the boys
 crowded; the women lulliloo'd with all their might; and a general
 procession conducted us to the hut, swept, cleaned, and garnished
 for us, by the principal _Banyan_ of the Head-quarter village, and
 there the crowd stared and laughed until they could stare and laugh
 no more. A boat transferred most of our following to their homes, and
 they kissed my hand and departed, weeping bitterly with the agony
 of parting. I sent a note to the Consul at Zanzibar, asking for a
 coasting craft to explore the Delta and the unknown course of the
 Rufiji river. I liberally rewarded Zawáda, who had attended to Jack in
 his illness. We were detained at Konduchi for six days, from the 3rd
 to the 10th of February.

 [Sidenote: _Speke leaves Richard Ill, but apparently Friendly._]

 "On the 9th of February the craft arrived at Konduchi from Zanzibar,
 and we rolled down the coast with a fair, fresh breeze towards
 Kilwa, the Quiloa of De Gama and of Camoens. We lost all our crew by
 cholera, and we were unable to visit the course of the great Rufiji
 river, a counterpart of the Zambesi in the south, and a water-road
 which appears destined to become the highway of nations into Eastern
 Equatorial Africa. The deluge of rain and floods showed me that
 the travelling season was at an end. I turned the head of the craft
 northwards, and on the 4th of March, 1859, we landed once more on
 the island of Zanzibar. Sick and wayworn, I entered the house in sad
 memory of my old friend, which I was fated to regret still more. The
 excitement of travel was succeeded by an utter depression of mind
 and body; even the labour of talking was too great. The little State
 was in the height of confusion, in a state of Civil war; the eldest
 brother of the Sultan was preparing a hostile visit to his youngest
 brother, the Sultan Sayyid Majid of Zanzibar. After a fortnight of
 excitement and suspense, a gunboat was sent to the elder brother
 to persuade him to return. His Highness Sayyid Majid had honoured
 me with an expression of his desire that I should remain until the
 expected hostilities might be brought to a close. I did so willingly,
 in gratitude to a Prince to whose good will my success was mainly
 indebted, but the Consulate was no longer bearable to me. I was too
 conversant with local politics, too well aware of what was going on,
 to be a pleasant companion to its new tenant. I was unwilling to
 go, because so much remained to be done. I wanted to wait for fresh
 leave of absence and additional funds, but the evident anxiety of
 Consul Rigby to get rid of me, and Jack's nervous impatience to go
 on, made me abandon my intentions. Said bin Salim called often at the
 Consulate, but Captain Rigby agreed with me that he had been more than
 sufficiently rewarded, and the same with the others. Jack also was of
 the same opinion, but it suited Jack, with his secret prospects or
 intentions of returning without me, to change his mind afterwards,
 and he was evidently able to get Captain Rigby to do the same. There
 can be little doubt that Jack's intention of returning on the second
 Expedition, on the lines of the one which he had done so much to
 spoil, had a great deal to do with his action on this occasion. When
 H.M.S. _Furious_, carrying Lord Elgin and Mr. Laurence Oliphant, his
 secretary, arrived at Aden, passage was offered to both of us. I could
 not start, being too ill. But _he_ went, and the words Jack said to
 me, and I to him, were as follows:--'I shall hurry up, Jack, as soon
 as I can,' and the last words Jack ever spoke to me on earth were,
 '_Good-bye, old fellow; you may be quite sure I shall not go up to the
 Royal Geographical Society until you come to the fore and we appear
 together. Make your mind quite easy about that._'

 "With grateful heart I bid adieu to the Sultan, whose kindness and
 personal courtesy will long dwell in my memory, and who expressed a
 hope to see me again, and offered me one of his ships of war to take
 me home. However, a clipper-built barque, the _Dragon of Salem_,
 Captain Macfarlane, was about to sail with the south-west monsoon for
 Aden. Captain Rigby did not accompany us on board, a mark of civility
 usual in the East, but Bombay's honest face turned up and seemed
 peculiarly attractive.

 "On the 22nd of March, 1859, the clove shrubs and coco trees of
 Zanzibar faded from my eyes, and after crossing and recrossing three
 times the tedious Line, we found ourselves anchored, on the 16th of
 April, near the ill-omened black walls of the Aden crater. The crisis
 of my African sufferings had taken place at the Tanganyika; the fever,
 however, still clung to me.

 "I left the Aden coal-hole of the East on the 20th of April, 1859, and
 in due time greeted with becoming heartiness my native shores.

 "The very day after he returned to England, May 9th, 1859, Jack
 called at the Royal Geographical Society and set on foot the scheme
 of a new exploration. He lectured in Burlington House, and when I
 reached London on May 21st I found the ground completely cut from
 under my feet. Sir Roderick Murchison had given Jack the leadership
 of a new Expedition; my own long-cherished plan of entering Africa
 through Somali-land, landing at the Arab town Mombas, was dismissed
 as unworthy of notice. Jack published two articles in _Blackwood's
 Magazine_, assumed the whole credit to himself, illustrated a
 wonderful account of his own adventures and discoveries, with a chart
 where invention is not in it. He said he did all the astronomical
 work, and had taught me the geography of the country through which we
 travelled, which made me laugh. Jack, who literally owed everything
 to me, habitually wrote and spoke of me to mutual friends in a most
 disagreeable manner. Many people who professed to be friendly to me
 said it would be more dignified to say nothing, but I knew how unwise
 it is to let public sentence pass by default, and how delay may cause
 everlasting evil, so I wrote the most temperate vindication of my
 position."[7]

[1] This was Richard's favourite and self-composed motto, and Chinese
Gordon quoted it in every letter he wrote him to the last day of his
life, with a word of congratulation as to its happy choice.--I. B.

[2] The Arabs always gave Richard the most courteous and cordial
reception, treating him practically as one of themselves. They could
not be expected to think so much of Speke, because he did not know
their language or their religion, and he always treated them as an
Anglo-Indian treats a nigger. He was burning to escape from Kázeh,
and the society of an utterly idle man to one incessantly occupied is
always a drawback, and Richard, whose stronger constitution had enabled
him to bear up at first with greater success, was gradually but surely
succumbing to the awful African climate.--I. B.

[3] "The following extract from the _Proceedings of the Royal
Geographical Society_, May 9, 1859, will best illustrate what I mean:--

"'Mr. Macqueen, F.R.G.S., said the question of the sources of the Nile
had cost him much trouble and research, and he was sure there was no
material error either in longitude or latitude in the position he had
ascribed to them, namely, a little to the eastward of the meridian
of 35° and a little northward of the equator. That was the principal
source of the White Nile. The mountains there were exceedingly high,
from the equator north to Kaffa Enarea. All the authorities, from
east, west, north, or south, now perfectly competent to form judgments
upon such a matter, agreed with him; and among them were the officers
commanding the Egyptian Commission. It was impossible they could _all_
be mistaken. Dr. Krapf had been within a very short distance of it; he
was more than a hundred and eighty miles from Mombas, and he saw snow
upon the mountains. He conversed with the people who came from them,
and who told him of the snow and exceeding coldness of the temperature.
The line of perpetual congelation, it is well known, was seventeen
thousand feet above the sea. He had an account of the navigation of the
White Nile by the Egyptian Expedition. It was then given as 30° 30' N.
lat. and 31° E. long. At this point the expedition turned back for want
of a sufficient depth of water. Here the river was 1370 feet broad,
and the velocity of the current _one quarter_ of a mile per hour. The
journals also gave a specific and daily current, the depth and width of
the river, and everything, indeed, connected with it. Surely, looking
at the current of the river, the height of the Cartoom above the level
of the sea, and the distance thence up to the equator, the sources of
the Nile must be six or eight thousand feet above the level of the sea,
and still much below the line of snow, which was six or eight thousand
feet farther above them. He deeply regretted he was unable to complete
the diagram for the rest of the papers he had given to the Society,
for it was more important than any others he had previously given.
It contained the journey over Africa from sea to sea, second only to
Dr. Livingstone. But all the rivers coming down from the mountains in
question, and running south-eastward, had been clearly stated by Dr.
Krapf, who gave every particular concerning them. He should like to
know what the natives had said was to the northward of the large lake.
Did they say the rivers ran out from or into the lake? How could the
Egyptian officers be mistaken?

"'Captain Speke replied. They were not mistaken; and if they had
pursued their journey fifty miles further, they would undoubtedly have
found themselves at the northern borders of this lake.

"'Mr. Macqueen said that other travellers--Don Angelo, for
instance--had been within one and a half degrees of the equator, and
saw the mountain of Kimborat under the Line, and persisted in the
statement, adding that travellers had been up the river till they found
it a mere brook. He felt convinced that the large lake alluded to by
Captain Speke was not the source of the Nile; it was impossible it
could be so, for it was not at a sufficiently high altitude.

"'The paper presented to the Society, when fully read in conjunction
with the map, will clearly show that the Bahr-el-Abiad had no
connection with Kilimanjaro, that it has no connection whatever with
any lake or river to the south of the equator, and that the swelling of
the river Nile proceeds from the tropical rains of the northern torrid
zone, as was stated emphatically to Julius Cæsar by the Chief Egyptian
Priest, Amoreis, two thousand years ago.

"'In nearly 3° N. lat. there is a great cataract, which boats cannot
pass. It is called Gherba. About halfway (fifty miles) above, and
between this cataract and Robego, the capital of Kuenda, the river
becomes so narrow as to be crossed by a bridge formed by a tree thrown
across it. Above Gherba no stream joins the river either from the south
or south-west.'"

[4] "When Jack returned to Kázeh, he represented Ukerewe and Mazita
to be islands, and although in sight of them, he had heard nothing
concerning their connection with the coast. This error was corrected by
Salim bin Rashid, and accepted by us. Yet I read in his 'Discovery of
the Supposed Sources of the Nile:' 'Mansur, and a native, the greatest
traveller of the place, kindly accompanied and gave me every obtainable
information. This man had traversed the island, as he called it, of
Ukerewe from north to south. But _by his rough mode of describing it,
I am rather inclined to think that instead of its being an actual
island, it is a connected tongue of land, stretching southwards from
a promontory lying at right angles to the eastern shore of the lake,_
which being a wash, affords a passage to the mainland during the fine
season, but during the wet becomes submerged, and thus makes Ukerewe
temporarily an island.' The information, I repeat, was given, not
by the 'native,' but by Salim bin Rashid. When, however, the latter
proceeded to correct Jack's confusion between the well-known coffee
mart Kitara, and 'the island of Kitiri occupied by a tribe called
Watiri,' he gave only offence, consequently Kitiri has obtained a local
habitation in _Blackwood_ and Petermann."

[5] "The large river Tumbiri, mentioned by Dr. Krapf as flowing towards
Egypt from the northern counterslope of Mount Kenia, rests upon the
sole authority of a single wandering native. As, moreover, the word
_T'humbiri_ or _Thumbili_ means a monkey, and the people are peculiarly
fond of satire in a small way, it is not improbable that the very name
had no foundation of fact. This is mentioned, as some geographers--for
instance, Mr. Macqueen ('Observations on the Geography of Central
Africa,' _Proceedings of the R.G.S. of London_, May 9, 1859)--have been
struck by the circumstance that the Austrian missionaries and Mr. Werne
('Expedition to discover the Source of the White Nile, in 1840-41')
gave Tubirih as the Bari name of the White Nile at the southern limit
of their exploration."

[6] Richard long mourned the loss of his friend, whom Captain Speke, on
his second journey with Colonel Grant--whether unable to assist I know
not--left to be killed by the negroes of Mirámbo, his African enemy, in
the bush.--I. B.

[7] Richard was a strong-willed, outspoken, and grievously injured man,
under the greatest provocation ever put forth. He behaved with dignity,
calmness, and generosity, above all praise.--I. B.




CHAPTER XV.

RICHARD AND I MEET AGAIN.

    "For life, with all its yields of joy and woe
    And hope and fear,
    Is just our chance o' the prize of learning love--
    How love might be, hath been indeed, and is."
            ----ROBERT BROWNING.

    "Dying is easy; keep thou steadfast.
    The greater part, to live and to endure."
            ----MRS. HAMILTON KING, _The Disciples_.

    "When Calumny's foul dart thy soul oppresses,
    Think'st thou the venomed shaft could poison me?
    No! the world's scorn, still more than its caresses,
    Shall bind me closer, O my love, to thee.

    "Should the days darken, and severe affliction
    Close whelming o'er us like a stormy sea,
    Love shall transform them into benedictions
    Binding me closer, O my love, to thee."

           *       *       *       *       *

    "When truth or virtue an affront endures,
    The affront is mine, my friend, and should be yours;
    Mine as a friend to every worthy mind,
    And mine as man who feels for all mankind."
            ----POPE.


Just as I was getting into despair, and thinking whether I should go
and be a Sister of Charity (May, 1859), as the appearance of Speke
alone in London was giving me the keenest anxiety, and as I heard that
Richard was staying on in Zanzibar, in the hopes of being allowed to
return into Africa, I was very sore.[1]

On May 22nd, 1859, I chanced to call upon a friend. I was told she was
gone out, but would be in to tea, and was asked if I would wait. I
said, "Yes;" and in about five minutes another ring came to the door,
and another visitor was also asked to wait. The door was opened, and
I turned round, expecting to see my friend. Judge of my feelings when
I beheld Richard. For an instant we both stood dazed, and I cannot
attempt to describe the joy that followed. He had landed the day
before, and came to London, and now he had come to call on this friend
to know where I was living, where to find me. No one will wonder if I
say that we forgot all about her and tea, and that we went downstairs
and got into a cab, and took a long drive.

I felt like one stunned; I only knew that he put me in and told the
cabman to drive. I felt like a person coming to after a fainting fit or
in a dream. It was acute pain, and for the first half-hour I found no
relief. I would have given worlds for tears or breath; neither came,
but it was absolute content, which I fancy people must feel the first
few moments after the soul is quit of the body. The first thing that
happened was, that we mutually drew each other's pictures out from our
respective pockets at the same moment, which, as we had not expected to
meet, showed how carefully they had been kept.

After that, we met constantly, and he called upon my parents. I now put
our marriage _seriously_ before them, but without success as regards my
mother.

I shall never forget Richard as he was then; he had had twenty-one
attacks of fever, had been partially paralyzed and partially blind; he
was a mere skeleton, with brown yellow skin hanging in bags, his eyes
protruding, and his lips drawn away from his teeth. I used to give him
my arm about the Botanical Gardens for fresh air, and sometimes convey
him almost fainting to our house, or friends' houses, who allowed and
encouraged our meeting, in a cab.

The Government and the Royal Geographical Society looked coldly on
him; the Indian army brought him under the reduction; he was almost
penniless, and he had only a few friends to greet him. Speke was the
hero of the hour, the Stanley of 1859-1864. This was _one_ of the
martyrdoms of that uncrowned King's life, and I think but that for me
he would have died.

He told me that all the time he had been away the greatest consolation
he had had was my fortnightly journals, in letter form, to him,
accompanied by all newspaper scraps and public and private information,
and accounts of books, such as I knew would interest him, so that when
he did get a mail, which was only in a huge batch now and then, he was
as well posted up as if he were living in London.

[Sidenote: _We try to effect a Reconciliation between Speke and
Richard._]

He never abused Speke, as a mean man would have done; he used to say,
"Jack is one of the bravest fellows in the world; if he has a fault it
is overweening vanity, and being so easily flattered; in good hands he
would be the best of men. Let him alone; he will be very sorry some
day, though that won't mend my case." It is interesting _now_ to mark
in their letters how they descend from "Dear Jack," and "Dear Dick," to
"Dear Burton," and "Dear Speke," until they become "Sir!" But I must
relate in Speke's favour that the injury once done to his friend, and
the glory won for himself, he was not happy with it.

Speke and I had a mutual friend, a lady well known in Society as Kitty
Dormer (Countess Dormer)--she would be ninety-four were she now living.
She was one of the fashionable beauties of George IV.'s time, and was
engaged to my father when they were young.

About a hundred years or more ago, a John Hanning Speke had married one
of the Arundells of Wardour, and Lord Arundell always considered the
Spekes as sort of neighbours and distant connections, so through this
lady's auspices, Speke and I met, and also exchanged many messages; and
we nearly succeeded in reconciling Richard and Speke, and would have
done so, but for the anti-influences around him. He said to me, "I am
so sorry, and I don't know how it all came about. Dick was so kind to
me; nursed me like a woman, taught me such a lot, and I used to be so
fond of him; but it would be too difficult for me to go back now." _And
upon that last sentence he always remained and acted._

Richard was looking so lank and thin. He was sadly altered; his youth,
health, spirits, and beauty were all gone for the time. He fully
justified his fevers, his paralysis and blindness, and any amount of
anxiety, peril, hardship, and privation in unhealthy latitudes. Never
did I feel the strength of my love as then. He returned poorer, and
dispirited by official rows and every species of annoyance; but he
was still, had he been ever so unsuccessful, and had every man's hand
against him, my earthly god and king, and I could have knelt at his
feet and worshipped him. I used to feel so proud of him; I used to like
to sit and look at him, and to think, "You are mine, and there is no
man on earth the least like you."

At one time, when he was at his worst, I found the following in his
journal--

    "I hear the sounds I used to hear,
    The laugh of joy, the groan of pain;
    The sounds of childhood sound again.
                    Death must be near!

    "Mine eye reviveth like mine ear;
    As painted scenes pass o'er the stage,
    I see my life from youth to age.
                    Ah, Death is near!

    "The music of some starry sphere,
    A low, melodious strain of song,
    Like to the wind-harp sweeps along.
                   Yes, Death is near!

    "A lovely sprite of smiling cheer,
    Sits by my side in form of light;
    Sits on my left a darker sprite.
                   Sure, Death is near!

    "The meed for ever deemed so dear,
    Repose upon the breast of Fame;
    (I did but half), while lives my name.
                  Come then, Death, near!

    "Where now thy sting? Where now thy fear?
    Where now, fell power, the victory?
    I have the mastery over thee.
                  Draw, Death, draw near!"

[Sidenote: _My Appeal to my Mother._]

I felt bitterly not having the privilege of staying with Richard and
nursing him, and he was very anxious that our marriage should take
place; so I wrote the following letter to my mother, who was still
violently opposing me, and who was absent on some visits:--

 "October, 1859.

 "MY DEAREST MOTHER,[2]

 "I feel quite grateful to you for inviting my confidence. It is the
 first time you have ever done so, and the occasion shall not be
 neglected. It will be a great comfort to me to tell you all; but you
 must forgive me if I say that I have one tender place too sore to be
 touched, and that an unkind or slighting word might embitter all our
 future lives. I know it is impossible for you, with your views for me,
 both spiritual and temporal, to understand, far less sympathize with
 me on the present occasion.

 "I feel nothing in common with the world I live in. I dreamt of a
 Companion and a Life that would suit me exactly, and I them. Like
 many other people, I suppose, I found my heart yearning, and my
 tastes developing towards quite opposite things to those which fall
 naturally in my way. I am rather ashamed to tell you that I fell in
 love with Captain Burton at Boulogne, and would have married him at
 any time between this and then, if he had asked me. The moment I saw
 his brigand-daredevil look, I set him up as an idol, and determined
 that he was the only man I would ever marry; but he never knew it
 until three years ago, before he went to Africa. From Boulogne he went
 to Mecca and Medina, and then to Harar, and then to the Crimea, and
 on his return home, in 1856, you may remember he came to see us, and
 I saw him again, and then he fell in love with me and asked me to be
 his wife, and was perfectly amazed to find that I had cared for him
 all that time. He was then just going to start for Central Africa; he
 could not marry me, he could not take me, but we promised to be true
 to each other, and, as you well know, we met every day. When I came
 home one day in an ecstasy and told you that I had found the Man and
 the Life I longed for, that I clung to them with all my soul, and that
 nothing would turn me, and that all other men were his inferiors,
 what did you answer me? 'That he was the _only_ man you would never
 consent to my marrying; that you would rather see me in my coffin.'
 Did you know that you were flying in the face of God? Did you know
 it was my Destiny? Do you not realize that, because it is not _your_
 ideal, you want to dash mine from me? He has been away three years,
 and I have waited for him, feeling sure that in the end you would
 relent. You have faith in the hand of God in these matters! I called
 on a friend who was not at home. I was asked to wait; five minutes
 after the bell rang again, and another visitor was also asked to wait;
 the door opened, and Captain Burton and I stood face to face. He had
 disembarked the night before, had just arrived in town, and called
 there to know where I was living. The year and eight months' silence,
 which had distressed me so awfully, when you all said he had forgotten
 me, that he had been eaten by jackals, that he never meant to return,
 had been spent in the wildest part of the desert, where there was
 no means of communication. He had had twenty-one fevers, temporary
 blindness, and partial paralysis of the limbs; he has come back with
 flying colours, but youth, health, good looks, and spirits temporarily
 broken up from hardships, privations and dangers, and also many a
 scar. It surprises me that you should consider mine an infatuation,
 you who worship talent, and my father bravery and adventure, and here
 they are both united. Look at his military services--India and the
 Crimea! Look at his writings, his travels, his poetry, his languages
 and dialects! Now Mezzofanti is dead he stands first in Europe; he is
 the best horseman, swordsman, and pistol shot. He has been presented
 with the gold medal, he is an F.R.G.S., and you must see in the
 newspapers of his glory, and fame, and public thanks, where he is
 called 'the Crichton of the day,' 'one of the Paladins of the Age,'
 'the most interesting figure of the nineteenth century,' 'the man
 _par excellence_ of brain and pluck.' In his wonderful explorings,
 he goes where none but natives have ever trod, in hourly peril of
 his life, often wounded, often without food and water. One day he is
 a doctor, one day a priest, another he keeps a stall in the bazar,
 sometimes he is a blacksmith. I could tell you such adventures of
 him, and traits of determination, which would delight you, were you
 unprejudiced. It makes me quite ill to see little men boasting of
 the paltry things that they have done or seen, after this man, who
 has never been known to speak of himself. He is not at all the man,
 speaking of his private character, that people take him to be, or what
 he sometimes, for fun, pretends to be. There is no one whom you would
 more respect, or attach yourself to, for he is lovable in every way;
 and what fascinates me is, that every thought, word, or deed is that
 of a thorough gentleman. I wish I could say the same for all our own
 acquaintances or relations. There is not a particle of pettiness or
 snobbery in him; he is far superior to any man I ever met; he has the
 brain, pluck, and manliness of any hundred of those I have ever seen,
 united to exceeding sensitiveness, gentleness, delicacy, generosity,
 and good pride. He is the only being who awes me into respect, and
 to whose command I bow my head; and any evil opinions you may have
 ever heard of him, arise from his recklessly setting at defiance
 conventional people, talking nonsense about religion and heart
 and principle, which those who do not know him unfortunately take
 seriously, and he amuses himself with watching their stupid faces.
 Once he is married to me, he will be the favourite of our family, and
 you will all be proud of him, and have implicit confidence in him.
 And let me tell you another thing: you and my father are immensely
 proud of your families, and we are taught to be the same; but from
 the present to the future, I believe that our proudest record will
 be our alliance with Richard Burton. I want to '_Live_.' I hate the
 artificial existence of London; I hate the life of a vegetable in the
 country; I want a wild, roving, vagabond life. I am young, strong,
 and hardy, with good nerves; I like roughing it, and I always want to
 do something daring and spirited; you will certainly repent it, if
 you keep me tied up. I wonder that you do not see the magnitude of
 the position offered to me. His immense talent and adventurous life
 must command interest. A master-mind like his exercises power and
 influence over all around him; but I love him because I find in him so
 much depth of feeling, and a generous heart; because, knowing him to
 be as brave as a lion, he is yet so gentle, of a delicate, sensitive
 nature, and the soul of honour. I am fascinated by his manners because
 they are easy, dignified, simple, and yet so original; there is such
 a touching forgetfulness of himself and his fame. He appears to me
 a something so unique and romantic. He unites the wild and daring,
 with the true gentleman in every sense of the word, and a stamp of a
 man of the world of the very best sort, having seen things _without_
 the artificial atmosphere _we_ live in, as well as _within_. He has
 even the noble faults I love in a man, if they can be so called. He
 is proud, fiery, satirical, ambitious; how could I help looking up
 to him with fear and admiration? I worship ambition. Fancy achieving
 a good which affects millions, making your name a national one? It
 is infamous the way most men in the world live and die, and are
 never missed, and, like us women, leave nothing but a tombstone. By
 _ambition_ I mean men who have the will and power to change the face
 of things. I wish I were a man. If I were, I would be Richard Burton;
 but, being only a woman, I would be Richard Burton's wife. He has not
 mere brilliancy of talent, but brains that are a rock of good sense,
 and stern decision of character. I love him purely, passionately, and
 respectfully; there is no void in my heart, it is at rest for ever
 with him. It is part of my nature, part of myself, the basis of all my
 actions, part of my religion; my whole soul is absorbed in it. I have
 given my every feeling to him, and kept nothing back for myself or for
 the world. I would this moment sacrifice and leave _all_ to follow his
 fortunes, even if you all cast me out--if the world tabooed me, and
 no compensation _could_ be given to me for _his_ loss. Whatever the
 world may condemn of lawless or strong opinions, whatever he is to the
 world, he is perfect to me, and I would not have him otherwise than he
 is.

 "That is my side of the business, and now I will turn to your few
 points. You have said that 'you do not know who he is, that you do not
 meet him anywhere.' I don't like to hear you say the first, because it
 makes you out illiterate, and you know how clever you are; but as to
 your not meeting him, considering the particular sort of society which
 you seek with a view to marrying your daughters, you are not likely to
 meet him there, because it bores him, and it is quite out of his line.
 In these matters he is like a noble, simple savage, and has lived too
 much in the desert to comprehend the snobberies of our little circles
 in London. He is a world-wide man, and his life and talents open every
 door to him; he is a great man all over the East, in literary circles
 in London, and in great parties where you and I would be part of the
 crowd, he would be remarkable as a star, also amongst scientific men
 and in the clubs. Most great houses are only too glad to get him. The
 only two occasions in which he came out last season it was because I
 begged him to, and he was bored to death. In public life every one
 knows him. As to birth, he is just as good as we are; all his people
 belong to good old families. The next subject is religion. With regard
 to this he _appears_ to disbelieve, pretends to self-reliance, quizzes
 good, and fears no evil. He leads a good life, has a natural worship
 of God, innate honour, and does unknown good. _At present_ he is
 following no form; at least, none that he _owns_ to. He says there is
 nothing between Agnosticism and Catholicity. He wishes to be married
 in the Catholic Church, says that I must practise my own religion,
 and that our children must be Catholics, and will give such a promise
 in writing. I myself do not care about people _calling_ themselves
 Catholics, if they are not so in actions, and Captain Burton's life is
 far more Christian, more gentlemanly, more useful, and more pleasing
 to God--I am sure--than many who _call_ themselves Catholics, and
 whom we know. _No._ 3 point is money, and here I am before _you_,
 terribly crestfallen--- there is nothing except his pay. As captain,
 that is, I believe, £600 a year in India, and £300 in England. We want
 to try and get the Consulship of Damascus, where we could have a life
 after both our hearts, and where the vulgarity of poverty would not
 make itself apparent. If you do not disinherit me, I shall settle my
 portion on him, and after on any children we may have, in which case
 he would insure his life. He may have expectations or not, but we
 can't rely on them.

 "Now, dearest mother, I think we should treat each other fairly. Let
 him go to my father, and ask for me properly. Knowing you as I do,
 your ideas and prejudices, I know that a man of different religion
 and no means, would stand in a disagreeable position; so does he, and
 I will _not_ have him insulted. I don't ask you to approve, nor to
 like it; I don't expect it. I do entreat your blessing, and even a
 _passive_, reluctant consent to anything that I may do. We shall never
 marry any one else, and never give each other up, should we remain so
 all our lives. Do not accuse me of deception, because I shall see him
 and write to him whenever I get a chance, and if you drive me to it I
 shall marry him in defiance, because he is by far my first object in
 life, and the day he (if ever) gives me up I will go straight into a
 convent. If you think your Catholic friends and relatives will blame
 you, shut your eyes, give me no wedding, no trousseau, let me get
 married how I can; but when it is _done_, acknowledge to yourself
 that I neither _could_ nor _would_ be dishonourable enough to marry
 any other man, that God made no law against _poor_ people becoming
 attached to each other, that I am of an age when you can only advise
 but not hinder me, that your leave once asked my duty ends, that your
 life is three parts run, and mine is before me, and that if I choose
 to live out of the 'World' that forms _your_ happiness, what is it to
 you? how does it hurt you? I have got to live with him night and day,
 for all my life. The man you would choose I should loathe. I see all
 the disadvantages, and am willing to accept them with him. Why should
 you object? I do not ask you to share it. You will see that I am so
 set on it, that the whole creation is as nothing in comparison, that
 nothing will keep me from it. Do not embitter my whole future life,
 for God's sake. I would rather die a thousand times than go through
 again what I have borne for the last five years. Do not quarrel with
 me, or keep me away from you, and you shall not regret it. I shall
 have a wide field for a useful, active life, if you do not crush me by
 an unhappy coldness. When you take the 'World' into your confidence,
 remember that the day will come when you will forgive and repent, and
 you will feel quite hurt to find that the 'World' does _not_ forgive,
 that it remembers all you said when you were angry, and that you have
 debarred your own children from many pleasant things in this life.
 When we are parted there will be endless regrets. I will not allude to
 other marriages that you _have_ consented to, but you should rejoice
 that I have got a man who knows how to protect me, and to take care
 of me. Do think it all over in earnest, and if you love me as you say
 you do--and I believe it well--do be generous and kind about this.
 Parents hold so much power to bless or curse the future. Which will
 you do for me? Let it be a blessing! I look upon him as my future
 husband; I only wait a kind word from you, the appointment, and
 Cardinal Wiseman's protection. Do write to me, dearest mother, but
 write not with _your_ views, but entering into _mine_.

 "Your fondly attached child,

 "ISABEL ARUNDELL."

[Sidenote: _My Letter to my Mother--Not a Success._]

The only answer to this letter was an awful long and solemn sermon,
telling me "that Richard was not a Christian, and had no money." I
do not defend my letter to my mother; I should not wish that girls
should say or think that this is the way to write to one's mother, nor
would mothers in general like to receive such a letter. I print it
to show what Richard's character was, and the impression that a girl
would receive of it, what views, and what feelings she was capable of
entertaining for him. I only plead that I was fighting for my whole
future life, and my natural destiny; that I had waited for five years;
and that I saw that I had to force my mother's hand, or lose all that
made life worth living for. Richard used to say that my mother and I
were both gifted with "the noble firmness of the mule." Of course I can
see _now_ what an aggravating letter it must have been to a woman whose
heart was set on big matches for her daughters.

Richard now brought out the "Lake Regions of Equatorial Africa" (2
vols., 1860), and the Royal Geographical Society dedicated the whole
of Vol. XXXIII. to the same subject (Clowes and Sons, 1860). My mother
still remained obstinate, and Richard thought we should have to take
the law into our own hands. I could not bear the thoughts of going
against my mother.

One day in April, 1860, I was walking out with two friends, and a
tightening of the heart came over me that I had known before. I went
home and said to my sister, "I am not going to see Richard for some
time." She said, "Why, you will see him to-morrow." "No, I shall not,"
I said; "I don't know what is the matter." A tap came at the door, and
a note with the well-known writing was put into my hand. I knew my
fate, and with deep-drawn breath I opened it. He had left--could not
bear the pain of saying good-bye; would be absent for nine months, on a
journey to see Salt Lake City. He would then come back, and see whether
I had made up my mind to choose between him or my mother, to marry me
if I _would_; and if I had not the courage to risk it, he would go back
to India, and from thence to other explorations, and return no more. I
was to take nine months to think about it.

I was for a long time in bed, and delirious. For six weeks I was
doctored for influenza, mumps, sore throat, fever, delirium, and
everything that I had not got, when in reality I was only heartsick,
struggling for what I wanted, a last hard struggle with the suspense of
my future before me, and nothing and nobody to help me. I felt it would
be my breaking up if circumstances continued adverse, but I determined
to struggle patiently, and suffer bravely to the end.

At this juncture, as I was going to marry a poor man, and also to fit
myself for Expeditions, I went, for change of air, to a farmhouse,
where I learnt every imaginable thing that I might possibly want, so
that if we had _no_ servants, or if servants were sick or mutinous, we
should be perfectly independent.

On my return I saw the murder of a Captain Burton in the paper, and
_even_ my mother pitied me, and took me to the mail office, where a
clerk, after numberless inquiries, gave us a paper. My life seemed to
hang on a thread till he answered, and then my face beamed so that the
poor man was quite startled. It _was_ a Captain Burton, murdered by his
crew. I could scarcely feel sorry--how selfish we are!--and yet he too,
doubtless, had some one to love him.

Richard, meantime, had gone all over the United States, and made a
wonderful lot of friends; had gone to Salt Lake City to see Brigham
Young, where he stayed with the Mormons and their Prophet for six weeks
at great Salt Lake City, visiting California, where he went all over
the gold-diggings, and learnt practically to use both pick and pan.
He asked Brigham Young if he would admit him as a Mormon, but Brigham
Young shook his head, and said, "No, Captain, I think you have done
that sort of thing once before." Richard laughed, and told him he was
perfectly right.

About this time there was a meeting at the Royal Geographical
Society--November 13. I quote from the papers--

 "Lord Ashburton (President) in the chair.--Captain J. Grantham, R.E.;
 R. Lush, Q.C.; J. A. Lockwood, and H. Cartwright, Esqs., were elected
 Fellows.--The minutes of the former meeting having been confirmed,
 the Chairman said that a letter would be read from Captain Burton,
 by the Secretary. It would be a matter of pleasure to all present to
 know that Captain Burton was in good health. Dr. Shaw then read the
 following characteristic letter, which had been addressed to him by
 that officer:--


  "'Salt Lake City, Deserat, Utah Territory, September 7.

  "MY DEAR SHAW,

  "'You'll see my whereabouts by the envelope; I reached this place
  about a week ago, and am living in the odour of sanctity,--a pretty
  strong one it is too,--apostles, prophets, _et hoc genus omne_.
  In about another week I expect to start for Carson Valley and San
  Francisco. The road is full of Indians and other scoundrels, but I've
  had my hair cropped so short that my scalp is not worth having. I
  hope to be in San Francisco in October, and in England somewhere in
  November next. Can you put my whereabouts in some paper or other,
  and thus save me the bother of writing to all my friends? Mind, I'm
  travelling for my health, which has suffered in Africa, enjoying
  the pure air of the prairies, and expecting to return in a state of
  renovation and perfectly ready to leave a card on Muata Yanoo, or any
  other tyrant of that kind.

  "'Meanwhile, ever yours,

  "R. F. BURTON.'

 "The paper read was, 'Proposed Exploration in North-Western Australia
 under Mr. F. Gregory.'--Mr. Galton read letters from Captain Speke,
 in command of the East African Expedition, conveying the gratifying
 intelligence that, through the kind assistance of Sir George Grey,
 Governor at the Cape of Good Hope, the party had been strengthened
 by the accession of a guard of twelve Hottentot soldiers and £300.
 Admiral Keppel had conveyed the expedition in her Majesty's steamer
 _Brisk_ to Zanzibar.--A despatch from Sir George Grey on Mr. Chapman's
 and Mr. Anderson's late journeys in South Africa was read.--The
 President announced that subscriptions would be received at the
 Royal Geographical Society, 15, Whitehall Place, in aid of Consul
 Petherick's Expedition, to co-operate with that under Captains Speke
 and Grant, _viâ_ Khartoum and the Upper Nile."

Richard travelled about twenty-five thousand miles, and then he turned
his head homewards. He wrote the "City of the Saints," 1 vol., on the
Mormons, and he brought it out in 1861. It was reprinted by Messrs.
Harper of New York, and extensively reviewed, especially by the _Tour
du Monde_.

[Sidenote: _News of Richard and Subsequent Return._]

It was Christmas, 1860, that I went to stop with my relatives, Sir
Clifford and Lady Constable (his _first_ wife, _née_ Chichester), at
Burton Constable,--the father and mother of the present baronet. There
was a large party in the house, and we were singing; some one propped
up the music with the _Times_ which had just arrived, and the first
announcement that caught my eye was that "Captain R. F. Burton had
arrived from America."

I was unable, except by great resolution, to continue what I was
doing. I soon retired to my room, and _sat_ up all night, packing, and
conjecturing how I should get away,--all my numerous plans tending
to a "bolt" next morning,--should I get an affectionate letter from
him. I received two; one had been opened and read by somebody else,
and one, as it afterwards turned out, had been burked at home before
forwarding. It was not an easy matter. I was in a large country-house
in Yorkshire, with about twenty-five friends and relatives, amongst
whom was one brother, and I had heaps of luggage. We were blocked up
with snow and nine miles from the station, and (_contra miglior noler
voler mal pugna_) I had heard of his arrival only early in the evening,
and twelve hours later I had managed to get a telegram ordering me to
London, under the impression that it was of the most vital importance.

What a triumph it is to a woman's heart, when she has patiently and
courageously worked, and prayed, and suffered, and the moment is
realized that was the goal of her ambition!

[Illustration: MINIATURE PORTRAIT]

As soon as we met, and had had our talk, he said, "I have waited for
five years. The three first were inevitable on account of my journey
to Africa, but the last two were not. Our lives are being spoiled by
the unjust prejudices of your mother, and it is for you to consider
whether you have not already done your duty in sacrificing two of the
best years of your life out of respect to her. If _once_ you _really_
let me go, mind, I shall never come back, because I shall know that
you have not got the strength of character which _my_ wife must have.
Now, you must make up your mind to choose between your mother and me.
If you choose me, we marry, and I stay; if not, I go back to India and
on other Explorations, and I return no more. Is your answer ready?" I
said, "Quite. I marry you this day three weeks, let who will say nay."

When we fixed the date of our marriage, I wanted to be married on
Wednesday, the 23rd, because it was the Espousals of Our Lady and St.
Joseph, but he would not, because Wednesday, the 23rd, and Friday, the
18th, were our unlucky days; so we were married on the Vigil, Tuesday,
the 22nd of January.

We pictured to ourselves much domestic happiness, with youth, health,
courage, and talent to win honour, name, and position. We had the same
tastes, and perfect confidence in each other. No one turns away from
real happiness without some very strong temptation or delusion. I went
straight to my father and mother, and told them what had occurred. My
father said, "I consent with all my heart, if your mother consents,"
and my mother said, "_Never!_" I said, "Very well, then, mother! I
cannot sacrifice our two lives to a mere whim, and you ought not to
expect it, so I am going to marry him, whether you will or no." I asked
all my brothers and sisters, and they said they would receive him with
delight. My mother offered me a marriage with my father and brothers
present, my mother and sisters not. I felt that that was a slight upon
_him_, a slight upon his family, and a slur upon me, which I did not
deserve, and I refused it. I went to Cardinal Wiseman, and I told him
the whole case as it stood, and he asked me if my mind was absolutely
made up, and I said, "_Absolutely_." Then he said, "Leave the matter to
me." He requested Richard to call upon him, and asked him if he would
give him three promises in writing--

1. That I should be allowed the free practice of my religion.

2. That if we had any children they should be brought up Catholics.

3. That we should be married in the Catholic Church.

[Sidenote: _A Family Council decides the Matter._]

Which three promises Richard readily signed. He also amused the
Cardinal, as the family afterwards learnt, by saying sharply, "Practise
her religion indeed! I should rather think she _shall_. A man without
a religion may be excused, but a woman without a religion is not
the woman for me." The Cardinal then sent for me, promised me his
protection, said he would himself procure a special dispensation from
Rome, and that he would perform the ceremony himself. He then saw
my father, who told him how bitter my mother was about it; that she
was threatened with paralysis; that we had to consider her in every
possible way, that she might receive no shocks, no agitation, but that
all the rest quite consented to the marriage. A big family council
was then held, and it was agreed far better for Richard and me, and
for every one, to make all proper arrangements to be married, and to
be attended by _friends_, and for me to go away on a visit to some
friends, that they might not come to the wedding, nor participate in
it, in order not to have a quarrel with my mother; that they would
break it to her at a suitable time, and that the secret of their
knowing it, should be kept up as long as mother lived. "Mind," said my
father, "you must never bring a misunderstanding between mother and me,
nor between her and her children."

I passed that three weeks preparing very solemnly and earnestly for
my marriage day, but yet something differently to what many expectant
brides do. I made a very solemn religious preparation, receiving the
Sacraments. Gowns, presents, and wedding pageants had no part in it,
had no place. Richard arranged with my own lawyer and my own priest
that everything should be conducted in a strictly legal and strictly
religious way, and the whole programme of the affair was prepared. A
very solemn day to me was the eve of my marriage. The following day
I was supposed to be going to pass a few weeks with a friend in the
country.

[Sidenote: _Our Wedding._]

At nine o'clock on Tuesday, the 22nd of January, 1861, my cab was at
the door with my box on it. I had to go and wish my father and mother
good-bye before leaving. I went downstairs with a beating heart, after
I had knelt in my own room, and said a fervent prayer that they might
bless me, and if they did, I would take it as a sign. I was so nervous,
I could scarcely stand. When I went in, mother kissed me and said,
"Good-bye, child, God bless you." I went to my father's bedside, and
knelt down and said good-bye. "God bless you, my darling," he said,
and put his hand out of the bed and laid it on my head. I was too much
overcome to speak, and one or two tears ran down my cheeks, and I
remember as I passed down I kissed the door outside.

I then ran downstairs and quickly got into my cab, and drove to a
friend's house (Dr. and Miss Bird, now of 49, Welbeck Street), where I
changed my clothes--not wedding clothes (clothes which most brides of
to-day would probably laugh at)--a fawn-coloured dress, a black-lace
cloak, and a white bonnet--and they and I drove off to the Bavarian
Catholic Church, Warwick Street, London. When assembled we were
altogether a party of eight. The Registrar was there for legality, as
is customary. Richard was waiting on the doorstep for me, and as we
went in he took holy water, and made a very large sign of the Cross.
The church doors were wide open, and full of people, and many were
there who knew us. As the 10.30 Mass was about to begin, we were called
into the Sacristy, and we then found that the Cardinal in the night had
been seized with an acute attack of the illness which carried him off
four years later, and had deputed Dr. Hearne, his Vicar-general, to be
his proxy.

After the ceremony was over, and the names signed, we went back to the
house of our friend Dr. Bird and his sister Alice, who have always been
our best friends, where we had our wedding breakfast.

[Illustration: RICHARD BURTON. (PRESENTED TO HIM, WITH HIS WIFE'S
PORTRAIT, AS A WEDDING GIFT.) _By Louis Desanges._]

During the time we were breakfasting, Dr. Bird began to chaff him about
the things that were sometimes said of him, and which were not true.
"Now, Burton, tell me; how do you feel when you have killed a man?" Dr.
Bird (being a physician) had given himself away without knowing it.
Richard looked up quizzically, and drawled out, "Oh, quite jolly! How
do you?"

[Illustration: ISABEL BURTON AS A BRIDE. _By Louis Desanges._]

We then went to Richard's bachelor lodgings, where he had a bedroom,
dressing-room, and sitting-room, and we had very few pounds to bless
ourselves with, but were as happy as it is given to any mortals out of
heaven to be. The fact is that the only clandestine thing about it, and
that was quite contrary to _my_ desire, was that my poor mother, with
her health and her religious scruples, was kept in the dark, but I must
thank God that, though paralysis came on two years later, it was not I
that caused it.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

I here insert the beautiful and characteristic letter which my husband
wrote to my father on the following day, in case he should wish to give
it to my mother. For the first few days of our marriage, Richard used
to be so worried at being stared at as a bridegroom, that he always
used to say that we had been married a couple of years; but that sort
of annoyance soon wore off, and then he became rather proud of being a
married man. To say that I was happy would be to say nothing; a repose
came over me that I had never known. I felt that it was for Eternity,
an immortal repose, and I was in a bewilderment of wonder at the
goodness of God, who had almost worked miracles for me.

[Sidenote: _We are received at Home again._]

During this time my brothers visited us, keeping us up in all
that was going on. Some weeks later, two dear old aunts, Mrs.
Strickland-Standish and Monica, Lady Gerard, who lived at Portobello
House, Mortlake, nearly opposite to where I live now, and where I
had frequently passed several weeks every year (for they made a sort
of family focus), got to hear that I was seen going into a bachelor
lodging, and bowled up to London to tell my mother. She wrote in an
agony to my father, who was visiting in the country, "that a dreadful
misfortune had happened in the family; that I been seen going into
a bachelor lodging in London, and could not be at the country house
where I was supposed to be." My father telegraphed back to her, "She
is married to Dick Burton, and thank God for it;" and he wrote to her,
enclosing the letter just inserted, and desired her to send one of my
brothers for us, who knew where to find us, and to mind and receive us
properly. We were then sent for home. My mother behaved like a true
lady and a true Christian. She kissed us both, and blessed us. I shall
never forget how shy I felt going home, but I went in very calmly, I
kissed them all round, and they received Richard in the nicest way, and
then mother embarrassed us very much by asking our pardon for flying
in the face of God, and opposing what she now knew to be His will. My
husband was very much touched. It was not long before she approved of
the marriage more than anybody, and as she grew to know him, she loved
him as much as her own sons. And this is the way we came to be married.

In short, mother never could forgive herself, and was always alluding
to it either personally or by letter. It always was the same burthen of
song--"that she exposed me to such a risk, that my relations might have
abandoned me, that Society might not have received me, that I might
have been forbidden to put my name down for the Drawing-room, when I
had done nothing wrong;" and she said, "All through _me_, and God had
destined it, but I could not see it. I never thought you would have
the courage to take the law in your own hands;" and I used to answer
her, "Mother, if you had all cast me out, if Society had tabooed me,
if I had been forbidden to go to Court, it would not have kept me from
it--I could not have helped myself--I am quite content with my future
crust and tent, and I would not exchange places with the Queen; so do
not harass yourself."

However, by the goodness of God, and the justness and kindness of a
few great people, none of these catastrophes _did_ happen. We used
to entreat of her not to say anything more about it, but even on her
deathbed she persisted in doing so. I shall never forget that first
night when we went home; I went up to my room and changed my things,
and ate my dinner humbly and silently. We were a very large family and
were all afraid to speak, and as Richard was so very clever, the family
stood rather in awe of him; so there was a silence and restraint upon
us; but the children were allowed to come down to dessert for a treat,
and, with the intuition that children have, they knew that he wanted
them, and that they could do what they liked with him. One was a little
_enfant terrible_, and very fond of copying our midshipmen brothers'
slang. They crowded round my mother with their little doll-tumblers
waiting for some wine. He was so constrained that he forgot to pass the
wine at dessert as it came round to _him_, when a small voice piped out
from the end of the long table, "I say, old bottle-stopper--pass the
wine!" He burst out laughing, and that broke the ice, and we all fell
to laughing and talking. Mother punished the child by giving him no
wine, but Richard looked up and said so sweetly, "Oh, _Mother_, not on
my first night _at home!_" that her heart went out to him.

We had seven months of uninterrupted bliss. Through the kindness of
Lord John Russell, Richard obtained the Consulship of Fernando Po, in
the Bight of Biafra, West Coast of Africa, with a coast line of six or
seven hundred miles for his jurisdiction, a deadly climate, and £700 a
year. He was too glad to get his foot on the first rung of the ladder,
so, though it was called the "Foreign Office Grave," he cheerfully
accepted it. It was not quite so cheerful for me, because it was a
climate of certain death to white women, and he would not allow me to
go out in an unlimited way.

[Sidenote: _A Delightful London Season._]

We had a glorious season, and took up our position in Society. He
introduced me to all the people he knew, and I introduced him to all
the people that I knew. Lord Houghton (Monckton-Milnes), the father
of the present Lord Houghton, was very much attached to Richard, and
he settled the question of our position by asking his friend Lord
Palmerston to give a party, and to let me be the bride of the evening;
and when I arrived, Lord Palmerston gave me his arm, and he introduced
Richard and me to all the people we had not previously known, and my
relatives clustered around us as well. I was allowed to put my name
down for a Drawing-room. And Lady Russell, now the Dowager, presented
me at Court "on my marriage."

[Sidenote: _Fire at Grindlay's._]

Shortly after this, happened Grindlay's fire, where we lost all we
possessed in the world, except the few boxes we had with us. The worst
was that all his books, and his own poetry, which was beautiful,
especially one poem, called "The Curse of Vishnu," and priceless
Persian and Arabic manuscripts, that he had picked up in various
out-of-the-way places, and a room full of costumes of every nation,
were burnt. He smiled, and said in a philosophical sort of way, "Well,
it is a great bore, but I dare say that the world will be none the
worse for some of those manuscripts having been burnt" (a prophetic
speech, as I now think of it). When he went down to ask for some
compensation, he found that Grindlay was insured, but that he was
not--not, he said, that any money could repay him for the loss of the
things. As he always saw the comic side of a tragedy as well as the
pathetic, "the funniest thing was the clerk asking me if I had lost any
plate or jewellery, and on my saying, 'No,' the change in his face from
sympathy to the utter surprise that I could care so much for any other
kind of loss, was amusing."

In 1861, when the Indian army changed hands, Richard suffered, and,
as Mr. Hitchman remarked, "his enemies may be congratulated upon
their mingled malice and meanness." He just gave the official animus
a chance. It was a common thing in times of peace for Indian officers
to be allowed to take appointments and remain on the _cadre_ of their
regiment, temporarily or otherwise. Richard, in remonstrance, would not
quote names for fear of injuring other men, but any man who knew Egypt
could score off half a dozen. His knowledge of the East, and of so many
Eastern languages, would have been of incalculable service in Egypt,
upon the Red Sea, in Marocco, Persia, in any parts of the East, and
yet he, who in any other land would have been rewarded with at least a
K.C.B. and a handsome pension, was glad to get his foot on the lowest
rung of the ladder of the Consular service, called the "Foreign Office
Grave," the Consulate of Fernando Po, and we could not think enough of,
talk enough of, or be grateful enough to Lord John Russell, who gave it
him; yet the acceptance of this miserable post was made an excuse to
strike his name off the Indian army list, and the rule, which had been
allowed to lapse in a score of cases, was revived for Richard's injury
under circumstances of discourtesy so great, that it would be hard to
believe the affront unintentional. He received no notice whatever, and
he only realized, on seeing his successor gazetted, that his military
career was actually ended, and his past life become like a blank sheet
of paper. It would have been stretching no point to have granted this
appointment, and to have been retained in the army on half-pay, but it
was refused; they swept out his whole nineteen years' service as if
they had never been, without a vestige of pay or pension.

All his services in Sind had been forgotten, all his Explorations were
wiped out, and at the age of forty he found himself at home, with the
rank of Captain, no pay, no pension, plenty of fame, a newly married
wife, and a small Consulate in the most pestilential climate, with £700
a year. In vain he asked to go to Fernando Po _temporarily_ till wanted
for active service. He wrote--

 "It will be an act of injustice on the part of the Bombay Government
 to solicit my removal on account of my having risked health and life
 in my country's service.

 "They are about to treat me as a man who has been idling away my
 time and shirking duty; whereas I can show that every hour has been
 employed for my country's benefit, in study, writings, languages, and
 explorations. Are my wounds and fevers, and perpetual risk of health
 and life, not to speak of personal losses, to go for nothing?

 "The Bombay Government does not take into consideration one iota of
 my service, but casts the whole into oblivion. I consider the Bombay
 Government to be unjustly prejudiced against me on account of the
 _private piques_ of a certain half-dozen individuals. Will the Bombay
 Government put all its charges against me in black and white, and
 thus allow me a fair opportunity of clearing myself of my supposed
 delinquencies? Other men--I will merely quote Colonel Greathed and
 Lieut.-Colonel Norman--are permitted to take service in England, and
 yet to retain their military service in India.

 "In the time of the Court of Directors, an officer might be serving
 the Foreign Office and India too, as in the case of Lieut.-Colonel
 Hamerton, late Consul at Zanzibar; but since the amalgamation, the
 officers of her Majesty's Indian Army hope that they may take any
 appointment in any part of the world, as a small recompense for their
 losses; _i.e._ supercession and inability to sell their commissions,
 after having paid for steps."

At first he wanted to try me, so he pretended he did not like my going
to Confession, and I used to say, "Well, my religion teaches me that
my first duty is to obey you," and I did not bother to go; so he at
once took off this restraint, and used to send me to Mass, and remind
me of fish-days. It astonished me, the wonderful way he knew our
doctrine, and frequently explained things to me that I did not know
myself. He always wore his medal. I was very much surprised, shortly
after we were married, at my husband giving me £5. Whilst he had been
away one of my brothers had met with a sudden death; his horse had
fallen on him and crushed him in a moment. He said, "Take this and
have Masses said with it for your poor brother." I only thought then
what generosity and what good taste it was. He was always delighted
with the society of priests--not so much foreign priests, as English
ones--especially if he got hold of a highly educated, broad theologian
of a Jesuit; but in all cases he was most courteous to _any_ of them,
and protected them and their Missions whenever he was in a position to
do so. Once he went with me to a midnight Mass, and he cried all the
time. I could not understand it, and he said he could not explain it
himself. I had no idea then that he had ever been once received into
our Church in India. He _always_ bowed his head at "Hallowed be Thy
Name," and he did that to the day of his death.

[Sidenote: _Delightful Days at Country Houses._]

We passed delightful days at country houses, notably at Lord Houghton's
(Fryston), where, at his house in the country, and his house in Brook
Street, and at Lord Strangford's house in Great Cumberland Place, we
met all that was worth meeting of rank and fashion, beauty and wit, and
_especially_ all the most talented people in the world. I can shut my
eyes and mentally look round his (Lord Houghton's) large round table
even _now_, which usually held twenty-five guests. I can see Buckle,
and Carlyle, and all the Kingsleys, and Swinburne, and Froude, and all
the great men that were, and many that are, for the last thirty-two
years, and remember a great deal of the conversation. But I am not here
to describe them, but to give a description of Richard Burton. I can
remember the Due d'Aumale cheek by jowl with Louis Blanc. The present
Lord Houghton, and his two sisters, Lady Fitzgerald and the Hon. Mrs.
Henniker, were babes in the nursery. I can remember the good old times
in the country, at Fryston, where breakfast was at different little
round tables, so people came down when they liked, and sat at one or
another, and he would stroll from one table to another, with a book
in his hand. Swinburne was then a boy, and had just brought out his
"Queen Mother Rosamund," and Lord Houghton brought it up to us, saying,
"I bring you this little book, because the author is coming here this
evening, so that you may not quote him as an absurdity to himself." I
can remember Vambéry telling us Hungarian tales, and I can remember
Richard cross-legged on a cushion, reciting and reading "Omar el
Khayyám" alternately in Persian and English, and chanting the call to
prayer, "Allahhu Akbar."

My Society recollections, my happy days, are all of the pleasantest
and most interesting. The evil day came far too soon; this was a large
oasis of seven months in my life, and even if I had had no other it
would have been worth living for. We went down to Worthing to my
family, where we passed a very happy time, and he here gave me a proof
of affection which I shall never forget. He had gone to see his cousin,
Samuel Burton, at Brighton, and had promised to be back by the last
train, but he did not make his appearance. I was in a dreadful state of
mind lest anything should have happened to him. He arrived about one in
the morning, pale and worn out. He had gone to sleep in the train, and
had been carried some twenty miles away from Worthing. He could get no
kind of conveyance, being in the night; so, inquiring in what direction
Worthing lay, and settling the matter by a pocket compass, he started
across country, and between a walk and a sort of long trot, from nine
to one, he reached me, instead of waiting, as another man would have
done, till the next morning for a train back.

[Sidenote: _Richard goes to West Africa._]

I shall never forget when the time came to part, and I was to go to
Liverpool to see him off, for he would not allow me to accompany him
till he had seen what Fernando Po was like. It was in August, 1861,
when we went down to Liverpool, and we were very sad, because he
was not going to a Consulate where we could hope to remain together
as a _home_. It was a deadly climate, and we were always going to
be climate-dodging. I was to go out, not now, but later, and then,
perhaps, not to land, and to return and ply up and down between
Madeira and Teneriffe and London, and I, knowing he had Africa at his
back, was in a constant agitation for fear of his doing more of these
Explorations into unknown lands. There were about eighteen men (West
African merchants), and everybody took him away from me, and he had
made me promise that if I was allowed to go on board and see him off,
that I would not cry and unman him. It was blowing hard and raining;
there was one man who was inconsiderate enough to accompany and stick
to us the whole time, so that we could not exchange a word (how I hated
him!). I went down below and unpacked his things and settled his cabin,
and saw to the arrangement of his luggage. My whole life and soul was
in that good-bye, and I found myself on board the tug, which flew
faster and faster from the steamer. I saw a white handkerchief go up
to his face. I then drove to a spot where I could see the steamer till
she became a dot.

    "Fresh as the first beam
    Glittering on a sail,
    Which brings our friends up
    From the under world;
    Sad as the last, which reddens over one,
    That sinks with all we love below the verge."

Here I give Richard's description of going out, read later--

 "A heart-wrench--and all is over. Unhappily I am not one of those
 independents who can say, _Ce n'est que le premier pas qui coûte_.

 "Then comes the first nightfall on board outward-bound, the saddest
 time that the veteran wanderer knows. Saadi the Persian, one of the
 best travellers,--he studied books for thirty years, did thirty of
 _wanderjahre_, and for thirty wrote and lived in retirement--has
 thus alluded to the depressing influence of what I suppose may
 philosophically be explained by an absence of Light-stimulus or
 Od-force--

    'So yearns at eve's soft tide the heart,
    Which the wide wolds and waters part
    From all dear scenes to which the soul
    Turns, as the lodestone seeks its pole.'

 "We cut short the day by creeping to our berths, without even a
 'nightcap,' and we do our best to forget ourselves, and everything
 about us."

[1] "Aussitôt qu'un malheur nous arrive il se recontre toujours un ami
prêt à venir nous le dire et à nous fouiller le cœur avec un poignard
en nous faisant admirer le manche."--BALZAC. This friend I had, but--

    "There are no tricks in plain and simple Faith."--_Julius Cæsar_, iv. ii.

I received only four lines in the well-known hand by post from
Zanzibar--no letter.

      TO ISABEL.

    "That brow which rose before my sight,
      As on the palmers' holy shrine;
    Those eyes--my life was in their light;
      Those lips my sacramental wine;
    That voice whose flow was wont to seem
      The music of an exile's dream."

I knew then it was all right.

[2] My mother was one of the best and cleverest of women--a queenly
woman in manners and appearance (people who have been much at Courts
have told me that they always felt as if they were in Royal presence
when with her). She had a noble heart and disposition, was generous to
a fault, and was exceedingly clever. She was, at the time I write of,
still a worldly woman of strong brain, of hasty temper, bigoted, and a
Spartan with the elder half of her brood. We trembled before her, but
we adored her, and we never got over her death in 1872.




CHAPTER XVI.

WEST COAST OF AFRICA--RICHARD'S FIRST CONSULATE.


In his "Wanderings in West Africa" (2 vols., 1863), Richard describes
the whole of his jurisdiction, which was several hundred miles of
coast. The ship, after leaving Madeira and Teneriffe, goes to Bathurst
on the West Coast, to Sierra Leone, Monrovia, Grand Bassa, Cape
Palmas, Half Jack, Grand Baltam, Axim, Elmina, Cape Coast Castle,
Salt Pond, Winnebah, Accra, Addah, Quitta, Bagadah, Agwey, Whydah,
Lagos, Bonny, Fernando Po, and Old Calabar, one station beyond. He
ends up with--"Arriving in these outer places is the very abomination
of desolation. I drop, for a time, my pen, in the distinct memory of
having felt uncommonly suicidal through that first night at Fernando
Po."

It would not suit this book to have large copyings from his works,
but I think I should give two which are especially useful--one a
description of the Sierra Leone negro, and another on the richness of
the Guinea Coast, about which I shall have something to say later on in
1881.


 [Sidenote: _The West African Negroes._]

 "We parted with our consumptives at Madeira; we leave our Africans
 at Sierra Leone. For this race there is a descending scale of
 terminology: 1, European; 2, civilized man; 3, African; 4, man--the
 Anglo-Americans say, 'pussum'--of colour; 5, negro; 6, darkie; 7,
 nigger, which last, is actionable. Many a £5 has been paid for the
 indulgence of _lèse majesté_ against the 'man and a brother;' and
 not a few £50 where the case has been brought into the civil courts.
 Captain Philip Beaver was justified in declaring that he would 'rather
 carry a rattlesnake than a negro--who has been in London.' Not so Mr.
 Hazelface, into whose soul or countenance _soggezzione_, or shame,
 never entered--for was he not of the Almighty Negroes? And shall not
 the most dishonest of Negroes in these days stand before Kings? The
 second, our Gorilla, or Missing Link, was the son of an emancipated
 slave, who afterwards distinguished himself as a Missionary and a
 Minister. His--the sire's--name has appeared in many books, and
 he wrote one himself, pitying his own 'poor lost father,' because,
 forsooth, he died in the religion of his ancestors, an honest
 Fetishist. Our excellent warm-hearted, ignorant souls at home were so
 delighted with the report of this Lion of the Pulpit, that it was much
 debated whether the boy Ajáí had not been providentially preserved for
 the Episcopate of Western Africa.

 "These individuals are out of their _assiettes_. At home they will
 devour, perforce, _Kankey_ and bad fish, washing them down with
 _Mimbo_ and _Pitta_--native and palm wine, and hop-less beer--here
 they abuse the best of beef, long openly for 'palaver sauce' and
 'palm-oil chop,' and find fault with their champagne. At home they
 will wear breech-clouts and Nature's stockings, only. Here their
 coats are superfine Saxony, with broadest of silk velvet collars. The
 elongated cocoa-nut head bears jauntily a black pork-pie felt, with
 bright azure ribbons, and a rainbow necktie vies in splendour with the
 loudest of waistcoats from the land of Moses and Son; the pants are
 tightly strapped down to show the grand formation of the knee, the
 delicate slimness of the calf, the manly purchase of the heel, and the
 waving line of beauty that distinguishes the shin-bone.[1] There are
 portentous studs upon a glorious breadth of shirt, a small investment
 of cheap, gaudy, tawdry rings sets off the chimpanzee-like fingers,
 and when in the open air, lemon-coloured gloves invest the hands,
 whose horny reticulated skin reminds me of the scaly feet of those
 cranes which pace at ease over the burning sand, for which strong
 slippers are not strong enough for us; whilst feet of the same order,
 but slightly superior in point of proportional size, are tightly
 packed into patent-leather boats, the latter looking as if they had
 been stuffed with some inanimate substance, say the halves of a calf's
 head.

 "It is hardly fair to deride a man's hideousness, but it is where
 personal deformity is accompanied by conceit. Once upon a time we all
 pitied an individual who by acclamation was proclaimed the ugliest man
 in the B---- army, which is not saying a little. 'Poor E----!' his
 friends would exclaim; 'it's no matter if a chap's plain, but _he_
 is revolting,' and they commiserated him accordingly. Once, however,
 he was detected by his chums looking into a shaving-glass, and thus
 soliloquizing: 'Well, E----, I declare you'd be a deuced handsome
 fellow if you had but a better nose.' The discreet chum, of course,
 spread the story, and from that moment our compassion departed.

 "No one, also, is more hopeless about the civilization of Africa than
 the semi-civilized African returning to the 'home of his fathers.' One
 feels how hard has been his own struggle to emerge from barbarism.
 He acknowledges in his own case a selection of species, and he sees
 no end to the centuries before there can be a nation equal even to
 himself. Yet in _England_, and in _books_, he will cry up the Majesty
 of African kings; he will give the people whom he thoroughly despises
 a thousand grand gifts of morals and industry, and extenuate, or
 rather ignore, all their faults and shortcomings. I have heard a
 negro assert, with the unblushing effrontery which animates the negro
 speechifying in Exeter Hall, or before some learned society, that--for
 instance, at Lagos, a den of thieves--theft is unknown, and that men
 leave their money with impunity in the store-house, or on the highway.
 After which, he goes home, 'tongue in cheek,' despising the facility
 with which an Englishman and his money are parted.

 "Our Africans left the ship without, on our part, or probably on
 theirs, a single regret. Not so with the Mandengas. The honest and
 manly bearing of these Moslems--so wonderful a contrast with those
 caricatures in pork-pie and peg-topped broadcloth--had prepossessed me
 strongly in their favour. We shook hands, and in broken Arabic bade
 each other a kindly Allah-speed.

 [Sidenote: _The Black Man is raised above the White Man._]

 "The white man's position is rendered far more precarious on the coast
 than it might be, _if the black man were always kept in his proper
 place_. A European without stockings or waistcoat, and with ragged
 slops hanging about his limbs, would not be admitted into the cuddy;
 an African will. Many of the fellows come on board to make money by
 picking a quarrel. And what does one think of a dusky belle, after
 dropping her napkin at Government House, saying to her neighbour,
 'Please, Mr. Officer-man, pick up my towel'? Or of such a dialogue as
 this? The steward has neglected to supply soup to some negro, who at
 every meal has edged himself higher up towards the top of the table,
 and whose conversation consists of whispering into the ears of an
 adjacent negro, and of hyæna-like guffaws.

 "'I say, daddee, I want _my_ soop; all de passengers, he drink 'im
 soop; _me_ no drink _my_ soop: what he mean, dis palaver?'

 "The words are uttered in a kind of scream; the steward cannot help
 smiling, and the nigger resumes--

 "'Ah, you laff! And for why you laff? I no laff; no drinkee soop!'

 "Here the dialogue ends, and the ladies look their acknowledgments
 that travelling does throw us into strange society.

 "From the moment of our arrival, 'negro palaver' began. A _cause
 célèbre_, which will be referred home, had just been brought to a
 close. Mr. M----, a civilian official in the colony, after thrice
 warning out of his compound a troublesome negro and a suspected thief,
 had applied a certain _vis à tergo_, and had ejected the trespasser,
 not, however, with unnecessary violence. In England the case would
 have been settled by a police magistrate, and the fine, if any,
 would have been half a crown. At Freetown the negro, assisted by his
 friends or 'company,' betakes himself to a lawyer. The latter may be a
 mulatto, possibly a pettifogger, certainly a moneyless man who lives
 in a wretched climate for the pure purposes of lucre; his interest is
 of course to promote litigation, and he fills his pockets by what is
 called 'sharp practice.' After receiving the preliminary fee of £5,
 he demands exemplary damages. The consequence was that Mr. M---- was
 lightened of £50.

 [Illustration: THE MAN WHO WINS.]

 "These vindictive cases are endless; half an hour's chat will bring
 out a dozen, and, as at Aden, the Sons of the White Cliff have nothing
 to do but to quarrel and to recount their grievances. A purser of the
 African S.S. Company, finding a West Indian negro substituting dead
 for live turkeys, called him a 'tief.' The 'tief' laid an action for
 £1000, and the officer was only too happy to escape with the retainer,
 three guineas. The same, when a black came on board for a package,
 sent him off to the quarter-deck; the fellow became insolent, when
 a military man present exclaimed, 'If you gave _me_ that cheek, I'd
 have you overboard!' The negro put off, took two of his friends as
 witnesses, procured an affidavit that the white man had threatened
 him, and laid an action for defamation of character, etc.; damages
 £50--a favourite sum. Despite a counter oath, signed by two or three
 English officers, one of them a colonel, to the effect that no bad
 language had been used except by the plaintiff, whose insolence had
 been unbearable, the defendant was compelled to make an apology, and
 to pay £15 costs. Another told me that for raising a stick to an
 insolent servant, he was 'actioned' for £50, and escaped by compromise
 for £12. When the defendant is likely to leave the station, the _modus
 operanda_ is as follows:--A writ of summons is issued. The lawyer
 strongly recommends an apology for the alleged offence and a promise
 to pay costs, warning the offender at the same time that judgment will
 go against him if absent by default. Should the defendant prudently
 'stump up,' the thing ends; if not, a _capias_ is taken out, and
 the law runs its course. A jury is chosen. The British Constitution
 determines that a man must be tried by his peers. His peers at Sierra
 Leone are perhaps a dozen full-blooded blacks, liberated slaves,
 half-reformed fetishmen, sometimes with a sneaking fondness for the
 worship of Shángo, and if not criminals in their own country, at least
 pauper-clad in dish-clouts and palm oil. To see such peers certainly
 'takes pride down a peg,' as the phrase is; no use to think of that
 ancestor who 'came over' with the Conqueror, or that Barony lost in
 the days of the Rebellion.

 "No one raises the constitutional question, 'Are these half-reclaimed
 barbarians my peers?' And if he did, justice would sternly answer
 'Yes!' The witnesses will forswear themselves--not like our
 porters, for half a crown, but _gratis_, because the plaintiff is a
 fellow-tribesman. The judge may be 'touched with the tar-brush,' but
 be he white as milk, he must pass judgment according to verdict, and
 when damages are under £200, there is no appeal.

 "Sierra Leone contains many sable families--Lumpkins, Lewis, Pratt,
 Ezidio, Nicols, Macarthy, are a few of their patronymics,--against
 whom it is useless for a stranger to contend and come off scot and
 lot free. Besides these, there are seventeen chief and two hundred
 minor tribes, whilst a hundred languages, according to M. Koelle,--one
 hundred and fifty, says Bishop Vidal--are spoken in the streets of
 Freetown. All are hostile to one another; all combine against the
 white man. After the fashion of the Gold Coast, they have formed
 themselves into independent republics, called 'companies.' These set
 aside certain funds for their own advancement, and for the ruin of
 their rivals. The most powerful and influential races are the Aku and
 the Ibo.

 "If the reader believes that I have exaggerated the state of
 things at Sierra Leone, he is mistaken; the sketch is under rather
 than overdrawn. And he will presently see a confirmation of these
 statements in the bad name which these liberated Africans bear upon
 the whole of the western coast.

 "At breakfast we had been duly primed with good advice, viz. not
 to notice impudence, and to turn our shoulders--the severest
 punishment--upon all who tried their hands at annoyance. We rowed to
 the Government landing, a rickety, slippery flight of wooden stairs,
 which is positively dangerous at night, or when the waves dash against
 the jetty. We were careful to carry no luggage; porters fight for the
 job, and often let the object of emulation drop into the water. One
 of our mail-bags received this _baptism de Sierra Leone_ last night.
 On such occasion a push or poke is a forbidden luxury; the man might
 fall down--you have certainly injured him internally--you must pay
 exemplary damages."

[Sidenote: _Richard inaugurates a Better State of Things._]

Two stories are related about Richard. I do not vouch for them, but
they sound likely. One was, that when he arrived in Africa, he found
that the negroes were in the state above described, assuming the
upper hand, and treating the white men as an inferior race. They
were summoning them before tribunals on the most trivial pretext,
forwarding complaints home to pander to different people, which a man
who had lived in India, and had passed something like twenty-two
years in black countries, was not the least likely to stand. A day
or two after his arrival at his post, a very dandified-dressed and
full-blooded nigger walked into the Consulate, the window of which
was not far from the ground, clapped Richard on the back in the most
jovial manner, with his disagreeable "yah-yah" laugh. "How do, Consul?
Come to shake hands--how do?" holding out his black paw, as if he were
a condescending Royalty. There were some other Englishmen waiting
about for different business, looking curiously to see what was going
to be the attitude of the new Consul. He looked at the bumptious and
loud-mannered nigger, with a quiet stare of surprise, and then shouted,
"Hi, Kroo-boys, here; throw this nigger out of the window, will you?"
The Kroo-boys, his canoemen (of six oars), rushed in, delighted with
the commission, and flung him out. It was only a roll of three or four
feet--but no niggers in black coats and button-holes came to clap the
new Consul on the back after that, nor did they summon him before the
Tribunal.

Another story told was, that the merchants on the West Coast were
sorely put to inconvenience by the Captains of ships steaming in,
discharging their cargo, and steaming off again without giving the
merchants time to read and answer to their correspondence. Commerce,
therefore, was at a very low ebb, because the merchants were a
fortnight behind the world, there being only two steamers a month
at that time. They asked Richard in a body, if there was no means
of helping them. Richard got out the contracts, and saw that they
said "that the Captain of a ship should stop at the port _eighteen
hours' daylight_ for that very purpose." The next ship that came in,
the Captain came and looked into the Consulate in a jovial way, and
said, "Now, Captain, hurry up with my papers; I want to be off; going
to clear out." Richard looked up at him with a surprised stare, and
drawled out lazily, "Oh, you can't go, for I have not finished my
letters!" "Oh, damn your letters, Sir! I'm off." "Stop a bit," said
Richard; "let us have a look at your contract?" He pulled it out of
the drawer. "The contract says that you shall stop here eighteen
hours' daylight, to give the merchants an opportunity of receiving and
answering their correspondence, otherwise commerce would be ruined,
the merchants being a fortnight behind the world." "Oh yes," he said,
"but nobody has ever enforced that; the Consuls have never bothered us
about that!" "Ha," said Richard, "more shame for them! Now, are you
going to stay?" "No, sir, not I!" "Very well, then; I am going up to
the Governor's, and I am going to shot two guns. If you go out _one
minute_ before your eighteen hours' daylight expires--mind, I shall go
up there and stay myself--I shall send the first gun right across your
bows, and the second slap into you. Mind, I am a man of my word. Good
morning!" He did not go out till half an hour after his eighteen hours'
daylight; and as long as Richard was there none of them ever did.

 "The Sierra Leone man is an inveterate thief; he drinks, he gambles,
 he intrigues, he over-dresses himself, and when he has exhausted
 his means, he makes Master pay for all. With a terrible partiality
 for summoning and enjoying himself thoroughly in a court of law, he
 enters into the spirit of the thing like an attorney's clerk; he
 soon wearies of the less exciting life in the wilder settlements,
 where debauchery has not yet developed itself; home sickness then
 seizes him, and he deserts, after probably robbing the house. He is
 the horror of Europeans; the merchants of the Gaboon river prefer
 forfeiting the benefits of the African Steam Ship Company to seeing
 themselves invaded by this locust tribe, whose most beautiful view
 is apparently that which leads out of Sierra Leone. At Lagos and
 Abeokuta, Sierra Leone has returned to his natural paganism, and
 has become an inveterate slave-dealer, impudently placing himself
 under native protection, and renegading the flag that saved him from
 life-long servitude. Even during the Blackland's short stay, the
 unruly, disorderly character of the man often enough showed itself by
 fisticuffing, pulling hair, and cursing, with a mixture of English and
 African ideas, that presented a really portentous _tout ensemble_.

 "With respect to the relative position of Japhet and Ham--perhaps I
 had better say Ham and Japhet--at Sierra Leone, I may remark that
 English ultra-philanthropy has granted at times _almost all_ the
 wishes of the Ethiopian melodist--

    'I wish de legislator would set dis darkie free,
    Oh, what a happy place den de darkie world would be!
          We'd have a darkie parliament
          An' darkie code of law,
          An' _darkie judges on de bench_,
          Darkie barristers and aw'!'

 "I own that 'darkie' must be defended, and well defended, too, from
 the injustice and cruelty of the class whom he calls 'poor white
 trash.' But protection should be within the limits of _Reason_. If
 the white man is not to be protected against the black man, why
 should the Jamaica negro be protected against the coolie? Because he
 requires it? I think not. Though physically speaking and mentally
 weaker than his rival, he can hold quite enough of his own--as Sierra
 Leone proves--by combination, which enables cattle to resist lions.
 Displays of this sentiment on the part of the whites must, of course,
 be repressed. Do so freely, but not unfairly. England, however, is
 still in the throes of her first repentance. Like a veteran devotee,
 she is atoning for the coquetries of her hot youth. But a few years
 ago she contracted to supply the Spanish colonies for thirty years
 with four thousand eight hundred slaves per annum, and she waged wars
 and destroyed Cities for a traffic which Cardinal Cibo, at the end
 of the seventeenth century, on the part of the Sacred College, to
 the Congoese missionaries, denounced as 'a pernicious and abominable
 abuse.' For this, and for the 2,130,000 negroes imported into the West
 Indian estates between A.D. 1680 and A.D. 1786, Britannia yet mourns,
 and, Rachel-like, will not be comforted, because those niggers are
 not. What the inevitable reaction shall be, _quien sabe?_

 [Sidenote: _Method of protecting the Negro._]

 "I do not for a moment regret our philanthropy, even with its terrible
 waste of life and gold. But England can do her duty to Africa, without
 cant and without humbug.[2] She can contend with a world in arms,
 if necessary, against the injurious traffic, but she might abstain
 from violently denouncing all who do not share her opinions upon the
 subject. Anti-slavery men have hitherto acted rather from sentiment
 than from reason; and Mr. Buckle--alas! that we should hear from him
 no more--may be right in determining that morality must not rule,
 but be ruled by intellect. Let us open our eyes to the truth, and
 eschewing 'zeal without knowledge,' secure to ourselves the highest
 merit--perseverance in a good cause when thoroughly disenchanted
 with it. We have one point in our favour. The _dies atra_ between
 1810-1820, when a man could not speak or write what he thought upon
 the subject of slavery, is drawing to a close. Increased tolerance now
 permits us to express our opinions, which, if in error, will wither
 like the grass in an African day; if right, will derive fresh increase
 from time.

 "There are several classes interested in pitting black man against
 white man, and in winning the day for him, _coram publico_. An
 unscrupulous missionary--it is the general policy of the English
 propagandist to take violent parts in foreign politics--will for his
 own ends preach resistance to time-honoured customs and privileges,
 which the negro himself has conceded.[3] An unworthy lawyer will
 urge a lawsuit, with a view to filling his pockets; a dishonourable
 Judge or police Magistrate will make a name for philanthropy at the
 expense of equity and honour; a weak-minded man will fear the official
 complaints, the false-memorializings which attend an unpopular
 decision, and the tomahawking that awaits him from the little army of
 negrophiles at home. But the worst class of all is the mulatto, under
 which I include quadroon and octaroon. He is everywhere, like wealth,
 _irritamenta malorum_. The 'bar-sinister,' and the uneasy idea that he
 is despised, naturally fill him with ineffable bile and bitterness.
 Inferior in point of _morale_ to Europeans, and as far as regards
 _physique_ to Africans, he seeks strength in making the families of
 his progenitors fall out. Many such men visiting England are received,
 by virtue of their woolly hair and yellow skin, into a class that
 would reject a fellow-countryman of similar, nay, of far higher,
 position; and there are amongst them infamous characters, who are
 not found out till too late. London is fast learning to distinguish
 between the Asiatic _Mir_ and the _Munshi_. The real African,
 however--so enduring are the sentimentalisms of Wilberforce[4] and
 Buxton--is still to be understood.

 [Sidenote: _Teaching Fair Treatment for the Negro._]

 "It is hardly fair to pull down one system without having another
 ready in its stead. I therefore venture to suggest certain steps
 toward regenerating--diffidently, though, on account of the amount of
 change to be made in--our unhappy colony, which for years has been
 steadily declining.

 "Creoles, as children of liberated Africans are called here, should
 be apprenticed for seven years, with superintendents to see that they
 clear the soil, plant, and build; otherwise the apprenticeship would
 be merely nominal. For the encouragement of agriculture, I would
 take a very heavy tax from small shopkeepers and hucksters, who, by
 virtue of sitting upon a shady board, before a few yards of calico
 and strings of beads, call themselves merchants. Another very heavy
 tax--at least £100 per annum--upon all grog-shop licences, very few of
 which should be issued in the colony. Police magistrates are perfectly
 capable of settling disputes amongst these people, and of dealing out
 punishment to the offenders; moreover, in all cases the fines should
 go to the Crown, not to the complainant: in civil cases, however,
 there might be an appeal home for the benefit of the litigious. This
 measure would wipe off at one sweep inducement to engage in actions
 which the presence of a judicial establishment suggests, and which
 causes such heart-burning between Europeans and Africans. I would not
 allow a black jury to 'sit upon' a white man, or _vice versâ_; and, in
 the exception of a really deserving mulatto, I would rather see him
 appointed Lord Lieutenant or Secretary of Ireland than acting Governor
 or Secretary at Sierra Leone.

 "I am convinced that something of the kind will be done, when the
 _real_ state of affairs in this unfortunate colony is ventilated in
 England. There are men who are always ready to let bad alone, and to
 hold that--

    'What has answer'd so long may answer still;'

 but the extension of Steam Navigation, and the increased number of
 travellers and visitors, will not allow progress, for want of a little
 energy, even at Sierra Leone, to be arrested.

 "It is supposed that women, being less exposed than men, can better
 resist the climate of Sierra Leone. I believe the fact to be the
 contrary; in many cases the German missionaries have lived, whilst
 their wives have died. Here lie three Spanish Consuls, who in four
 years fell victims to a climate which has slain five Captains-General,
 or Governors, in five years. A deserted cemetery, without flowers or
 whitewash, is always a melancholy spectacle. This was something more.
 The grass and bush grew dense and dank from the remnants of mortality,
 and the only tree within the low decaying walls was a poisonous
 oleander. Another sense than the eye was unpleasantly affected; we
 escaped from the City of the Slain, as from a slave-ship or from a
 plague hospital.

 "Servants in shoals presented themselves, begging 'mas'er' to take
 them down coast. In vain. The Sierra Leone man is handier than his
 southern brother; he can mend a wheel, make a coffin, or cut your
 hair, operations which in other places must remain wanted. Yet no
 one, at least if not a perfect greenhorn on the coast, will engage
 him in any capacity. In civility and respectfulness, he is far below
 the Brazilian or the Cuban _emancipado_. He has learned a 'trick or
 two;' even a black who has once visited Sierra Leone is considered as
 spoiled for life, as if he spent a year in England.

 "An unexpected pleasure was in store for me. Lagos contains, as has
 been said, some eight hundred Moslems, but not yet two thousand, as
 it is reported. Though few, they have already risen to political
 importance; in 1851, our bravest and most active opponents were those
 wearing turbans. Among these are occasionally found 'white Arabs.'
 One had lately died at Ekpe, a village on the 'Cradoo waters,' where
 the ex-king Kosoko lives, and, though a Pagan, affects the Faith.
 I was presently visited by the Shaykh Ali bin Mohammed El Mekkáwi.
 The Reverend man was fair of face, but no Meccan; he called himself
 a Máliki, as indeed are most Moslems in this part of El Islam, and
 I guessed him to be a Morocco pilgrim, travelling in the odour of
 sanctity. He was accompanied by the Kazi Mohammed Ghana, a tall and
 sturdy Hausa negro, with his soot-black face curiously gashed and
 scarred; he appeared to me an honest man and a good Moslem. The
 dignitaries were accompanied by a mob of men in loose trousers, which
 distinguished them from the Pagan crowd; one of them, by trade a
 tailor, had learned to speak Portuguese in the Brazil.

 "Very delightful was this meeting of Moslem brethren, and we took
 'sweet counsel' together, as the Missionaries say. The Shaykh Ali
 had wandered from Tripoli southwards, knew Bornu, Sokatu, Hausa, and
 Adamáwá, the latter only by name; and he seemed to have suffered but
 little from a long journey, of which he spoke favourably. He wished
 me to return with him, and promised me safe conduct. I refused,
 with a tightening of the heart, a little alleviated, however, by
 the hope that Fate may spare me to march at some future day through
 Central Africa homewards. And in that hope I purified my property,
 by giving the _zakat_, or legal alms, to the holy man, who palpably
 could not read or write, but who audibly informed his followers that
 'this bondsman' is intimately acquainted with _kull'ilm--omnis res
 scibilis_."

N.B.--Benin was a great object of interest, and I quote these few
remarks anent the Niger for geographers, and then proceed to the
_gold_, in which millions are interested.--I. B.

 "Benin was visited by Captain Thomas Wyndham in 1553, and in 1823,
 Belzoni of the Pyramids left his bones near its banks.

 "After Lagos we came to the Oil Rivers, and direct connection of the
 Bonny river with the true Niger is still a subject of geographical
 speculation: I hope to solve the problem, despite all its difficulties.

 "It is opined that the Niger falls into the Gulf of Guinea by a great
 delta, the Rio del Rey being the eastern, and the Great Rio Formoso,
 or Benin,[5] being its western limits. There are twenty-five streams
 which discharge themselves into this Great Bight, six of which are Oil
 Rivers--a disagreeable week's trip. This remarkable hypothesis, right
 in the main, whilst wrong in detail, and characterized at the time as
 'hazardous and uncertain,' was probably suggested by native testimony,
 the coasts of the Gulf of Guinea being well known to French traders.
 It is hard indeed to comprehend how an intelligent sailor could pass
 by these shores without suspecting them to be the delta of some great
 stream. Caillié, the much-abused discoverer of Timbuktu, wrote in 1828
 these remarkable words: 'If I may be permitted to hazard an opinion
 as to the course of the River Dhioliba, I should say that it empties
 itself by several mouths into the Gulf of Benin.'

 "It is directly connected with the twenty or thirty millions of people
 in the Sudan; the centres of trade are upon the stream, yet the long
 and terrible caravan march of four months still supplies articles more
 cheaply than we can afford to sell them, _viâ_ the Niger.


 GOLD IN AFRICA.

    "'Slave of the dark and dirty mine:
    What vanity has brought thee here?'
                       ----LEYDEN.

    "'Gold! gold! gold! gold!
    Bright and yellow, hard and cold;
    Molten, graven, hammer'd, and roll'd;
    Heavy to get and light to hold.'
                       ----HOOD.


 [Sidenote: _West African Gold._]

 "I lost all patience with Cape Coast Castle. Will our grandsons
 believe that in these days a colony which cannot afford £150 per
 annum for a stipendiary magistrate, that men who live in a state of
 poverty, nay, of semi-starvation, are so deficient in energy as to
 be content with sitting down hopelessly, whilst gold is among their
 sands, on their roads, in their fields, in their very walls? That
 this Ophir--that this California, where every river is a Tmolus and
 a Pactolus, every hillock is a gold-hill--does not contain a cradle,
 a puddling-machine, a quartz-crusher, a pound of mercury? That half
 the washings are wasted because quicksilver is unknown, and that pure
 gold, selling in England for £3 17_s._ to £4, is here purchaseable for
 £3 12_s._? I shout with Dominie Sampson, 'Prodi-gious!'

 "Baron Humboldt first announced the theory that gold is constant in
 meridional ranges of the paleozoic and metamorphic formations. In this
 he was followed by Sir R. Murchison, and he was followed by Professor
 Sedgwick. The latter 'has no faith whatever in the above hypothesis,
 though it led to a happy anticipation,' which followed erroneous
 premises. He continues, 'What we seem to know is, that gold is chiefly
 found among paleozoic rocks of a quartzose type,' and, moreover, that
 'some of the great physical agencies of the earth are meridional, and
 these agencies _may probably_--and in a way we do not comprehend--have
 influenced the deposit of metals on certain lines of bearing.' He
 thinks, however, it would be a 'hypothetical misdirection' to say that
 a quartzose paleozoic rock cannot be auriferous, because its strata is
 not north and south, and that 'experience must settle this point.' The
 supporters of the meridional theory may quote as instances East Africa
 Ghauts, the Oural Mountains, the Sierra Nevada of California--which
 included the diggings in British Columbia--the Australian Cordillera,
 the New Zealand ranges, and the Western Ghauts of India. On the other
 hand, there are two notable exceptions--the Central Indian region,
 in which Sir R. Martin and others, as long as thirty years ago,
 were convinced that the natives washed for gold; and, still more
 remarkable, the highly productive African chain, which, for want of a
 better name, we still call the Kong Mountains.[6]

 "The fact is that gold is a superficial formation, and has been
 almost universally distributed over the surface of earth's
 declivities. This want of depth Sir R. Murchison is fond of
 illustrating by the hand with the fingers turned downwards; they
 represent the golden veins, whilst the palm denotes the main deposit.
 It is the contrary with other metals. Gold-placers, therefore, are
 now rare, except in newly explored or exploited lands of primitive
 formation, where it is common, nay, almost universal; the article,
 whose utility was early recognized, soon disappeared from the older
 workings. The Californian digger, provided with pick, pan, and shovel,
 made $10 per diem in 1852; in 1862 he still makes $2.50, and in
 1872 he probably will make $0. The anciently auriferous countries,
 especially Arabia, have been stripped of their treasure, perhaps
 before the dawn of what is called true history;[7] and if they linger
 in Sofala, it is by reason of the people's ignorance;[8] they never
 traced the metal to its matrix.

 "Setting aside the vexed question of the identity of Ophir and Sofala,
 and the fact that in early times gold was brought down from the
 eastern regions of the upper Nilotic basin, Western Africa was the
 first field that supplied the precious metal to Europe. The French
 claim to have imported it from Elmina as early as A.D. 1382. In 1442,
 Gonçales Baldeza returned from his second voyage to the regions
 about Bojador, bringing with him the first gold. Presently a company
 was formed for the purpose of carrying on the gold trade between
 Portugal and Africa; its leading men were the navigators, Lanzarote
 and Gilianez, and the great Prince Henry did not disdain to become
 a shareholder. In 1471 João de Santarem and Pedro Escobar reached a
 place on the Gold Coast, to which, from the abundance of gold found
 there, they gave the name of Oura da Mina, the present Elmina. After
 this a flood of gold poured into the lap of Europe, and at last,
 cupidity having mastered terror of the Papal Bull, which assigned
 to Portugal the exclusive right to the Eastern hemisphere, English,
 French, and Dutch adventurers hastened to share the spoils.

 "The Portuguese, probably foreseeing competition in the Atlantic
 waters, but sure of their power in the Indian seas, determined, about
 the middle of the sixteenth century, to seek gold, of which those who
 preceded them had heard, in Eastern Africa. The Rev. Father João dos
 Santos, of the order of San Domingo, has left us, in his 'History
 of Eastern Ethiopia,' a detailed account of the first disastrous
 expedition. According to him, Dom Sebastian was scarcely seated on the
 throne of Portugal[9] before he sent to Sofala an expedition under
 command of Francis Baretto, who 'penetrated into Macoronga,'[10]
 and 'Maniça,' discovered mines of gold in these kingdoms, of which,
 by his prudence and valour, he made himself master. Baretto, having
 successfully passed through, despite a harassing warfare, the
 territories of the Quiteva or sovereign of Sofala, who fled from
 his capital, Zimboe, and having contracted with the Moorish or Arab
 Sultan[11] of Maniça a treaty of amity, which included the article
 that the King of Chicanga should admit the strangers to trade
 throughout his territories for gold dust and other merchandise,
 reached at length the goal of his ambition. His proceedings are told
 as follows:--[12]

 "'The Portuguese were enchanted at having, in so short a time,
 concluded a treaty of such advantage to their sovereign, and so
 beneficial to the realm; they, moreover, flattered themselves with
 the hope of acquiring a store of gold, with which to return enriched
 to their country; but when they saw what toil was requisite for
 extracting this precious metal from the bowels of the earth, and the
 danger incurred by those who worked in the mines, they were speedily
 undeceived, and no longer regarded their fortunes as instantaneously
 made. At the same time, they were induced to reflect that the labour
 and risk of digging the gold from the abysses whence it is drawn, are
 such as to stamp that value on it which it bears from its consequent
 rarity.

 "'These people have divers methods of extracting the gold, and
 separating it from the earth with which it is blended; but the most
 common is to open the ground, and proceed towards the spot where,
 from certain indications, ore is supposed to abound. For this
 purpose they excavate vaults, sustained at intervals by pillars, and
 notwithstanding they make use of every possible precaution, it often
 happens that the vaults give way, and bury the subterranean sappers
 beneath their ruins. When they reach the vein in which the gold is
 found, mixed with the earth, they take the ore as it is and put it
 into vessels full of water, and by dint of stirring about the water
 the earth is dissolved, and the gold remains at the bottom.[13]

 "'They likewise take advantage of heavy rains, which, occasioning
 torrents, carry before them whatever loose earth they meet in their
 way, and thus lay open the spots where gold is embedded in the
 ravines. This the Caffres collect, and wash with care to purify from
 the grosser parts of its earthy admixture.

 "'These people also, however unpolished they may seem, yet possess a
 secret, peculiar to themselves, for discovering the gold concealed in
 certain stones, which they likewise have the ingenuity of extracting,
 constantly observing the same practice of washing it well to separate
 all earthy particles from the metal, and thus rendering it equally
 lustrous with that obtained from the earth. This gold is, however,
 much cheaper than the other, either owing to its being more common, or
 to its being obtained with more facility and at less expense than that
 exfoliated from the bowels of the earth.

 "'It is a mere matter of fact that this country is rich in gold and
 silver mines, but these metals are not so easily obtained as is
 imagined, for the Caffres are prohibited, under penalty of death and
 the confiscation of their property, from discovering the site of the
 mine, either to their neighbours, or to those who pass through their
 country. When a mine is discovered, the persons finding it make wild
 outcries, to collect witnesses round them, and cover the spot, above
 which they place some object to denote the site; and far from being
 susceptible to be prevailed upon by strangers to point out these
 spots, they avoid encountering them as much as possible, for fear they
 should even be suspected of such a deed.

 "'The motive of the sovereign for enacting these prohibitory laws,
 and for exacting a declaration to be made to the Court of all
 mines discovered, is that he may take possession of them,[14] and
 by preventing the Portuguese from becoming masters of one portion,
 give no room for succeeding warfare on their part to seize on the
 remainder.'

 "The melancholy fate of Baretto's expedition deserves mentioning.
 After passing through Zimbo,[15] where the Quiteva received him with
 open arms, Baretto returned to Sofala. Being now on good terms with
 the sovereigns of that place, and of Chicanga, he resolved to open
 a road into the kingdom of Mongas, the dominions of the Monomotapa,
 who opposed him with a large army. Baretto signally defeated the
 'Caffres,' and reached Chicona, where he found no gold mines. An
 artful native, however, buried two or three lumps of silver, which,
 when discovered, brought large presents to the cheat and dreams
 of Potosi to the cheated.[16] Baretto, in nowise disheartened by
 discovering the fraud, left two hundred men in a fort at Chicona,
 whilst he and the remainder of his force retired upon Sena, on the
 Zambeze. The Caffres then blockaded the fort, and having reduced the
 gallant defenders to a famine, compelled them to make a sortie, in
 which every man was slain.

 "The ruins of Maniça, north-west of Sofala, and west of and inland
 from the East African ghauts, are described as being situated in a
 valley enclosed by an amphitheatre of hills, having a circuit of about
 two miles. According to Mr. M'Leod, the district is called Matouca
 (the Matuka of Dr. Livingstone's map), and the gold-washing tribes
 Botongos.[17] The spots containing the metal are known by the bare and
 barren surface. The natives dig in any small crevice made by the rains
 of the preceding winter, and there find gold dust. These pot-holes
 are rarely deeper than two or three feet, at five or six they strike
 the ground-rock. In the still portions of the rivers, when they are
 low, the natives dive for nuggets that have been washed down from
 the hills. Sometimes joining together in hundreds, they deflect the
 stream, and find extensive deposits. Mr. M'Leod heard of mines four
 to five hundred miles from Sofala, where the gold is found in solid
 lumps, or as veins in the rocks and stones.

 "The result of Dr. Livingstone's travels is, that whilst he found
 no gold in the African interior, frequent washings were met with
 in the Mashinga Mountains[18] and on the Zambeze river; no silver,
 however, was met with, nor could the people distinguish it from
 tin, which, however, does not establish its non-existence; he heard
 from a Mashanga man, for the first time, a native name for gold,
 _Dalama_.[19] The limits of the auriferous region are thus laid
 down: 'If we place one leg of the compasses at Tete, and extend
 the other 3° 30', bringing it round from the north-east of Tete by
 west, and then to the south-east, we nearly touch or include all the
 known gold-producing country.' This beginning from the north-east
 would include the Marave country,[20] the now 'unknown' kingdom of
 Abutua[21] placed, however, south of the Zambesi, and coming round
 by the south-west, Mashona, or Bazizulu, Maniça, and Sofala. Gold
 from about Maniça is as large as wheat grains, whilst that found in
 the rivers is in minute scales. The process of washing the latter
 is laborious. 'A quantity of sand is put into a wooden bowl with
 water, a half-rotatory motion is given to the dish, which causes the
 coarser particles of sand to collect on one side of the bottom. These
 are carefully removed with the hand, and the process of rotation is
 renewed until the whole of the sand is taken away, and the gold alone
 remains.'[22] Mercury is as usual unknown. Formerly one hundred and
 thirty pounds of gold were submitted to the authorities at Tete for
 taxation, but when the slave-trade began, the Portuguese killed the
 goose with the golden eggs, and the annual amount obtained is now only
 eight to ten pounds.

 "It is evident that gold is by no means half worked in Eastern Africa.
 As in California, it appears to be found in clay shale, which for
 large profits requires 'hydraulicking.' The South African traveller
 heard that at the range Mashinga, the women pounded the soft rock in
 wooden mortars, previous to washing; it is probably rotten quartz, and
 the yield would be trebled by quicksilver and crushers.

 "It is highly probable that the gold formations in those East
 African ghauts, which Dr. Beke is compelling to become the 'Lunar
 Mountains,' are by no means limited to the vicinity of the Zambeze.
 In gold-prospecting, as every geologist knows, the likeliest places
 often afford little yield and sometimes none. The author of 'The Lake
 Regions of Central Africa' describes a cordillera which he struck,
 about a hundred miles from the eastern coast, as primitive, quartzose,
 and shaly; unfortunately time and health hindered him from exploring
 it. The same writer, in 'First Footsteps in East Africa' (p. 395),
 indicates such formation in the small ghauts, and on the western
 side of that range he is reported to have found gold. What steps he
 took do not appear; he was probably disheartened by the reflection
 that all his efforts would be opposed by might and main in official
 circles. Possibly he feared the fate of Mr. Hargreaves, of Australia,
 who obtained a reward of £5000, when one per cent. of export would
 have made him master of eight millions. Local jealousies at Aden
 also certainly would have defeated his plans, if permitted to be
 carried out; and the Court of Directors had already regarded with a
 holy terror his proposals to build a little fort, by way of base upon
 the seaboard near Berberah. Leaving, however, these considerations,
 we are justified by analogy of formation and bearing in believing
 that at some future time gold may be one of the exports from Eastern
 Intertropical Africa.[23]

 "Returning to Western Africa, we find in Leo Africanus, who is
 supposed to have died about 1526, that the King of Ghana had in his
 palace 'an entire lump of gold'--a monster nugget it would now be
 called--not cast nor wrought by instruments, but perfectly formed by
 the Divine Providence only, of thirty pounds weight, which had been
 bored through and fitted for a seat before the royal throne.[24] The
 author most diffuse upon the subject of gold, is Bosman, who treats,
 however, solely of the Gold Coast.

 "The first region which he mentions is Dinkira, under which were
 included the conquered provinces of Wásá (our Wassaw, Wossa, Wasau,
 Warsaw, etc.), Encasse and Juffer, each bordering upon one another,
 and the last upon Commany (Commanda). There the gold is fine, but much
 alloyed with 'fetishes,' oddly shaped figures used for ornaments,
 and composed sometimes of pure mountain gold, but more often mixed
 with one-third, or even half, of silver and copper and filled inside
 with half weight of the heavy black earth used for moulding them. The
 second was Acanny, the people of which brought the produce of their
 own diggings and of their neighbours of Ashantee and Akim: it was
 so pure and fine, that the negroes called all the best gold 'Acanny
 Sika,' or Acanny gold. The third was Akim,[25] which 'furnished as
 large quantities of gold as any land that I know, and that also the
 most valuable and pure of any that is carried away from this coast;
 it is easily distinguished by its deep colour.' The fourth and fifth
 are Ashanti and Ananse, a small province between the former empire and
 Dinkira. The sixth and last is Awine, our Aowin,[26] which formerly
 used to export large quantities of fine and pure gold, and they
 'being the civilized and the fairest dealers of all the negroes,' the
 Dutch 'traded with them with a great deal of pleasure.' They were,
 however, finally subdued by the Dinkiras.

 "According to Bosman ('Letters,' vi.) 'the illustrious metal' was
 found in three sites. The first and best was 'in or between particular
 hills:' the negroes sank pits there, and separated the soil adhering
 to it. The second 'is in, at, and about some rivers and waterfalls,
 whose violence washeth down great quantities of earth, which carry
 the gold with it. The third is on the seashore, near the mouths of
 rivulets, and the favourite time for washing is after violent night
 rains.[27] The negro women are furnished with large and small troughs
 or trays, which they first fill full of earth and sand, which they
 wash with repeated fresh water till they have cleansed it from all
 its earth; and if there be any gold its ponderosity forces it to the
 bottom of the trough, which if they find it is thrown into the small
 tray, and so they go on washing it again, which operation generally
 holds them till noon; some of them not getting above the value of
 sixpence; some of them pieces of six or seven shillings, though not
 frequently; and often they entirely lose their labour.'

 "The gold thus dug is of two kinds, dust gold and mountain gold. The
 former is 'fine as flour,' and the more esteemed because there is no
 loss in melting. The latter, corresponding with our modern 'nugget,'
 varies in weight from a farthing to two hundred guineas; it touches
 better than gold dust, but it is a loss from the metal adhering to the
 stone.

 "The natives, in Bosman's day--and to the present time--were 'very
 subtle artists in the sophisticating of gold.' The first sort was the
 fetish before alluded to.[28] They also cast pieces so artificially,
 that whilst outside there was pure gold thick as a knife, the interior
 was copper, and perhaps iron--then a new trick and the most dangerous,
 because difficult to detect. The common 'false mountain gold' was
 a mixture of the precious metal with silver and copper, extremely
 high coloured, and unless each piece was touched, the fraud passed
 undetected. Another kind was an artificially cast and tinged powder
 of coral mixed with copper filings; it became tarnished, however,
 in a month or two. The official tests of gold were as follows:--If
 offered at night or in the evening large pieces were cut through with
 a knife, and the smaller nuggets were beaten with a stone, and then
 tried as above. Gold dust was cast into a copper brazier, winnowing
 with the fingers, and blown upon with the breath, which causes the
 false gold to fly away. These are not highly artificial tests. Bosman,
 however, strongly recommends them to raw, inexpert people (especially
 seafaring men), whom he bids to remember the common proverb, that
 'there is no gold without dross.' These greenhorns, it seems, tested
 the metal by pouring aquafortis upon it, when ebullition or the
 appearance of green proved it to be false or mixed. 'A miserable test,
 indeed!' exclaims old Trunk-hose, justly remarking that an eighth or
 tenth part of alloy would produce those appearances, and that such
 useless and niceness, entailing the trouble of drying, and causing the
 negroes to suffer, is prejudicial to trade.

 "With respect to the annual export from the Gold Coast, Bosman reckons
 it in peaceful times, when trade is prosperous, to be '23 tun.' The
 7000 marks are disposed of as below.[29] Mr. Macqueen estimates
 this exportation at £3,406,275. The English trade has now fallen to
 £360,000 to £400,000 per annum.[30]

 "The conclusion of Bosman's sixth letter may be quoted as highly
 applicable to the present day. 'I would refer to any intelligent
 metallist, whether a vast deal of ore must not of necessity be lost
 here, from which a great deal of gold might be separated, from want of
 skill in the metallic art; and not only so, but I firmly believe that
 large quantities of pure gold are left behind, for the negroes only
 ignorantly dig at random, without the least knowledge of the veins
 of the mines. And I doubt not but if this country belonged to the
 Europeans, they would soon find it to produce much richer treasures
 than the negroes obtain from it; but it is not probable that we shall
 ever possess that liberty here, wherefore we must be content with
 being so far masters of it as we are at present, which, if well and
 prudently managed, would turn to a very great account.'

 "In several countries, as Dinkira, Tueful, Wásá,[31] and especially
 Akim, the hill region lying due north of Accra, the people are still
 active in digging gold. The pits, varying from two to three feet
 in diameter, and from twelve to fifty feet deep, are often so near
 the roads that loss of life has been the result. 'Shoring-up' being
 little known, the miners are not unfrequently buried alive. The
 stuff is drawn up by ropes in clay pots, or calabashes, and thus a
 workman at the bottom widens the pit to a pyriform shape: tunnelling,
 however, is unknown. The excavated earth is carried down to be washed.
 Besides sinking these holes, they pan in the beds of rivers, and in
 places collect quartz, which is roughly pounded. The yield is very
 uncertain, and the Chief of the district is entitled to one-third
 of the proceeds. During the busy season, when water is abundant,
 the scene must resemble that described by Dr. Livingstone, near the
 gold-diggings of Tete. As in California and Australia, prices rise
 high, and gunpowder, rum, and cotton goods soon carry off the gold
 dust.

 "During the repeated earthquakes of July, 1862, which laid waste
 Accra, the strata of the Akim Hills were so much shaken and broken
 up, that, according to report, all the people flocked to the diggings
 and dispensed with the shafts generally sunk. There are several parts
 of the Gold Coast where the precious metal is fetish, and where the
 people will not dig themselves, though perhaps they would not object
 to strangers risking their lives. One of the most remarkable is the
 Devil's Hill, called by Bosman 'Monte da Diabo,' near Winnebah, in
 the Aguna (Agouna) country. In his time, a Mr. Baggs, English agent,
 was commissioned by the African Company to prospect it. He died at
 Cape Coast Castle before undertaking a work which, in those days,
 would have been highly dangerous. Some authorities fix the Seecom
 river as the easternmost boundary where gold is found. This is so far
 incorrect, that I have panned it from the sands under James Fort.
 Besides which, it is notorious that on the banks of the Upper Volta,
 about the latitude of the Krobo (Croboe) country, there are extensive
 deposits, regarded by the people as sacred.

 "The Slave Coast is a low alluvial tract, and appears to be wholly
 destitute of gold.[32] According to the Rev. Mr. Brown, however,
 a small quantity has been found in the quartz of Yoruba, north of
 Abeokuta; but, as in the Brazil, it is probably too much dispersed to
 be worth working. And the Niger, which flows, as will presently be
 seen, from the true auriferous centre, has at times been found to roll
 down-stream gold.[33]

 "The soil of Fante-land and the seaboard is, as has been seen, but
 slightly auriferous.

 "As we advance northwards from the Gold Coast the yield becomes
 richer. In Ashanti the red and loamy soil, scattered with gravel and
 grey granite, is everywhere impregnated with gold, which the slaves
 extract by washing and digging. It is said that in the market-place
 of Kumasi there are sixteen hundred ounces' worth of gold--a treasure
 reserved for State purposes. The bracelets of rock-gold, which the
 caboceers wear on State occasions, are four pounds in weight, and
 often so heavy that they must rest their arms upon the heads of their
 slave-boys.

 "In Gyaman, the region to the north-west of the capital, the ore is
 found in large nuggets, sometimes weighing four pounds. The pits are
 sunk nine feet in the red granite and grey granite, and the gold is
 highly coloured. From eight to ten thousand slaves work for two months
 every year in the bed of the Barra river. There, however, as on the
 Gold Coast, the work is very imperfect, and in some places where
 the metal is sacred to the fetish, it is not worked at all. Judging
 from analogy, we might expect to find the precious metal in the
 declivities inland and northwards from Cape Palmas, and in that sister
 formation of the East African ghauts, the 'Sierra dol Crystal.' The
 late Captain Lawlin, an American trader settled on an island at the
 mouth of the Fernão Vaz, carried to his own country, about the year
 1843-44, a quantity of granular gold, which had been brought to him
 by some country-people. He brought back all the necessary tools and
 implements to the Gaboon river, but the natives became alarmed, and he
 failed to find the spot. Finally, according to the tradition of native
 travellers, the unexplored region called Rúmá,[34] and conjecturally
 placed south of the inhospitable Waday, is a land of goldsmiths,
 the ore being found in mountainous and well-watered districts. It
 is becoming evident that Africa will some day equal half a dozen
 Californias.

 "Mungo Park supplies the amplest notices of gold in the regions
 visited by him north of the Kong Mountains. The principal places are
 the head of the Senegal river and its various influents; Dindiko,
 where the shafts are most deep, and notched, like a ladder; Seronda,
 which gives two grains from every pound of alluvial matter;[35] Bambuk
 and Bambarra. In Kongkadu, the 'mountain land,' where the hills are
 of coarse riddy granite, composed of red feldspar, white quartz, and
 black shale, containing orbicular concretions, granular gold is found
 in the quartz, which is broken with hammers; the grains, however, are
 flat. The diggings at present best known are those of Mandina-land.
 The gold, we are told, is found not in mines or veins, but scattered
 in sand and clay. They vary from a pin's head to the size of a pea,
 and are remarkably pure. This is called _sana manko_, or gold-powder,
 in contradistinction to _sana birro_, or gold-stones--nuggets
 occasionally weighing five drachms. In December, after the harvest
 home, when the gold-bearing _fiumaras_ from the hills have shrunk, the
 Mansa or Shaykh appoints a day to begin _sana ku_--gold washing.

 "Each woman arms herself with a hoe, two or three calabashes, and a
 few quills. On the morning before departure a bullock is slaughtered
 for a feast, and prayers and charms are not forgotten. The error
 made by these people is digging and washing for years in the same
 spot, which proves comparatively unfruitful unless the torrent shifts
 its course. They never follow the lead to the hills, but content
 themselves with exploring the heads of the watercourse, which the
 rapid stream denudes of sand and clay, leaving a strew of small
 pebbles that wear the skin off the finger-tips. The richest yield is
 from pits sunk in the height of the dry season, near some hill in
 which gold has been found. As the workers dig through the several
 strata of sand and clay, they send up a few calabashes by way of
 experiment for the women, whose peculiar duty it is to wash the stuff,
 and thus they continue till they strike the floor-rock. The most
 hopeful formation is held to be a bed of reddish sand, with small dark
 specks, described as 'black matter, resembling gunpowder,' and called
 by the people _sana mira_, or gold-rust; it is probably titeria. In
 Murray's edition of 1816, there are illustrations of the various
 positions, and a long description (vol. i. p. 450, and vol. ii. p.
 75) of the style of panning. I will not trouble the reader with it,
 as it in no way differs from that now practised on the Gold Coast and
 Kafirlands. There is art in this apparently simple process. Some women
 find gold when others cannot discover a particle; and as quicksilver
 is not used, at least one-third must be wasted, or rather, I may say,
 it is preserved for a better day.

 "The gold dust is stored in quills, stopped with cotton, and the
 washers are fond of wearing a number of these trophies in their
 hair. The average of an industrious individual's annual collection
 may be two slaves. The price of these varies from nine to twelve
 _mankali_,[36] each of 12_s._ 6_d._, or its equivalent in goods, viz.
 eighteen gun-flints, forty-eight leaves of tobacco, twenty charges
 of gunpowder, a cutlass, and a musket. Part of the gold is converted
 into massive and cumbrous ornaments, necklaces, and earrings, and when
 a lady of consequence is in full dress, she bears from £50 to £80. A
 proportion is put by to defray expenses of travelling to and from the
 coast, and the greater part is then invested in goods, or exchanged
 with the Moors for salt and merchandise.

 "The gold is weighed in small balances, which the people always carry
 about with them, and they make, like the Hindus, but little difference
 between gold dust and wrought gold. The purchaser always uses his
 own _tilikissi_, beans, probably, of the Abrus, which are sometimes
 soaked in Shea butter, to increase their weight, or are imitated with
 ground-down pebbles. In smelting gold, the smith uses an alkaline
 salt, obtained from a ley of burnt corn-stalks. He is capable, as even
 the wildest African tribes are, of drawing fine wire. When rings--the
 favourite form in which the precious metal is carried coastward--are
 to be made, the gold is run without any flux in a crucible of
 sun-dried red clay, which is covered over with charcoal or braize. The
 smith pours the fluid into a furrow traced in the ground, by way of
 mould. When it has cooled, he reheats it, and hammers it into a little
 square ingot or bar of the size required. After a third exposure to
 fire he twists with his pincers the bar into a screw shape, lengthens
 out the ends, and turns them up to form a circle.

 "It must now be abundantly evident to the reader, that the great
 centre of West African gold, the source which supplies Manding to
 the north and Ashanti to the south, is the equatorial range called
 the Kong. What the mineral wealth must be there, it is impossible to
 estimate, when nearly three millions and a half of pounds sterling
 have usually been drawn from a small parallelogram, between its
 southern slopes and the ocean, whilst the other three-quarters of the
 land--without alluding to the equally rich declivities of the northern
 versant--have remained as yet unexplored. Even in northern Liberia,
 colonists have occasionally come upon a pocket of $50, and the natives
 bring gold in from the banks of streams.

 "Mr. Wilson[37] remarks upon this subject, 'It is best for whites
 and blacks that these mines should be worked just as they are. The
 world is not suffering for the want of gold, and the comparative
 small quantities that are brought to the sea-coast keep the people in
 continual intercourse with civilized men, and ultimately, no doubt,
 will be the means of introducing civilization and Christianity among
 them.'

 "I differ from the reverend author, _toto cœlo_. For such vain hope
 as that of improving Africans by European intercourse, and for all
 considerations of an 'ultimately' vaguer than the sweet singer
 of Israel's 'soon,' it is regrettable that active measures for
 exploitation are not substituted. And if the world, including the
 reverend gentleman and Lord John Russell, are not suffering for the
 want of gold, there are those, myself for instance, and many a better
 man, who would be happy at times to see and to feel a little more of
 that 'vile yellow clay.'"

[1] This is pure chaff--they are woefully defective in all these
points; but being ignorant they dress so as to show off what an
Englishman would improve or conceal.--I. B.

[2] "Of late it has become the fashion for the Missionary and the
Lecturer to deny, in the presence of Exeter Hall, the African's
recognition of the European's superiority. 'The white man,' writes Mr.
Robert Campbell, a mulatto, 'who supposes himself respected in Africa
_because_ he is white, is grievously mistaken.' I distinctly assert the
reverse, and every one who has studied the natural history of man must
have the same opinion. The same egregious nonsense was once propounded
before the Ethnological Society--where with some ethnology there is no
anthropology--by another 'African.' And yet the propounder, the late
Mr. Consular Agent Hansen, whose death, by-the-by, was an honour, and
the only honour, to his life, had shaved his wool, and at the time was
wearing a wig of coal-black hair like a Cherokee's. Is imitation no
sign of deference?"

[3] "And not only the missionary, but also the sex which, I am told,
has a Mission. I was at Florence in 1850, when our fair countrywomen
added not a little to its troubles by dividing into two factions, the
Italian and the Austrian. Some wore Rational colours, others went so
far as to refuse waltzes proposed to them by partisans of the hostile
nation."

[4] "Such cant I hold to be in their mouths who talk of the 'sin and
crime' of slavery. As the author of 'Six Years in the West Indies' (a
brave book, considering the date of its publication, 1825) truly says,
that the spirit of Christianity tends to abolish servitude is clear,
that it admits of servitude is even still clearer. The Authorized
Version of the Bible, like the Constitution of the United States,
very prudently shirks the word 'slave,' and translates by 'servants'
the δοῡλοι [Greek: douloi], or bondsmen, whom St. Paul enjoins to be
subject to their κυρίοι [Greek: kourioi], or masters, and elsewhere
δοῡλος [Greek: doulos], a chattel, is opposed to ἐλεύθερος [Greek:
eleutheros], a freeman. How astonished St. Athanasius and St. Augustine
would have been, had the idea of an 'underground railway' been
presented to them! What fulminations they would have showered upon the
inventor of the idea!"

[5] "I quote the above _memoriter_. If correct, the limits of the
Nigrotic delta thus given are totally incorrect. The Rio del Rey is
wholly unconnected with the Niger; even the nearer Calabar and Cross
rivers do not flow from it. The same is the case with the Benin river;
its source was placed by Mr. Beecroft in the highlands to the westward
of the Niger."

[6] "A similar imperfect generalization is the old theory that gold
pertains not to islands. Malachi wore a collar of Irish gold, probably
from Wicklow. It has been found in Cornwall and other parts of England,
and in Scotland; and there are few Californians who do not believe that
Queen Charlotte's Island will form rich diggings.

"Another remark has lately been made, which pretends to no more than to
discover a curious coincidence. The Oural chain lies 90° west of the
Australian diggings, and the Californian Sierra Nevada 90° west of the
Oural. But, on the other hand, the fourth quadrantal division falls
into the Atlantic between Western Africa and the Brazil; and Eastern
Africa, a highly prolific metallic region, is 20° west of the Oural,
and 120° east of California."

[7] "I allude to the Hammæum littus of Pliny, which appears to coincide
with the modern Hazramaut. Perhaps, however, the gold of Arabia is not
wholly exhausted: it is difficult to believe that the rude appliances
of savages and barbarians can extract anything but the coarsest
particles from the dirt.

"Some years ago an English traveller, who had seen gold dust brought
to Cairo from the coast of Western Arabia, north of Yambu, applied to
Dr. Walne, then her Majesty's Consul, for facilities of exploring the
place. The sage reply of that official was that gold appeared to be
becoming too common. Other officials, equally sage, have since made the
same remark."

[He alludes to Lord John Russell, who, when he offered to send a
million a year home if he were made Governor of the Gold Coast, said,
"Gold was getting too common."--I. B.]

[8] "In Eastern, as in parts of Western Africa, the natives have a
curious superstition, or, rather, a distorted idea of a physical fact.
They always return to the earth whatever nuggets are found, under the
idea that they are the seed, or mother of gold, and that, if removed,
the washing would be unprofitable. They refuse to dig deeper than
the chin, for fear of the earth 'caving in;' and quartz-crushing and
the use of quicksilver being unknown, they will not wash, unless the
gold appears to the naked eye. As late as Mohammed Ali Pasha's day an
Egyptian expedition was sent up through Fayzoghlu in search of the
precious metal, brought down by the eastern tributaries of the Nile;
it failed, because the ignorant Turks expected to pick up ounces
where they found only grains. There are many traditions still extant
in Egypt, of mysterious travellers floating down the Nile in craft
of antique build, accompanied by women of blackest colour, but with
Grecian or Abyssinian features, and adorned with rings, collars, and
bracelets of pure gold, in shape resembling those found in the tombs of
ancient Egypt."

[9] "Dom Sebastian, grandson of Don João III., was born July 20th,
1554, and at three years of age ascended the throne of Portugal. His
subsequent romantic history is well known."

[10] Mr. Cooley ('Geography of N'yassi,' p. 16) has confounded the
'Mucaranga' with the 'Monomoezi.' Captain Burton ('Lake Regions of
Central Equatorial Africa,' pp. 228, 289) found the Wakaranga, a people
wholly distinct from the Wanpamwezi; the former being a small tribe
living near the Tanganyika Lake, south of the Wajiji. Mr. Cooley still,
I believe, keeps his own opinion, and persists in writing these tribal
names with an initial, M or Mu, which, being an abbreviation of _mtu_,
a man, signifies only the individual."

[11] "In the 'Periplus,' attributed to Arrian (A.D. 64-210), chap.
xvi., we are told that Rhapta, probably Kilwa (Quiloa), and the
adjacent regions were held by colonists from Muza, _i.e._ Bandar
Musa, near Aden. Gold is not mentioned amongst the exports, which are
confined to ivory, rhinoceros' horns, and tortoiseshell."

[12] "Dos Santos, 'History of the Ethiopians,' book ii. chap. i.-iii."

[13] "The reader will remark that at all times, and in all places, gold
has been washed or procured in the same way--a fair instance, like the
general similarity of rude stone implements from England to Australia,
of the instinctive faculty in mankind."

[14] "The same was the practice of the Indian Rajahs. Whenever a ryot
discovered either treasure or gold _in situ_ he was most cruelly
treated, to compel him to confess and to give up what he had secreted.
As, of course, he had secreted a part of his _trouvaille_ it was a
hard struggle between his cupidity and the ruler's bastinado. About
1840, some peasants near Baroda, in Guzerat, found lumps of gold, which
they carried before his Highness the Gaikwar, and received in return a
terrible flogging. The Hindú, with that secretiveness which has ever
been his shield against the tyranny of rulers and conquerors, resolved
for the future to keep his good fortune to himself. The quality of
gold which from time to time has appeared amongst these people, made
the shrewder sort of European suspect. But the inertness, or, rather,
the terror of new things, that possessed the then rulers of the land;
'threw cold water' upon all attempts to trace the diggings, which,
accordingly, were worked by the people till the present year. This is
the simple history of 'gold mining in the Deccan.'"

[15] "Barros, describing the ruins of Zimbo, mentions an inscription
over the gateway of a fort built with well-cut stones and no lime,
whose surface was twenty-five palms long and a little less in height.
Around this building, which, like the Ka'abah, might have been a
pagan Arab temple, are bastions--also of uncemented lime--and the
remainder of a tower, seventy feet high. The inscription was probably
in the Himyaritic character, as 'Moors well versed in Arabic' could
not decipher it. This was repeated to Mr. Lyons M. M'Leod ('Travels
in Eastern Africa,' vol. i. chap. x.) at Mozambique. Dr. Livingstone
('Travels in South Africa,' chap. xxix.) discovered Zumbo in lat.
15° 37' 22" S., long. 30° 32' E., about 8° W.N.W. of Kilimani. At
the confluence of the Loangwe and Zambeze, he found the remains of a
church, a cross, and a bell, but no date and no inscription. The people
of Rios de Sena also state that there are remains of large edifices
in the interior; unfortunately they place them at a distance of five
hundred leagues, which would lead them nearly to the equator north, and
to the Cape of Good Hope south.

"Dr. Livingstone ('Travels in South Africa,' chap. xxx.) explains the
word Monomotapa successfully, I think, to mean the 'Lord' (_mone,
muene, mona, mana,_ or _morena_, are all dialectic varieties,
synonymous with the Kisarahili _muinyi_, which means master, sir,
_kyrios_, etc.), and 'Mtapa,' the proper name of the chief. The ancient
Portuguese assigned to the Monomotapa the extensive regions between the
Zambeze and the Limpopo rivers, 7° from north to south. The African
traveller, however, is not so successful in explaining the corrupted
term, Monomoizes, Monemuiges, and Monomaizes--for which see _Journal of
Royal Geographical Society_, vol. xxix. pp. 166 _et seq._

"Dr. Beke ('On the Mountains forming the Eastern Side of the Basin of
the Nile,' p. 14) defends, against Mr. Cooley and Captain Burton, M.
Malte Brun's 'Mono-emugi, ou selons un orthographie plus authentique
_Mou-mimigi_.' The defence is operated by enclosing after the latter,
in italics, another version in parenthesis, and with an interrogation,
thus (Nimougi?); and the French geographer's orthography 'being
fortunately based on the theoretic root,' is pronounced 'more
authentic than any hitherto proposed in its stead.' How often will
it be necessary to repeat, that Mono-emugi and Mou-mimigi are merely
corruptions of M'nyamwezi, a man or individual of the land Unyamwezi?"

[16] "A French adventurer tried a similar trick upon the Imam Sayyid
Said, father of the present Prince of Zanzibar. He melted a few dollars
and ran the fluid upon bits of stone, which were duly shown to his
Highness. But the old Imam, whose cupidity was equalled only by his
cunning, took them to his friend, Colonel Hamerton, her Majesty's
Consul, who, finding the matrix to be coralline, had no difficulty in
detecting the fraud."

[17] "Dr. Livingstone places the Botonga people west of Zumbo, and 4°
to 5° north-west of Matuka or Maniça."

[18] "These elevations are on the western frontier of the great Marave
people; see the 'Lands of Cazembe.'"

[19] "In Kisawahili they have but one word for gold, _zahábú_, which
is palpably derived from the Arabic. None of the people living in the
interior, or even the tribes beyond the coast-line of Zanzibar, are
acquainted with the precious metal; they would prefer to it brass or
copper. The appreciation of gold on the part of the so-called 'Kafir'
race, points to an extensive intercourse with Arabia, if not to a
considerable admixture of Arab and Asiatic blood."

[20] "Dr. Livingstone gives six well-known washing-places, east and
north-east of Tete, viz. Mashinga, Shindúndo, Missála, Kapéta, Máno,
and Jáwa."

[21] "Mr. Cooley ('Geography of N'yassi') questions whether there be
such a kingdom as Abutua, or Butwa. He derives it from _batúa_, plural
of _motúa_ (in Kisawahili _wátu_, plural of _m'tu_) signifying men.
The Amazulu, when they attacked Delagoa Bay, were called by the same
name; but the Portuguese throwing back the accent changed the word to
Vátur, of which Captain Owen made Fetwah. So, in 1822, the tribe that
fell upon the Bachwáná (Bechuana) were, we were told, called Batúa, but
the missionaries recognized the meaning of the word. Though it is 'now
unknown,' Dr. Livingstone has inserted it into his map."

[22] "This is absolutely the present practice on the Gold Coast, and
perfectly agrees with Mungo Park's descriptions."

[23] "I cannot, however, understand the final flourish of Dr. Beke's
paper, above alluded to. He declares that the discovery of gold in his
'Mountains of the Moon' will occasion a complete and rapid revolution,
and ends thus: 'We shall then, too, doubtless see in Eastern Africa, as
in California and in Australia, the formation of another new race of
mankind.' We have seen nothing of the kind in Western Africa, where for
four centuries the richest diggings have been known. In fact, they have
rather tended to drive away Europeans. Why then expect this marvel from
Eastern Africa?"

[24] "Similarly, the king of 'Buncatoo' had a solid gold stool, which
caused his destruction at the hands of his neighbours of Ashantee."

[25] "Akim still supplies gold, and will be alluded to later on."

[26] "The old traveller, however, is wrong, when he says, 'I take it
(Awine) to be the first on the Gold Coast, and to be far above Axim.'
Aowin is the region to the west of the Assini river, whereas Axim is
to the east of the Ancobra river; thus the two are separated by the
territory of Apolonia. He apologizes, however, in the same page for
any possible errors. 'I cannot inform you better, because the negroes
cannot give any certain account of them (the various diggings), nor
do any of our people go so far; wherefore I must beg of you, my good
friend, to be contented.' Despite which, however, he may yet be right,
and his critic wrong."

[27] "So, 'in Coquimbo of Chili,' says Sir Richard Hawkins, 'it raineth
seldom, but every shower of rain is a shower of gold unto them, for
with the violence of the water falling from the mountains it bringeth
from them the gold.'"

[28] "We are also informed that the same fetishes were cut by the
negroes into small bits, worth one, two, or three farthings, and the
people could tell their value at sight. These _kakeraa_, as they were
called, formed the small change of the country, as our threepenny and
fourpenny bits do now. They were current all over the coast, and seemed
to pass backwards and forwards without any diminution. The reason for
this was, that they sold in Europe for only forty the ounce: the native
mixing them with better gold tried to palm them upon the purchasers,
but the clerks were ordered to pick them out. A similar custom down the
coast, was to cut dollars into halves and quarters, which thus easily
became florins and shillings."

[29]                                                                                                                                        Marks.
"The Dutch West Indian Company exported                               1500
The English African Company                                           1200
The Zealand interlopers as much as the Dutch, viz.                    1500
The English interlopers about 1000 usually, which they have doubted   1000
The Brandenburghers and Danes together, in time of peace              1000
The Portuguese and French, together                                   800

                                                        Which makes   7000

"For several years before Bosman's time, the Dutch export had been
reduced by one-half (750 marks). Mr. Wilson, however ('Western Africa,'
ch. iv.), is evidently in error, when he makes Bosman to estimate the
'amount of gold exported from the Gold Coast at 800 marks per annum.'"

[30] "Dr. Clarke ('Remarks,' &c.) gives 100,000 ounces. This was the
calculation of Mr. Swanzy before a Parliamentary committee in 1816.
Of course it is impossible to arrive at any clear estimate. Allowing
the African Steam Ship Company a maximum of 4000 ounces per month, we
obtain from that source 48,000 ounces. But considerable quantities are
exported in merchant ships, more especially for the American market.
Whilst, therefore, some reduce the total to 60,000 ounces, others raise
it to half a million of money."

[31] "Wásá has been worked both by Dutch and English; they chose,
however, sickly situations, brought out useless implements, and died.
The province is divided into eastern and western, and is said to be
governed by female chiefs--Amazons?"

[32] "Some years ago the late Consul Campbell, of Lagos, forwarded
to her Majesty's Foreign Office bits of broken pottery, in which he
detected gold. When submitted to the School of Mines, the glittering
particles proved to be mica."

[33] "Silver is also said to be found near the Niger, but of this I
have no reliable notices."

[34] "This may be the 'Runga' of our maps, with whose position Rúmá
corresponds. My informant wrote down the name from the mouth of a Waday
man at Lagos."

[35] "This would be 1/3500 (avoirdupois), whereas the cascalho, or
alluvium, of the Brazil is 1/15000, and remarkably rich and pyritical
ores in Europe give 1/20000. Yet M. d'Aubrie estimates the gold in the
bed of Father Rhine at six or seven millions, of pounds sterling."

[36] "May not this word be an old corruption of the well-known Arabic
weight, _miskál_?"

[37] "'Western Africa,' chap. x."




CHAPTER XVII.

HIS FIRST LEAVE.

    "Oh, when wilt thou return, my love?
      For as the moments glide,
    They leave me wishing still for thee,
      My husband, by my side;
    And ever at the evening hour
      My hopes more fondly burn,
    And still they linger on that word,
      'Oh, when wilt thou return?'"
                     ----_To a Husband during a Long Absence._


Richard left me plenty of occupation during this awfully long absence
of sixteen months. Firstly, all kinds of official fights about India,
and then for a gunboat and other privileges for Fernando Po. I lived
with my father, mother, and family, and then I had a great deal to do
for his book, "The City of the Saints," and every letter brought its
own work and commissions, people to see and to write to, and things
to be done for him, so that I was never idle for a minute. I began
to feel, what I have always felt since, that he was the glorious,
stately ship in full sail, commanding all attention and admiration; and
sometimes, if the wind drops, she still sails gallantly, and no one
sees the humble little steam-tug hidden at the other side, with her
strong heart and faithful arms working forth, and glorying in her proud
and stately ship.

I think a true woman, who is married to her proper mate, recognizes the
fully performed mission, whether prosperous or not, and that no one
can ever take his place _for her_, as an interpreter of that which is
betwixt her and her Creator, _to her_ as the shadow of God's protection
here on earth.

In winter he made me go to Paris with the Napoleon ring and sketch,
mentioned in the little story called "The Last Hours of Napoleon;"
and, through want of experience and proper friends and protection, my
little mission of courtesy failed. The failure drew down upon me some
annoyances, which appeared very disagreeable and important to me at the
time; they are not worth mentioning, nor, indeed, had I been older and
more experienced, should I have thought them worth fretting about.

The rest of the time of those dreary sixteen months was wearing to a
degree, and diversified by ten weeks of diphtheria and its results.
One day I betook myself to the Foreign Office, and I cried my heart
out to Mr. (afterwards Sir) Henry Layard. He seemed very sorry for
me, and he asked me to wait awhile whilst he went upstairs; and, when
he came back, he told me that he had got four months' leave home for
my husband, and had ordered the despatch to be sent off that very
afternoon. I could have thrown my arms round his neck and kissed him,
but I did not; he might have been rather surprised. I had to go and sit
out in the Green Park till the excitement wore off; it was more to me
than if he had given me a large fortune.

At last the happy day came to go and meet Richard at Liverpool, and
I shall never forget the joy of our meeting. It was December, 1863,
and we had some happy weeks in England--a pleasant Christmas with my
people at Wardour, and at Lord Gerard's at Garswood, where the family
parties mustered strong, and at Fryston (Lord Houghton's), and several
other country-houses; and he brought out two books--"Wanderings in West
Africa" (2 vols., 1863), also "Abeokuta and the Cameroons" (2 vols.,
1863), which he dedicated to me, with a lovely inscription and motto,
of which I am very proud. And then came round the time again to leave.
But I told him I could not possibly go on living as I was living; it
was too miserable, one's husband in a place where one was not allowed
to go, and I living with my mother like a girl--I was neither wife, nor
maid, nor widow; so he took me with him. Excepting yachting, it was my
first experience of _real_ sea-going.

[Sidenote: _We sail for West Africa._]

The African steamships were established in January, 1852, by the
late Mr. MacGregor Laird, who was the second pioneer of the Niger
Exploration, and an enthusiastic improver of Africa. These steamers
were seven in number, and went once a month; four of them were of
978 tons. They went out to the West Coast, Fernando Po being their
furthest station save one, and the whole round from England and back
again caused them to visit twenty-two ports, and cover ten thousand
nautical miles at eight knots an hour; but they were built for cargo,
not for passengers. There was no doctor, no bath; the conveniences
were difficult, and the stewardess only went as far as Madeira, the
first port. We sometimes had seven or eight human beings stuffed into
a cabin, which had four berths. I speak of 1861-2-3-4; it may be all
changed since then. We now started in the worst circumstances. It was
the big storm of January, 1863, one of the worst that has ever been
known. My mother, who was a very bad sailor, insisted on coming on
board to see us off. It was terribly rough, and an ironclad just shaved
us going out, as we lay to in the river. There were even wrecks in the
Mersey. Our Captain frankly said that he had an accident every January,
but he would almost rather sink than have a mark put against his name
for not going out on his right day. Mother behaved most pluckily. She
went back in the tug, and she just reached Uncle Gerard's, which was
three-quarters of an hour from Liverpool, got up to her bedroom, took
up the poker to poke the fire, which fell out of her hand--she had
the strength to crawl to the bell--and when they came up she was on
the floor in that attack of paralysis with which she had been so long
threatened, and to stave off which, we had hid my marriage from her
just two years before.

Long before we had got past the Skerries, we were in serious trouble,
and the passengers implored the Captain to alter his course, and take
refuge in some harbour; but he explained to them that it would be
awfully dangerous to turn the ship's head round, as the going round
might sink her. I had forgotten in my ignorance to secure a berth, and
the Captain gallantly gave up his own cabin to me, till Madeira. It was
just on the break of the poop, and every wave broke over that before it
reached the saloon. The ship appeared quite unmanageable; she bucked
and plunged without stopping. There were seven feet of water in the
hold, and all hands and available passengers were called on to man the
pumps. The under berths were full of water, the bird-cages and kittens
and parcels were all floating about, most of the women were screaming,
many of the men-passengers were drunk, the lights went out, the
furniture came unshipped and rolled about at its own sweet will. The
cook was thrown on the galley fire, so there could be nothing to eat.
Fortunately the sea put the fire out. It was very difficult for men to
get along the deck.

A rich lady gave the stewardess £5 to hold her hand all night, so
the rest of us poorer ones had to do without consolation. One most
painful scene occurred. There were seven women, missionaries' wives,
going out either with or to join their husbands. One, a poor child of
sixteen, just married, missed her husband, and she called out in the
dark for him. A naval officer who was going out to join his ship, and
was tipsy the whole way, called out, "Oh, he has tumbled overboard,
and is hanging on outside; you will never see him any more." The poor
child believed it, and fell down in an epileptic fit, to which she
remained subject as long as I ever heard of her. Her husband and mine
were working at the pumps. I crawled to my bunk in the Captain's cabin,
sick and terrified, and I thought that the terrible seas breaking
against its side were loosening the nails, and that the sea would come
in and wash me out. I was far away from any help and quite alone, and
I hung on to the door, calling, "Carpenter! carpenter!" He came to my
assistance, but a huge wave covered us; it carried him overboard and
left me--he was never seen again. We lost two men that night.

As I lay there trembling, and terribly sea-sick, something tumbled
against my door, and rolled in and sank down on the floor. It was the
tipsy naval officer. I could not rise, I could not shut the door, I
could not lug him out, so I lay there. When Richard had finished his
work, he crawled along the decks till he got to the cabin, where the
sea had swamped through the open door pretty considerably. "Hullo!
what's that?" he said. I managed faintly to ejaculate, "The tipsy naval
officer." He picked him up by the scruff of his neck, and, regardless
of consequences, he propelled him, with a good kick behind, all down
the deck, and shut the door. He said, "The Captain says we can't live
more than two hours in such a sea as this." At first I was frightened
that I should die, but now I was only frightened that I shouldn't, and
I uttered feebly, "Oh, thank God it will be over so soon." I shall
never forget how angry he was with me, because I was not frightened,
and gave me quite a sermon. We were like that mostly three days and
nights, and then it got better, and I saw the steward passing with some
boiled mutton and caper sauce, and called out, "Oh, stop and give me
some." He cut me some slices, and I ate them like a starved dog. I got
up and dressed and went on deck, and have never been sea-sick since to
speak of. I do not speak of Richard, because he never was sea-sick in
his life; he never knew what it was; and I believe if it had not been
for spilling the ink, he would have been writing his manuscripts, even
if the ship had been going round like a squirrel's cage, as he always
did all his life, no matter what the weather, and ate and slept enough
for three.

[Sidenote: _We land at Madeira._]

The temperature changed by magic. There was a tropical calm at night;
the usual rough north-easterly breeze of the outside subsided into
a luxurious, sensual calm, with occasional puffs of soft, exciting
westerly zephyrs, or _viento de las mugeres_, formed by the land
wind of the night. We arrived in thirteen days at Madeira, having
been longer than usual on account of the three days' storm. We could
smell the land strong of clover hay long before we reached it. I
shall never forget my astonishment and delight when I looked out of
the port-hole one morning and found myself at Madeira. We had left a
frightful English winter, we had suffered much on the sea journey;
here was summer--luxuriant and varied foliage, warmth and splendour,
the profusion and magnificence of the tropics, a bright blue sky and
sun, a deep blue sea, mountains, hills covered with vines, white
villas covered with glorious creepers, and picturesque churches and
convents. Here we passed a most delightful six weeks. At that time,
for about £200 a year, one could have all the luxuries that one could
desire--ponies to ride, a hammock to carry you, boats to sail in, and
every comfort and luxury; and as for hospitality, there was hardly a
chance of breakfasting, lunching, or dining at home. We found here our
best and never-to-be-forgotten friend, Lady Marian Alford, with the
first Lord Brownlow, Dr. Frank, and a large party whose society we
daily enjoyed immensely. After some weeks we went on to Teneriffe in
another West African boat.

[Sidenote: _Yellow Fever._]

When we arrived at Santa Cruz, in Teneriffe, I did not think much of
it; it is not only far less pretty than Madeira, but there were no
comforts and luxuries. _En revanche_, it was far healthier, because
Madeira, like Davosplatz, had been quite used up by consumptives, and
was full of germs; but then we had arrived at a wrong moment, as we
found that the yellow fever was raging at Santa Cruz, and whilst we
were there it carried off three thousand people in as many weeks. There
was such a panic, that the moment a person was ill, the coffin was
brought in and put under the bed, by way of reassuring the patient, and
the moment they got into the state of coma, in which they either die or
recover, they were clapped into their coffins, but not locked down, and
the key was handed to the nearest relative, and the coffin was put into
the ground with only a small quantity of mould over it, so that when
the patient came to, and was strong enough, he or she would struggle
out and come home.

One woman came back in her graveclothes, and tapped at her cottage
door, which, in those parts, opens into what serves as a sitting-room.
Her daughter was sitting at the table, by moonlight, weeping for her
mother's death, when the tap came; she got up and opened the door, and
saw her mother standing in her graveclothes! Believing it to be her
ghost, she fell down insensible. The mother lived for many years, and
had more children, but the daughter never recovered her reason. One
gentlemen, whom we knew, took it at nine in the morning. We went to
inquire after him, and was told he was convalescent, and at eleven, two
hours later, we saw his funeral going down the street! English people
born at Teneriffe have such an emaciated appearance that I was always
condoling with them on having had the yellow fever; and then, to my
horror, I found it was their natural appearance. Richard and I thought
it better to move, and not waiting for our baggage, things being at
the worst, and transport difficult, we set off with knapsacks to walk
across the island, twenty-one miles, to Oratava, where we heard that
not a single case had made its appearance. There was a halfway house,
a very poor little inn. We slept there. Our room was shaped like a
claret-case, white-washed, with a tiny grating near the roof for air.
There was no furniture of any kind, but they put a mattress on the
floor, and gave us a rug. We lay down in our clothes, taking off our
weapons and laying them between us. When we woke in the morning, and
got up, intending to breakfast and continue our tramp, we found that
although we had closed the door, and stuck something up against it,
so that any one coming in would knock it down and make a noise, that
some one had stolen our best knife, from between us, and we were both
remarkably light sleepers. A Spaniard cannot resist a knife, and as
everything remained exactly as we had left it, it showed that there
was some trap-door, or panel in the wall for ingress, which was not
perceptible.

It was not comfortable, so we were not sorry to be once more upon the
road. We arrived at Oratava, and found it delightful. In our days
(1863) there were no hotels; but we were able to hire a room, the size
of a riding-school, in a private house on the Square. One side was
our bedroom, one corner our dressing-room, one our drawing-room and
dining-room, and the middle our study.

[Sidenote: _The Peak of Teneriffe._]

Whilst here (March, 1863) we made a delightful excursion up the Peak
of Teneriffe. We were out two days and one night. The Peak is 12,198
feet above sea-level. We bivouacked in the snow at 9600 feet, and slept
well. Temp., 16°. Around us were no end of little spirts of steam; we
counted thirty-five on the final cone. The view from the top, as the
dawn broke, was glorious. The horses slept lower down, further ascent
being too steep, and the most distressing thing was that they could
have no water. The mules could eat snow, but they could not; and coming
into the town, they flew at everybody with water-jars on their heads.
At last they heard the trickling of the stream near the little town,
and they bolted at full gallop. We drew rein, jumped down, and loosened
their girths, and let them drink. The only peculiarity of our journey
was that it was the _first_ performed in _winter_, and therefore people
were anxious about us.

The women of Teneriffe were the most beautiful I have ever seen--a
cross between Spanish and Irish, who were shipwrecked here in old
times. I used to stop and stare at them until they used to say, "What
are you staring at?" and I would answer, "At you, because you are so
pretty;" and they used to laugh with delight, and show the most lovely
teeth. I allude to the peasant women, whose Spanish is very pretty,
but not quite Castilian. Here I wrote my first book on Madeira and
Teneriffe; but my husband would not let me print it, because he did not
think it was up to the mark. He thought I must study and copy many more
years before I tried authorship. And he was right, both in this and not
letting me share with him the climate of West Africa. But I thought
both very hard at the time.

[Sidenote: _I return Home._]

The time came when he had to go back to his post, but I was not allowed
to _sleep_ at Fernando Po. I thought it dreadfully hard, and cried
and begged, but he was immovable; and he was right. So I turned back
again with a heavy heart, and had a passage back, if not quite as bad,
very nearly as bad, _viâ_ Teneriffe and Madeira. Being alone, I had
gone into the ladies' cabin--a very small hole with four berths, and
what is called by courtesy a sofa; but there were eight of us packed
in it. It was pitch dark; the porthole being closed on account of the
weather, the effluvia was disgusting. I got on a dressing-gown, and
crawled out to a stack of arms, which I fondly embraced, to keep myself
from rolling overboard, where I was found by one of the officers, who
ran off to the Captain; he found there was an empty deck cabin, which
they immediately put me into, and in a few hours, having got rid of the
noxious vapours, I quite recovered. I again passed a long and dreary
time, during which he kept me either with my parents well at work, or
at sea coming out and going back, with visits to Madeira and Teneriffe.
I had one _very_ anxious time, inasmuch as he was sent as her Majesty's
Commissioner to the King of Dahomè, in _those days_ by no means a safe
or easy thing.

              DAHOMÈ.

    "Beautiful feet are those that go
    On kindly ministry to and fro--
    Down lowliest ways if God wills so.

    "Beautiful life is that whose span
    Is spent in duty to God and man,
    Forgetting 'self' in all that it can.

    "Beautiful calm when the course is run,
    Beautiful twilight at set of sun--
    Beautiful death with a life well done."

[Sidenote: _Richard sent as H.M.'s Commissioner to Dahomè._]

Richard, being British Consul for Fernando Po, went to visit Agbome,
the capital of the kingdom of Dahomè. Lord Russell, hearing of this,
gave him instructions to proceed as her Majesty's Commissioner,
on a friendly mission to King Gelele, to impress upon the King the
importance the British Government attached to the cessation of the
slave-trade, and to endeavour by every possible means to induce him to
cease to continue the Dahoman customs. Now the Dahoman customs, as all
know, meant the cutting of the throats of prisoners of war, and, in old
days, making a little lake of blood on which to sail a boat. Not only
this, cruelty was the rule of every day. Throats cut, to send a message
to the king's father in the other world; women cut open alive in a
state of pregnancy to see what it was like; animals tied up in every
sort of horrible position. He writes--

 "There is apparently in this people a physical delight in cruelty to
 beasts as well as to men. The sight of suffering seems to bring them
 enjoyment, without which the world is tame. Probably the wholesale
 murderers and torturers of history, from Phalaris and Nero downwards,
 took an animal and sensual pleasure--all the passions are sisters--in
 the look of blood, and in the inspection of mortal agonies. I can see
 no other explanation of the phenomena which meets my eye in Africa.
 In almost all the towns on the Oil Rivers, you see dead or dying
 animals fastened in some agonizing position. Poultry is most common,
 because cheapest--eggs and milk are _juju_ to slaves here--they are
 tied by the legs, head downwards, or lashed round the body to a
 stake or a tree, where they remain till they fall in fragments. If
 a man be unwell he hangs a live chicken round his throat, expecting
 that its pain will abstract from his sufferings. Goats are lashed
 head downwards tightly to wooden pillars, and are allowed to die a
 lingering death. Even the harmless tortoise cannot escape impalement.
 Blood seems to be the favourite ornament for a man's face, as
 pattern-painting with some dark colour, like indigo, is the proper
 decoration for a woman. At funerals, numbers of goats and poultry
 are sacrificed for the benefit of the deceased, and the corpse is
 sprinkled with the warm blood. The headless trunks are laid upon the
 body, and if the fowls flap their wings, which they will do for some
 seconds after decapitation, it is a good omen for the dead man.

 "When male prisoners of war are taken they are brought home for
 sacrifice and food, whilst their infants and children are sometimes
 supported by the middle, from poles planted in the canoe. The priest
 decapitates the men--for ordinary executions each Chief has his own
 headsman--and no one doubts that the bodies are eaten. Mr. Smith and
 Dr. Hutchinson both aver that they witnessed actual cases. The former
 declares that, when old Pepple, father of the present King, took
 captive King Amakree, of New Calabar, he gave a large feast to the
 European slave-traders on the river. All was on a grand scale. But the
 reader might perhaps find some difficulty in guessing the name of the
 dish placed before his Majesty at the head of the table. It was the
 bloody heart of the King of Calabar, just as it had been torn from
 the body. He took it in his hand and devoured it with the greatest
 apparent gusto, remarking, 'This is the way I serve my enemies!'

 "Shortly after my first visit, five prisoners of war were brought in
 from the eastern country. I saw in the _juju_-house their skulls,
 which were suspiciously white and clean, as if boiled, and not a white
 man doubted that they had been eaten. The fact is, that they cannot
 afford to reject any kind of provisions."

Richard was the bearer of presents from Her Majesty to the King--one
forty-feet circular crimson silk damask tent, with pole complete; a
richly embossed silver pipe with amber mouthpiece; two richly embossed
silver belts, with lion and crane in raised relief; two silver waiters;
one coat of mail and gauntlets. This is not the place to introduce
the subject very largely into _this_ book, as I hope to do in "The
Labours and Wisdom of Richard Burton" (two further volumes that I am
preparing). But I may say that, with regard to his Mission, the King
said that if he renounced the customs of his forefathers his people
would kill him; that the slaves represented his fortune, but if the
Queen would allow him £50,000 a year, that he would be able to do
without it. With regard to the tent, it was exceedingly handsome, but
it was too small to sit under in that climate, and the only thing he
cared for was the gingerbread lion on the top of the pole. He liked his
old red-clay and wooden-stem pipe better than the silver one; he liked
the silver waiters very much, but he thought they were too small to
use as shields; he could not get his hand into the gauntlet; the coat
of mail he hung up and made into a target; and then he explained that
the only thing he really _did_ want, and would be much obliged to her
Majesty for, was a carriage and horses, and a white woman!

[Illustration: THE CHIEF OFFICER OF RICHARD'S BRIGADE OF AMAZONS.
_Sketched by himself._]

He made my husband a Brigadier-General of his Amazons, and I was
madly jealous from afar; for I imagined lovely women in flowing
robes, armed, and riding thoroughbred Arabs, and above is the Amazon
as, to my great relief, I found she was (afterwards). The King gave
him a string of green beads, which was a kind of Dahoman "Garter," a
necklace of human bones for his favourite squaw, and a silver chain and
Cross with a Chameleon on it. We traced in it the presence of former
missionaries, who doubtless found that their crucifixes were thought to
be a delightful invention for the King to crucify men, and therefore
they replaced it by the chameleon. I have lost my paper on it, and am
afraid to quote Greek without it. The King sent return presents to Her
Majesty; they consisted of native pipes and tobacco for Her Majesty's
smoking, and loin-cloths for Her Majesty to change while travelling,
and an umbrella to be held over Her Majesty's head whilst drinking.
The presents arrived one day whilst I was at the Foreign Office, but as
there had been a murder at Fernando Po, and Richard had been ordered to
send home the clothes of the murdered man, on opening the box they were
supposed to be these latter articles, and were put on one side. I was
told they looked quite dirty enough to be that.

[Illustration: CRUCIFIX.]

[Sidenote: _Dahomè and Richard's Travels._]

The journey occupied three months, during the whole of which time
the King made much of him, but holding his life in his hand, and
any spiteful moment might have ended it. He told me when he came
back, that he had seen enough horrid sights to turn a man's brain;
and he said, "I used to have to be perfectly calm and dignified
whilst seeing these things, or they would have had a contempt for me;
but I frequently used to send to the King to say, that if such or
such happened again, I should be obliged to leave his Court, as my
Government did not countenance such proceedings, which always had the
desired effect." On his return, he received no acknowledgment whatever
of his services, but Earl Russell wrote me a kind little note, in which
he said, "Tell Captain Burton that he has performed his Mission to my
utmost and entire satisfaction." I will renew the subject, as I said,
in my "Labours and Wisdom of Richard Burton."

[Sidenote: _His Travels, Business, etc. on the West Coast._]

The Bight of Biafra, on the West Coast of Africa, extends from
Fernando Po to Bathurst, about six hundred miles of coast, and that
was Richard's jurisdiction. The lawless conduct of the rum-corrupted
natives gave him a good deal of trouble. The traders and the merchants
of the coast are called "palm-oil lambs," and they used to call Richard
their "shepherd" (supercargoes and skippers are also called "palm-oil
ruffians" and "coast-lambs"). I believe he managed them very amicably,
and, in spite of business and the dangerous climate, he was supported
by all the better class of European agents and supercargoes. He pursued
his explorations with ardour. He knew the whole coast from Bathurst
(Gambia) to St. Paulo de Loanda (Angola). He marched up to Abeokuta,
he ascended the Cameroon Mountains,[1] the wonderful extinct volcano
described by Hanno the Carthagenian and Ptolemy's "Theon Ochema." He
wanted the English Government to establish a sanitarium there for the
West Coast, and a convict-station for garrotters, the last new crime
of _that_ day, and to be allowed to use them to construct roads, and
in cultivating cotton and chocolate. He told Lord Russell that he
would be responsible for them, and should never chain them or lock
them up, because, as long as they remained within a certain extent of
ring-fence, they would be well and hearty, and the moment they went
outside it, they would die without anybody looking after them. The
British Government was too tender over their darling human brutes,
the cruel, ferocious, and murderous criminals, though the climate was
considered quite good enough for Richard and other honourable and
active British subjects. He then told Earl Russell that if he would
make him Governor of the "Gold Coast," he could send home annually one
million pounds sterling; but Lord Russell answered him, "that gold was
becoming too common."

He then visited the cannibal Mpangwe, the Fans of Du Chaillu, whose
accuracy he had always stood up for when the world had doubted him, and
now he was able to confirm it. He then went to Benin City, which was
mostly unknown to the Europeans. Belzoni was born in Padua in 1778.
During the last eight years of his life he was an African explorer; and
he died in Africa, at Benin, in 1823, and he was buried at Gwato, at
the foot of a very large tree; guns were fired, and a carpenter from
one of the ships put up a tablet to his memory. It is suspected that he
was poisoned for the sake of plunder. It was said that some native had
inherited his papers. Richard offered £20 for them, but without avail.
Belzoni's tree is of a fine spreading growth, which bears a poison
apple, and whose boughs droop nearly to the ground. It is a pretty and
romantic spot. He writes, "I made an attempt at digging, in order that
I might take home his bones and, if possible, his papers, but I was
obliged to content myself with sketching his tree, and sending home a
handful of wild-flowers to Padua. He died, some say, on the 26th of
November, and some say the 3rd of December, 1820." It is remarkable the
tender feeling that Richard had for Travellers' graves abroad; indeed,
_any_ English graves abroad, but especially Travellers or Englishmen.
The number of graves that we have sought out, and put in a state of
repair and furnished with tombstones and flowers, you would hardly
believe--Lady Hester Stanhope's in Syria, Jules Jaquemont's in Bombay,
a French traveller, and many, many others. It showed the feeling that
he had about a traveller coming home to lay his bones to rest in his
own land, and the respect he had for their resting-place. It makes me
all the more thankful that I was able to bring _him_ home to the place
he chose himself, and that our friends enabled me to put up such a
monument to him.

He brought out, in _Fraser's Magazine_, several letters in February,
March, and April, 1863, previous to his "Wanderings." He ascended
the Elephant Mountain, and when he came home he lectured upon that
before the Geographical Society. I remember so well, when Richard
had submitted something he had written to Norton Shaw, at the Royal
Geographical Society, the latter saying, "I don't ever remember hearing
this word before, Burton! Where does it come from?" He threw back his
head and laughed. "I coined it myself of course, and who has a better
right?" Norton Shaw laughed heartily. "Well," he said, "it is a good
word, a very good word." "Oh!" said Richard, "I always coin one when I
have not got one; it is the only way." He visited the line of lagoons
between Lagos and the Volta river. He explored the Yellahlah rapids
of the Congo river, and while engaged in all this he collected 2859
proverbs in different African tongues, as for example the Wolof tongue,
Kanuri or Bornuese, the Oji or Ashanti, the Ga or Accra, the Yoruba;
some from the Eun or Dahoman; some from the Isubú, and Dúalla, of the
Bight of Biafra; some in the Efik of the Old Calabar river, also Bight
of Biafra; some from the Fans or Mpangwe, from the Upper Gaboon river.
He held that the object of language-study was to obtain an insight into
the character and thought-modes of Mankind, and that it was not only
necessary to speak their language, but to investigate their literary
compositions.

He thought that in the Semitic dialects, and in other Asiatic and
Indo-European tongues--as the Persian, which imitate their style--the
habit of balancing sentences naturally produces this parallelism,
and he believed that "The Thousand and One Nights" supplies as many
instances as can be found in the Hebrew poets. He thought that the
whole of Yoruba shows more or less the effects of El Islam. With
respect to the Kafirs, he says it must be noticed that they are a mixed
race of African, Arab, and perhaps Persian blood. He thought that a
collection of proverbs of this sort would make a kind of manual of
Asiatic thought. The nations of the East, he said, always delight in
the significant brevity of aphoristic eloquence; and the Proverbs of
Solomon show their antiquity and their extensive uses by the Jews. The
Arabs were equally addicted to proverbs, which passed into the Persian
and Indian languages. He therefore produced "Wit and Wisdom from West
Africa; or, a Book of Proverbial Philosophy, Idioms, Enigmas, and
Laconisms," in 1865, in 1 vol., and his "Mission to Gelele, King of
Dahomè" (2 vols., 1864), which should be _now_ a very useful book to
the French army, as his "First Footsteps in East Africa" or "Harar"
should be to the Italians.

[1] A month ago a black missionary from the Cameroons, with his white
wife and her two sisters, paid me a most feeling visit at Mortlake, and
visited Richard in his mausoleum, where they showed deep emotion and
affection. He had stayed with them on the Cameroons nearly thirty years
ago.--I. B.




CHAPTER XVIII.

HOME.


At last the time came round for a second leave, and we had a second
joyous meeting at Liverpool--this time to part no more as previously.
It was on the 28th of August, soon after his landing, 1864, that we
chose our burial-place in the Mortlake Cemetery. We had been for that
purpose to one of the big cemeteries--I think it was Kensal Green--and
we had seen with discomfort that there was so much damp, and looking
into an open grave we saw it was full of water; so he looked round
rather woeful, and instead of saying it was melancholy, as most men
would have done, and as _I thought_, he espied a tomb on which the
instruments of the Passion were represented, amongst them the cock of
St. Peter. So he said, "I don't think we had better be too near that
cock, he will always be crowing and waking us up." We were on a visit
to my aunts at Mortlake, who had bought Portobello House, close to the
station, nearly opposite to where I live now, had been settled there
for some years, and where we had had many large family reunions. We
walked into the burial-ground where numbers of my people are buried,
and he said, "We will have it here; it is like a nice little family
hotel;" and he again confirmed the idea in 1882, when we came down to
visit my mother's grave.

Whilst Richard had been on the West Coast of Africa, Speke and Grant
had been on their Expedition, and returned and had a grand ovation.
The labours of the _first_ Expedition had rendered the road easy
for the _second_. "The line had been opened," Richard wrote, "by me
to Englishmen; they had only to tread in my steps." In the closing
days of December, 1863, Speke made a speech at Taunton, which for
vain-gloriousness and bad taste was unequalled. He referred to Richard
as "Bigg," asserted "that in 1857 he (Speke) had hit the Nile on the
head, but that now (1863) he had driven it into the Mediterranean."
It is not much to be wondered at if the following epigram on one
of Richard's visiting cards was left on the table of the Royal
Geographical Society--

    "Two loves the Row of Savile haunt,
      Who both by nature big be;
    The fool is Colonel (Barren) Grant,
      The rogue is General Rigby."

[Sidenote: _Speke's Death._]

The first great event was the British Association Meeting at Bath,
September, 1864. Laurence Oliphant conveyed to Richard that Speke had
said that "if Burton appeared on the platform at Bath" (which was, as
it were, Speke's native town) "he would kick him." I remember Richard's
answer--"Well, _that_ settles it! By God, he _shall_ kick me;" and so
to Bath we went. There was to be no speaking on Africa the first day,
but the next day was fixed for the "great discussion between Burton and
Speke." The first day we went on the platform close to Speke. He looked
at Richard, and at me, and we at him. I shall never forget his face. It
was full of sorrow, of yearning, and perplexity. Then he seemed to turn
to stone. After a while he began to fidget a great deal, and exclaimed
half aloud, "Oh, I cannot stand this any longer." He got up to go out.
The man nearest him said, "Shall you want your chair again, Sir? May
I have it? Shall you come back?" and he answered, "I hope not," and
left the Hall. The next day a large crowd was assembled for this famous
discussion. All the distinguished people were with the Council; Richard
_alone was excluded_, and stood on the platform, _we two alone_, he
with his notes in his hand. There was a delay of about twenty-five
minutes, and then the Council and speakers filed in and announced the
terrible accident out shooting that had befallen poor Speke shortly
after his leaving the Hall the day before. Richard sank into a chair,
and I saw by the workings of his face the terrible emotion he was
controlling, and the shock he had received. When called upon to speak,
in a voice that trembled, he spoke of other things and as briefly as he
could. When we got home he wept long and bitterly, and I was for many a
day trying to comfort him.

I reprint a few lines that rushed to my mind in winter, 1864:--

 Reprinted from _Fraser's Magazine_, February, 1869.

 "'WHO LAST WINS.'

 [Sidenote: _Some Lines I wrote on Richard and Speke._]

 "The following lines were suggested to me in the studio of the late
 Edgar George Papworth, Esq., of 36, Milton Street, Dorset Square, in
 the winter of 1864.

 "Captain Burton had recently returned from Africa. The annual meeting
 of the British Association for the Advancement of Science had just
 taken place at Bath, and poor Captain Speke's sudden death was still
 fresh in our memories. We had been invited by the artist to look at
 Captain Speke's bust, upon which he was then employed. Mr. Papworth
 said to Captain Burton, 'I only took the cast after death, and never
 knew him alive; but you who lived with him so long can surely give me
 some hints.' Captain Burton, who had learnt something of sculpturing
 when a boy in Italy, took the sculptor's pencil from Mr. Papworth's
 hand, and with a few touches here and there made a perfect likeness
 and expression. As I stood by, I was very much impressed by this
 singular coincidence.

    "A moulded mask at my feet I found,
      With the drawn-down mouth and deepen'd eye,
    More lifeless still than the marbles round--
      Very death amid dead life's mimicry;
    I raised it, and Thought fled afar from me
    To the African land by the Zingian Sea.

    "'Twas a face, a shell that had nought of brain,
      And th' imbedding chalk showed a yellow thread
    Which struck my glance with a sudden pain,
      For this seemed alive when the rest was dead;
    And poor bygone raillery came to mind
    Of the tragic masque and no brain behind.

    "But behind there lay in the humblest shrine
      A gem of the brightest purest ray:
    The gem was the human will divine;
      The shrine was the homeliest human clay,
    Self-glory--but hush! be the tale untold
    To the pale ear thinned by yon plaster mould.

    "Shall the diamond gem lose her queenly worth,
      Though pent in the dungeon of sandy stone?
    Say, is gold less gold, though in vilest earth
      For long years it has lurked unprized, unknown?
    And the rose which blooms o'er the buried dead,
    Hath its pinkness paled, hath its fragrance fled?

    "Thus the poet sang, 'Is the basil vile,
      Though the beetle's foot o'er the basil crawl?
    And though Arachne hath webbed her toil,
      Shall disgrace attach to the princely hall?
    And the pearl's clear drop from the oyster shell,
    Comes it not on the royal brow to dwell?'

    "On the guarded tablet was writ by Fate,
      A double self for each man ere born,
    Who shall love his love and shall hate his hate,
      Who shall praise his praise and shall scorn his scorn,
    Enduring aye to the bitter end,
    And man's other man shall be called a friend.

    "When the spirits with radiance nude arrayed
      In the presence stood of the one Supreme,
    Soul looked unto soul, and the glance conveyed,
      A pledge of love which each _must_ redeem;
    Nor may spirit enfleshed in the dust, forget
    That high trysting-place, ere time was not yet.

    "When the first great Sire, so the Legends say,
      The four-rivered garden in Asia trod,
    And 'neath perfumed shade, in the drouth of day,
      Walked and talked with the Hebrew God,
    Such friendship was when it first began;
    And the first of friends were the God, the man.

    "But _we_ twain were not bound by such highborn ties;
      Our souls, our minds, and our thoughts were strange,
    Our ways were not one, nor our sympathies,
      We had severed aims, we had diverse range;
    In the stern drear Present his lot was cast,
    Whilst I hoped for the Future and loved the Past.

    "'Twixt man and woman use oft hath bred
      The habits that feebly affection feign,
    While the common board and genial bed
      And Time's welding force links a length of chain;
    Till, when Love was not, it has sometimes proved
    This has loved and lived, that has lived and loved.

    "But 'twixt man and man it may not so hap
      Each man in his own and his proper sphere;
    At some point, perchance, may the lines o'erlap;
      The far rest is far as the near is near--
    Save when the orbs are of friend and friend
    And the circles' limits perforce must blend.

    "But the one sole point at which he and I
      Could touch, was the contact of vulgar minds.
    'Twas interest's forcible feeble tie
      Which binds, but with lasting bonds ne'er binds;
    And our objects fated to disagree,
    What way went I, and what way went he?

    "And yet we were comrades for many years,
      And endured in its troth our companionship
    Through a life of chances, of hopes and fears;
      Nor a word of harshness e'er passed the lip,
    Nor a thought unkind dwelt in either heart,
    Till we chanced--by what chance did it hap?--to part.

    "Where Fever yellow-skinned, bony, gaunt,
      With the long blue nails and lip livid white;
    With the blood-stained orbs that could ever haunt
      Our brains by day and our eyes by night;
    In her grave-clothes mouldy with graveyard taint
    Came around our sleeping mats--came and went:

    "Where the crocodile glared with malignant stare,
      And the horse of the river, with watery mane
    That flashed in the sun, from his oozy lair
      Rose to gaze on the white and wondrous men;
    And the lion, with muzzle bent low to earth,
    Mocked the thunder-cloud with his cruel mirth:

    "Where the speckled fowls the Mimosa decked
      Like blue-bells studded with opal dew;
    And giraffes pard-spotted, deer-eyed, swan-necked,
      Browsed down the base whence the tree dome grew,
    And the sentinel-antelope, aëried high,
    With his frightened bound taught his friends to fly:

    "Where the lovely Coast is all rank with death,
      That basks in the sun of the Zingian shore;
    Where the mountains, dank with the ocean's breath,
      Bear the incense-tree and the sycamore;
    Where the grim fierce desert and stony hill
    Breed the fiercest beasts, and men fiercer still:

    "Where the Land of the Moon with all blessings blest
      Save one--save man; and with name that sped
    To the farthest edge of the misty West
      Since the Tyrian sailor his sail-sheet spread,
    Loves to gaze on her planet whose loving ray
    Fills her dells and fells with a rival day:

    "Where the Lake unnamed in the Afric wold
      Its breast to the stranger eye lay bare;
    Where Isis, forced her veil to unfold--
      To forget the boast of the days that were--
    Stood in dusky charms with the crisp tire crowned
    On the hallowed bourne, on the Nile's last bound:--

    "We toiled side by side, for the hope was sweet
      To engrave our names on the Rock of Time:
    On the Holy Hill to implant our feet
      Where enfaned sits Fame o'er the earth sublime;
    And now rose the temple before our eyes--
    We had paid the price, we had plucked the prize;

    "When up stood the Shadow betwixt us twain--
      Had the dusky goddess bequeathed her ban?
    And the ice of death through every vein
      Of comradeship spread in briefest span;
    The guerdon our toils and our pains had won
    Was too great for two, was enough for one;

    "And deeper and deeper grew the gloom
      When the serpent tongue had power to sting,
    While o'er one of us hung the untimely doom--
      A winter's night to a day of spring,
    And heart from heart parting fell away
    At the fiat of Fate by her iron sway.

    "It seems as though from a foamy[1] dream
      I awake, and this pallid mask behold,
    And I ask--Can this be the end supreme
      Of the countless things of the days of old?
    This clay, is it all of what used to be
    In the Afric land by the Zingian Sea?"
                              ----ISABEL BURTON.

[Sidenote: _Richard's "Stone Talk."_]

Richard at this time wrote, secretly, a little "squib" of one
hundred and twenty-one pages, called "Stone Talk," being some of the
marvellous sayings of a petral portion of Fleet Street, London, to one
Dr. Polyglot, Ph.D., by Frank Baker, D.O.N., 1865. He kept it quite
secret from me, and one day brought it out of his pocket on a railway
journey, as if he had bought it from a stall, and gave it to me to
read. I was delighted with it, kept reading him out passages from it,
with peals of laughter. Fortunately we were alone, and I kept saying
to him, "Jemmy, I wish you would not go about talking as you do; I am
sure this man has been associating with you at the club, picked up all
your ideas and written this book, and won't he just catch it!" At last,
after going on like that for a considerable time, the amused expression
of his face flashed an idea into my brain, and I said, "You wrote it
yourself, Jemmy, and _nobody else_;" and he said, "I _did_." When I
showed it to Lord Houghton, he told me that he was afraid that it
would do Richard a great deal of harm with the "powers that were," and
advised me to buy them up, which I did. He took the _nom de plume_ of
"Frank Baker" from his second name Francis and his mother's name Baker.

It has been thrown in my teeth, since his death, that he would have
married twice before he married me, and as he was between thirty-nine
and forty at the time of our marriage, it is very natural that it
should be so. I sometimes take comfort in reading passages from "Stone
Talk" anent former loves--I do not know who they are:--

    "So, standing 'mid the vulgar crowd,
    I watched the fair, the great, the proud
    That hustled in, when glad surprise
    Awaited these my languid eyes.

    The pink silk hood her head was on
    Did make a sweet comparison
    With brow as pure, as clear, as bright,
    As Boreal dawn or Polar night,
    With lips whose crimson strove to hide
    Gems all unknown to Oman's tide,
    With eyes as myosotis blue,
    With cheeks of peachy down and hue,
    And locks whose semi-liquid gold
    Over the ivory shoulders rolled.
    Not 'low' her dress, yet cunning eye
    'Neath gauzy texture could descry
    Two silvery orbs, that rose and fell,
    With Midland Sea's voluptuous swell,
    Intoxicating to the brain
    As flowers that breathe from Persian plain
    Whereon to rest one moment brief
    Were worth a life of pain and grief;
    And, though fast closed in iron cage--
    Venetian padlock of the age--
    The poetry of motion told
    Of all by envious flounce and fold
    Concealed; each step of nameless grace
    Taught glowing Fancy's glance to trace
    A falling waist, on whose soft round
    No lacing wrinkle might be found
    (Nor waspish elegance affright
    Thorwaldsen's, Canova's sight),
    And rising hips and migniard feet--
    Ankle for Dian's buskin meet--
    Gastrocunemius----

                    Cease, Muse! to tell
    The things my mem'ry holds too well.

    I bowed before the 'Thing Divine'
    As pilgrim sighting holy shrine,
    And straight my 'chanted spirit soared
    To dizzy regions late explored
    By Mister Hume--A. B.--C. D.--all
    The rout yclept spiritual.
    A church of emeralds I see,
    An altar-tower lit brilliantly;
    A steeple, too, the pave inlaid
    With richest tint of light and shade;
    A 'deal of purple,' archèd pews;
    And all the 'blacks' methinks are 'blues.'
    Now throngs the murex-robèd crowd,
    A-chanting anthems long and loud,
    And children, garbed in purest white,
    Kneel with wreathed heads before the light.
    I, too, am there, with 'Thing Divine,'
    Bending before the marble shrine,
    While spirit-parson's sleepy drone
    Maketh me hers and her my own.

    When sudden on my raptured sight
    Falls deadly and discharming blight,
    Such blight as Eurus loves to fling
    O'er gladsome crop in genial spring.
    Fast by the side of 'Thing Divine,'
    By spirit-parson fresh made mine,
    In apparition grim--I saw
    The middle-aged British mother-in-law!!

           *       *       *       *       *

    The pink silk hood her head was on
    Did make a _triste_ comparison
    With blossomed brow and green-grey eyes,
    And cheeks bespread with vinous dyes,
    And mouth and nose--all, all, in fine,
    Caricature of 'Thing Divine.'

    Full low the Doppelgänger's dress
    Of moire and tulle, in last distress
    To decorate the massive charms
    Displayed to manhood's shrinking arms;
    Large loom'd her waist 'spite pinching stays,
    As man-o'-war in bygone days;
    And, ah! her feet were broader far
    Than beauty's heel in Mullingar.
    Circular all from toe to head,
    Pond'rous of framework, as if bred
    On streaky loin and juicy steak;
    And, when she walked, she seemed to shake
    With elephantine tread the ground.
    Sternly, grimly, she gazed around,
    Terribly calm, in much flesh strong,
    Upon the junior, lighter throng,
    And loudly whispered, 'Who's that feller?
    Come! none of this, Louise, I tell yer!'
    And 'Thing Divine' averted head,
    And I, heart-broken, turned and fled."


      DIRGE.

    "I also swore to love a face
    And form where beauty strove with grace,
    And raven hair, black varnished blue,
    A brow that robbed the cygnet's hue,
    Orbs that beshamed the fawnlet's eyne,
    And lips like rosebuds damp with rain.
        Ah! where is she? ah! where are they--
        The charms that stole my heart away?

    "She's fatten'd like a feather bed,
    Her cheeks with beefy hue are red,
    Her eyes are tarnished, and her nose
    Affection for high diet shows;
    The voice like music wont to flow,
    Is now a kind of vaccine low.
        Cupid, and all ye gods above,
        Is this the thing I used to love?"

This year, 1864, Richard edited and annotated Marcy's "Prairie
Traveller" for the _Anthropological Review_.

[Sidenote: _Gaiety._]

Apart from the sad circumstance of Speke's death, we had a very
delightful winter. We went to Uncle Gerard's at Garswood, to Lady
Egerton of Tatton's, to Lady Stanley of Alderley's (in the present
dowager's time), when the now Dowager Lady Airlie and Lady Amberly and
all the family were then at home, where we met an immense quantity of
distinguished people, and notably Professor Jowett. Then we went to
Lady Margaret Beaumont's at Bretton Park, and to Lord Fitzwilliam's;
and all these had large house-parties.

[Sidenote: _Winwoode Reade--We go to Ireland._]

This year we became very intimate with Winwood Reade. We went over to
Ireland, where we spent a delightful two months. We took an Irish car,
and drove by degrees over all the most interesting and prettiest parts
of Ireland, at the rate of so many miles a day, stopping where it was
most interesting. I had an Irish maid with me, whose chief delight
was to see Richard and me clinging on to the car as it flew round the
corners, while she sat as cool and calm as possible, with her hands in
her muff. "Ye devil," Richard said to her, "I believe you were born on
a car; I will pay you out for laughing at me." Some days afterwards,
she dropped her muff. There was a great deal of snow on the ground, so
Richard said to her very kindly, "Don't get down, Kiernan; I will get
your muff for you." He stopped the car, got down, pretended to be very
busy with his boot, but in reality he was filling her muff with snow.
When he gave it back to her she gave a little screech. "Ah," he said,
with glistening eyes, "you'll laugh at me for clinging on the car like
a monkey on a scraper again."

We were asked to numbers of country-houses on the way--to the Bellews',
Gormanstons', and Lord Drogheda's; and we had the pleasure of making
acquaintance with Lady Rachel Butler and Lord James, who were very kind
to us. Dublin was immensely hospitable, and at that time very gay. One
of our interesting events was making acquaintance with Mr. Lentaigne,
the great convict philanthropist. His mania was to reform his convicts,
and make his friends take them for service, if nobody else would. He
was the man to whom Lord Carlisle said, "Why, Lentaigne, you will wake
up some morning, and find you are the only spoon in the house." He
took us to see the prisons and the reformatories, and he implored of
me to take out with me a convict woman of about thirty-four, who had
been fifteen years in prison. I said, "Well, Mr. Lentaigne, what did
she do?" "Poor girl! the sweetest creature--she murdered her baby when
she was sixteen." "Well," I answered, "I would do anything to oblige
you, but I dare say I shall often be quite alone with her, and at
thirty-four she might like larger game."

Richard was veritably, though born of prosaic parents, a child of
romance. He had English, Irish, Scotch, and French blood in his veins,
and, it has often been suggested (though never proved), a drop of
Oriental or gypsy blood from some far-off ancestor. His Scottish,
North England, and Border blood came out in all posts of trust and
responsibility, in steadiness and coolness in the hour of danger, in
uprightness and integrity, and the honour of a gentleman. Of Irish
blood he showed nothing excepting fight, but the two foreign strains
were strong. From Arab or gypsy he got his fluency of languages, his
wild and daring spirit, his Agnosticism, his melancholy pathos, his
mysticism, his superstition (I am superstitious enough, God knows, but
he was far more so), his divination, his magician-like foresight into
events, his insight, or reading men through like a pane of glass, his
restless wandering, his poetry. From a very strong strain of Bourbon
blood (Richard showed "race" from the top of his head to the sole of
his feet) which the Burtons inherit--that is, _my_ Burtons--he got his
fencing, knowledge of arms, his ready wit and repartee, his boyish
gaiety of character as alternately opposed to his melancholy, and,
lastly, but not least, his Catholicism as opposed to the mysticism of
the East, which is not in the least like the Agnosticism of the West.
But it was not a fixed thing like my Catholicism; it ran silently
threaded through his life, alternately with his mysticism, like the
refrain of an opera.

He was proud of his Scottish and North England blood, he liked his Rob
Roy descent, and also his Bourbon blood, and he used to laugh heartily
when, sometimes, I was half-vexed at something and used to chaff him by
saying, "You dirty Frenchman!"

Richard was a regular _gamin_; his keen sense of humour, his ready wit,
were always present. He adored shocking dense people and seeing their
funny faces and stolid belief, and never cared about what harm it would
do him in a worldly sense. I have frequently sat at the dinner-table
of such people, praying him by signs not to go on, but he was in a
very ecstasy of glee; he said it was so funny always to be believed
when you were chaffing, and so curious never to be believed when you
were telling the truth. He had a sort of schoolboy bravado about these
things that in his high spirits lasted him all the seventy years of his
life.

But especially strong were the melancholy, tender, sad hours of the
man, full of sensitiveness to pathos in all he said, or did, or wrote.
The one paid too much for the other, if I may so express it.

[Sidenote: _Richard and Sir Bernard Burke._]

Talking of the Bourbon blood and his _gaminerie_, during this visit to
Ireland we were in Dublin, where we had the pleasure of knowing Sir
Bernard and Lady Burke, and Richard and he were talking in his study
over his genealogy and this Louis XIV. descent. He said, "I want this
to be made quite clear." Sir Bernard said, "I wonder, Captain Burton,
that _you_, who have such good Northern and Scottish blood in your
veins, and are connected with so many of the best families, should
trouble about what can only be a morganatic descent at best." I can see
him now, carelessly leaning against the bookcase with his hands in his
pockets, with his amused face on, looking at the earnest countenance of
Sir Bernard and saying, "Why! I would rather be the bastard of a King,
than the son of an honest man," and his hearty laugh at the shocked
expression and "_Oh!_ Captain Burton," which he had been waiting for.

[Sidenote: _Bianconi._]

One of the amusing things, and interesting as well, was going to
Gerald's Cross by rail, and when we arrived, there was only one car.
There was another gentleman and ourselves, and as we had telegraphed
for the car, it was ours. Still we did not like to leave him without
anything. So we asked him if we could give him a lift. He asked us
where we were going, and we told him. So he said, "Well, you pass
my house, so I shall be grateful." As we drove along for about half
an hour between Gerald's Cross and Cashel, he told us that he was
Bianconi, the first inventor of outside Irish cars, that his house was
called Longfield, and the whole of his most interesting history. His
house was a nice little residence in a garden with a lawn and trees in
front, and he insisted upon taking us into it, and giving us afternoon
tea, after which we drove on.

We visited Tuam, which we _both_ thought a dreadful place; but the
name of Burton was big there, on account of the Bishop and the Dean,
Richard's grandfather and uncle, and hundreds of the poor crowded round
us for _bakshish_ (presents). Richard had still some old aunts there,
who came to dine with us, his grandfather's daughters. They had a large
tract of land here, but Richard's father had made it over to the aunts,
and I was very glad of it, as I should have been very sorry to have
had to stop there. We were delighted with the fishing population of
Lough Corrib, a cross between Spanish and Irish, who have nothing in
common with the town; they are called Claddhah, pronounced Clather. We
stopped long at the Armagh Cathedral, looking for Drelincourt tombs,
of which there are plenty belonging to Richard's people. From Drogheda
we went to see the Halls of Tara, the site of the Palace of the Kings,
the Stone of Destiny, and then to the site of the Battle of the Boyne,
afterwards to Maynooth College, where the boys cheered Richard. Then
we proceeded to Blarney and kissed the stone; near Cork to see Captain
and Mrs. Lane Fox, now General and Mrs. Pitt-Rivers; and also to
Killarney, and thought it very pretty but _very_ small. We enjoyed much
hospitality at the Castle during our stay. During all our car-driving
our little horse used to have a middle-of-the-day feed, with a pint
of whisky and water, and she came in at the end of the time in better
condition, and looking in every way better, and twice as frisky as when
she started.

On the 17th of May the Polytechnic in London opened with an account of
Richard's travels in Mecca, and a dissolving view of Richard's picture
in uniform. It was arranged by Mr. Pepper of "Pepper's Ghost," and a
quantity of little green pamphlets with the lecture were sold at the
door. On the 22nd of May we dined with George Augustus Sala, previous
to his going to Algiers, and also with poor Blakeley of the Guns, in
his and Mrs. Blakeley's pretty little home; he died so sadly afterwards.

Richard was now transferred to Santos, São Paulo, Brazil.


 FAREWELL DINNER TO CAPTAIN R. F. BURTON.


 [Sidenote: _The Anthropological Farewell Dinner._]

 "On Tuesday, April 4th, 1865, there was celebrated an event in
 London of such importance to anthropological science as to deserve
 an especial record in these pages. On this day the Anthropological
 Society of London celebrated the election into their society of
 five hundred Fellows, by giving a public dinner to Captain Richard
 F. Burton, their senior vice-president. The Right Honourable Lord
 Stanley, M.P., F.R.S., F.A.S.L., took the chair, and was supported
 on the right by Captain Burton. [Here follows one hundred and twenty
 distinguished names.]

 [Sidenote: _Lord Derby's Speech as Chairman._]

 "The noble Chairman, Lord Derby, in proposing 'The health of Captain
 Burton,' said--I rise to propose a toast which will not require that
 I should bespeak for it a favourable consideration on your part. I
 intend to give you the health of the gentleman in whose honour we
 have met to-night. (Loud cheers.) I propose the health of one--your
 cheers have said it before me--of the most distinguished Explorers and
 Geographers of the present day. (Cheers.) I do not know what you feel,
 but as far as my limited experience in that way extends, for a man to
 sit and listen to his own eulogy is by no means an unmixed pleasure,
 and in Captain Burton's presence I shall say a great deal less about
 what he has done than I should take the liberty of doing if he were
 not here. (Cheers.) But no one can dispute this, that into a life of
 less than forty-five years Captain Burton has crowded more of study,
 more of hardship, and more of successful enterprise and adventure than
 would have sufficed to fill up the existence of half a dozen ordinary
 men. (Cheers.) If, instead of continuing his active career--as we hope
 he will for many years to come--it were to end to-morrow, he would
 still have done enough to entitle him to a conspicuous and permanent
 place in the annals of geographical discoverers. (Cheers.) I need not
 remind you, except in the briefest way, of the long course of his
 adventures and their results. His first important work, the 'History
 of the Races of Scinde,' will long continue to be useful to those
 whose studies lie in that direction, and those who, like myself, have
 travelled through that unhappy valley--through that young Egypt, which
 is about as like old Egypt as a British barrack is like an Egyptian
 pyramid--will recognize the fact that if there have been men who have
 described that country for _utilitarian_ purposes more accurately and
 minutely, no man has described it with a more graphic pen. (Cheers.)
 With respect to his pilgrimage to Mecca, that, I believe, was part
 only of a much larger undertaking which local disturbances in the
 country prevented being carried out to the fullest extent. (Cheers.)
 I do not think I am exaggerating when I say that not more than two
 or three Englishmen would have been able to perform that feat. The
 only two parallels to it that I recollect in one generation are, the
 exploring journeys of Sir Henry Pottinger into Beloochistan, and the
 journey of M. Vambéry through the deserts of Central Asia. (Cheers.)
 I am speaking only by hearsay and report, but I take the fact to
 be this, that the ways of Europeans and Asiatics are so totally
 different--I do not mean in those important acts to which we all pay
 a certain amount of attention while we do them, but in those little
 trifling details of everyday life, that we do instinctively and
 without paying attention to them--the difference in these respects
 between the two races is so wide that the Englishman who would attempt
 to travel in the disguise of an Oriental ought to be almost Oriental
 in his habits if he hope to carry out that personation successfully.
 And if that be true of a journey of a few days, it is far more true
 of a journey extending over weeks and months, where you have to keep
 your secret, not merely from the casual observer, but from your own
 servants, your own friends, and your own travelling companions. To
 carry through an enterprise of that kind may well be a strain on the
 ingenuity of any man, and though, no doubt, danger does stimulate our
 faculties, still it does not take from the merit of a feat that it is
 performed under circumstances in which, in the event of detection,
 death is almost certain. (Cheers.) I shall say nothing in this brief
 review of that plucky though unsuccessful expedition to the Somali
 country, which so nearly deprived the Anthropological Society of
 one of its ablest members. But I cannot pass over so lightly the
 journey into Harar--the first attempt to penetrate Eastern Africa in
 that quarter. That journey really opened a wide district of country
 previously unknown to the attention of civilized man. It led the
 way indirectly to the Nile expeditions, which lasted from 1856 to
 1859. With respect to the labours which were gone through in those
 expeditions, and the controversies which arose out of those labours,
 I do not require here to say anything except to make one passing
 remark. With regard to this disputed subject of the Nile, I may be
 permitted to say--though those who are experienced in geographical
 matters may treat me as a heretic--(a laugh)--I cannot help it if they
 do, for I speak by the light only of common sense--(renewed laughter,
 and cheers)--but it seems to me that there is a little delusion in
 this notion of searching for what we call the source of a river. Can
 you say of any river that it has a source? It has a mouth, that is
 certain--(cheers);--but it has a great many sources, and to my mind
 you might just as well talk of a plant as having only one root, or a
 man only one hair on his head, as of a river having a single source.
 Every river is fed from many sources, and it does not seem to me that
 the mere accident of hitting upon that which subsequent investigation
 may prove to be the largest of its many affluents is a matter about
 which there need be much controversy. The real test of the value of
 this kind of work is, what is the quantity of land previously unknown
 which the discoverer has gone through, and which he has opened up to
 the knowledge of civilized man? (Cheers.) Judged by that test, I do
 not hesitate to say that the African Expedition of 1856 has been the
 most important of our time; the only rival which I could assign to it
 being that separate expedition which was undertaken by Dr. Livingstone
 through the southern part of the continent. (Hear.) Where one man has
 made his way many will follow, and I do not think it is too sanguine
 an anticipation, negro chiefs and African fevers notwithstanding,
 to expect that within the lifetime of the present generation we may
 know as much of Africa, at least, of Africa north of the equator, and
 within fifteen degrees south of it, as we know now of South America.
 Well, gentlemen, no man returns from a long African travel with health
 entirely unimpaired, and our friend was no exception to the rule. But
 there are men to whom all effort is unpleasant, so there are men to
 whom all rest, all doing nothing, is about the hardest work to which
 they could be put, and Captain Burton recruited his health, as you all
 know, by a journey to the Mormon country, travelling thirty thousand
 miles by sea and land, and bringing back from that community--morally,
 I think, the most eccentric phenomenon of our days--a very curious
 and interesting, and, as far as I could judge, the most accurate
 description we have yet received. (Cheers.) Now, as to the last phase
 of the career which I am attempting to sketch--the embassy to Dahomè,
 the discovery of the Cameroon Mountains, and the travels along the
 African coast, I shall only remind you of it, because I am quite sure
 that the published accounts must be fresh in all your minds. I do not
 know what other people may think of these volumes, but to me they
 were a kind of revelation of negro life and character, enabling me to
 feel, which certainly I never felt before, that I could understand
 an African and barbarian court. As to any theories arising out of
 these journeys, as to any speculations which may be deduced from
 them, I do not comment upon these here. This is not the place nor the
 occasion to do it. All I will say about them is, that when a man with
 infinite labour, with infinite research, and at the imminent risk of
 his life, has gone to work to collect a series of facts, I think the
 least the public can do is to allow him a fair hearing when he puts
 his own interpretation upon those facts. (Loud cheers.) I will add
 this, that in matters which we all feel to be intensely interesting,
 and upon which we all know that our knowledge is imperfect, any man
 does us a service who helps us to arrange the facts which we have at
 our command, who stimulates inquiry and thought by teaching us to
 doubt instead of dogmatizing. I am quite aware that this is not in
 all places a popular theory. There are a great many people who, if
 you give them a new idea, receive it almost as if you had offered
 them personal violence. (Laughter.) It puts them out. They don't
 understand it--they are not used to it. I think that state of the
 public mind, which we must all acknowledge, is the very best defence
 for the existence of scientific societies such as that to which many
 of us belong. It is something for a man who has got a word to say, to
 know that there is a society where he will get a fair and considerate
 hearing; and, whether the judgment goes against him or not, at least
 he will be met by argument and not by abuse. I think Captain Burton
 has done good service to the State in various ways. He has extended
 our knowledge of the globe on which we live, and as we happen to be
 men, and not mere animals, that is a result which, though it may not
 have any immediate utilitarian result, we ought to value. (Cheers.) He
 has done his share in opening savage and barbarous countries to the
 enterprise of civilized man, and though I am not quite so sanguine as
 many good men have been as to the reclaiming of savage races, one has
 only to read his and all other travellers' accounts of African life
 in its primitive condition, to see that whether they gain much or
 not by European intercourse, at any rate they have nothing to lose.
 (Laughter.) But there is something more than that. In these days of
 peace and material prosperity (and both of them are exceedingly good
 things), there is another point of view in which such a career as that
 of our friend is singularly useful. It does as much as a successful
 campaign to keep up in the minds of the English people that spirit of
 adventure and of enterprise, that looking to reputation rather than
 money, to love of effort rather than to ease--the old native English
 feeling which has made this country what it has become, and which,
 we trust, will keep this country what it is to be--a feeling which,
 no doubt, the tendency of great wealth and material prosperity is to
 diminish; but a feeling which, if it were to disappear from among us,
 our wealth and our material prosperity would not be worth one year's
 purchase. (Cheers.) Gentlemen, I propose the health of Captain Burton,
 and my best wish for him is that he may do for himself what nobody
 else is likely to do for him, that by his future performance he may
 efface the memory of his earlier exploits. (Loud cheers.)

 "The toast was drunk with three times three.

 [Sidenote: _Richard returns Thanks._]

 "Captain Burton, who, on rising, was greeted with loud and protracted
 cheering, said--My Lord Stanley, my lords and gentlemen, it falls to
 the lot of few men to experience a moment so full of gratified feeling
 as this, when I rise to return thanks for the honour you have done me
 on this, to me, most memorable occasion. I am proud to see my poor
 labours in the cause of discovery thus publicly recognized by the
 representative of England's future greatness. (Cheers.) The terms of
 praise which have fallen from your lordship's lips are far above my
 present deserts, yet I treasure them gratefully in my memory as coming
 from one so highly honoured, not only as a nobleman, but as a man. I
 am joyed when looking round me to see so many faces of friends who
 have met to give me God-speed--to see around me so many of England's
 first men, England's brains, in fact; men who have left their mark
 upon the age; men whose memories the world will not willingly let die.
 These are the proudest laurels a man can win, and I shall wear them in
 my heart of hearts that I may win more of them on my return.

 "But, however gratifying this theme, I must bear in mind the occasion
 which thus agreeably brings us together. We meet to commemorate the
 fact that on March 14, 1865, that uncommonly lusty youth, our young
 Anthropological Society, attained the respectable dimensions of five
 hundred members. My lord and gentlemen, it is with no small pride
 that I recall to mind how, under the auspices of my distinguished and
 energetic friend Dr. James Hunt, our present president,--and long may
 he remain so,--I took the chair on the occasion of its nativity. The
 date was January 6, 1863. The number of those who met was eleven. Each
 had his own doubts and hopes, and fears touching the viability of the
 new-born. Still we knew that our cause was good; we persevered, we
 succeeded. (Cheers.)

 "The fact is, we all felt the weight of the great want. As a traveller
 and a writer of travels during the last fifteen years, I have found
 it impossible to publish those questions of social economy and those
 physiological observations, always interesting to our common humanity,
 and at times so valuable. The _Memoirs of the Anthropological Society_
 now acts the good Samaritan to facts which the publisher and the
 drawing-room table proudly pass by. Secondly, there was no arena for
 the public discussion of opinions now deemed paradoxical, and known
 to be unpopular. The rooms of the Anthropological Society, No. 4, St.
 Martin's Place, now offer a refuge to destitute truth. There any man,
 monogenist or polygenist, eugenestic or dysgenestic, may state the
 truth as far as is in him. We may truly call these rooms

    'Where, girt by friend or foe,
    A man may say the thing he will.'

 All may always claim equally from us a ready hearing, and what as
 Englishmen we prize the most, a fair field and plenty of daylight.
 (Cheers.)

 "And how well we succeeded--how well our wants have been supplied by
 the officers of our society, we may judge by this fact: During the
 last twenty days not less than thirty members have, I am informed by
 my friend Mr. Carter Blake, been added to the five hundred of last
 month. I confidently look forward to the day when, on returning from
 South America, I shall find a list of fifteen hundred names of our
 society. We may say _vires acquirit eundo_, which you will allow me to
 translate, 'We gain strength by our go,' in other words, our progress.
 This will give us weight to impress our profession and opinions upon
 the public. Already the learned of foreign nations have forgotten to
 pity us for inability to work off the grooves of tradition and habit.
 And we _must_ succeed so long as we adhere to our principles of fair
 play and a hearing to every man. (Cheers.)

 "I would now request your hearing for a few words of personal
 explanation, before leaving you for some years. I might confide it to
 each man separately, but I prefer the greatest possible publicity. It
 has come to my ears that some have charged me with want of generosity
 in publishing a book which seems to reflect upon the memory of poor
 Captain Speke. Without entering into details concerning a long and
 melancholy misunderstanding, I would here briefly state that my object
 has ever been, especially on this occasion, to distinguish between
 _personal enmities_ and _scientific differences. I did not consider
 myself bound to bury my opinions in Speke's grave; to me, living,
 they are of importance._ I adhere to all I have stated respecting
 the Nile sources; but I must change the form of their expression. My
 own statement may, I believe, be considered to be moderate enough.
 In a hasty moment, I appended one more, which might have been
 omitted--as it shall from all future editions. I may conclude this
 painful controversial subject, by stating that Mr. Arthur Kinglake, of
 Weston-super-Mare, writes to me that a memorial bust of my lamented
 companion is to be placed this year in the shire-hall, Taunton, with
 other Somersetshire heroes, Blake and Locke. I have seen the bust in
 the studio of Mr. Papworth, and it is perfect. If you all approve, it
 would give me the greatest pleasure to propose a subscription for the
 purpose before we leave this room. (Cheers.)

 "And now I have already trespassed long enough upon your patience. I
 will not excuse myself, because I am so soon to leave you. Nor will
 I say adieu, because I shall follow in mind all your careers; yours,
 my Lord Stanley, to that pinnacle of greatness for which Nature and
 Fate have destined you; and yours, gentlemen and friends, each of you,
 to the high and noble missions to which you are called. Accompanied
 by your good wishes, I go forth on mine with fresh hope, and with a
 vigour derived from the wholesome stimulus which you have administered
 to me this evening. My Lord Stanley, my lords and gentlemen, I thank
 you from my heart.

 "[Here followed twenty-five speeches. Dr. Hunt, the President,
 concluded:] He should be very sorry if they were to separate on that
 occasion, when they had met to bid farewell to Captain Burton, without
 drinking the health of one on whom they all looked with respect
 and admiration--Mrs. Burton. (Loud cheers.) He felt it, therefore,
 to be their duty to join most heartily in drinking long health and
 prosperity to Mrs. Burton, and may she be long spared to take care of
 her husband when far away in South America. Those who paid homage to
 her paid homage also to him, whom they had met to honour, and the more
 they knew of him the more they respected him. (Loud cheers.)

 "Captain Burton: I only hope in the name of Heaven that Mrs. Burton
 won't hear of this. (Laughter.)

 "Dr. Hunt said that as Captain Burton refused to respond to the toast
 in a proper manner, he must return thanks for Mrs. Burton. She begged
 him to say that she had great difficulty in keeping her husband in
 order, but that she would do what she could to take care of him,
 and to make him as innocent a man as they believed him to be. (Loud
 laughter.)

 "Lord Stanley then left, and the company soon afterwards separated."


NILE.


[Sidenote: _He speaks his Mind about the Nile._]

Richard's speech alluded to the following. I take it from his private,
not his published writings:--

 "I have five main objections to Jack's theory about the Nile:--

 "1. There is a difference of levels in the upper and in the lower part
 of the so-called lake. This point is important only when taken in
 connection with the following:--

 "2. The native report that the Mwerango river rises from the hills in
 the centre of the so-called lake.

 "3. The general belief that there is a road through the so-called lake.

 "4. The fact that the southern part of the so-called lake floods the
 country for thirteen miles, whereas the low and marshy northern shore
 is not inundated.

 "5. The phenomena that the so-called lake swells during the dry period
 of the Nile, and _vice versâ_.

 "It would of course have been far more congenial to my feelings to
 have met Jack upon the platform, and to have argued out this affair,
 openly, before the Association of Science. I went down fairly to
 seek this contest on September 13th, 1864. The first day was devoted
 to other subjects, and the second day our grand exposition of our
 separate views was to come off, and the rooms of the Section E were
 crowded to suffocation.

 "All the great people were with the Council, I alone was uninvited; so
 I remained on the platform with my wife, notes in hand, longing for
 the fray, but when they filed in twenty minutes later, the melancholy
 announcement was made of his death. I had seen him between one and
 three p.m., and at four p.m. he was a corpse! I was so shocked, so
 pained, I could not speak, and remained so for a long while. His
 death sealed my lips, but I am not bound to bury my opinions in his
 grave; and when I at last dared to speak, I addressed a public already
 horribly prejudiced by the partisans of Jack, who know nothing about
 chivalry, and have spoken of me in terms which I never used towards my
 dead friend. In short, all my achievements were ignored and forgotten.
 Everybody is mentioned with honour, but the Pioneer of discovery in
 these wild regions is carefully ignored. I am now about to leave
 Europe for some years, and I cannot allow errors which are generally
 received, to remain as they are, but I do not stand forth as an enemy
 of the departed. No man better than I, can appreciate the noble
 qualities of energy, courage, and perseverance which he so eminently
 possessed, who knew him for so many years, who travelled with him as
 a brother, till the unfortunate rivalry respecting the Nile sources
 arose like a ghost between us, and was fanned to a flame by the enmity
 and ambition of so-called friends. I do not wish to depreciate the
 services of Jack, nor Captain Grant--they brought us back a new three
 hundred and fifty geographical miles; but as to the _Nile_ sources, I
 consider the problem wholly unsolved. Jack and Captain Grant seemed
 to forget that the _more my_ expedition did, the better for them, as
 well as for me. The result of Jack's expedition is a blank space on
 the maps, covering nearly twenty-nine thousand miles and containing
 possibly half a dozen waters. Had Jack and Captain Grant really
 seen--which they did not--three sides of the Nyanza, they would have
 left unexplored fifty thousand square geographical miles, a space
 somewhat larger than England and Wales.

 "Knowing Jack as I do, I cannot understand why he sent Captain
 Grant, without valid apparent reason, on July 19th, 1862, to the
 head-quarters of King Kamrasi of Unyoro, right away _from_ the Lakes,
 unless Jack was determined _alone_ to do the work, and to have no one
 to contradict him. The _Westminster Review_ remarks of that: 'Grant
 will have little to regret, and Burton will be more than revenged
 should Tanganyika, and not the Nyanza, prove to be the head of the
 Nile.'

 "From Alexandria Jack telegraphed in April, 1863, to the F.O. these
 big words:--'Inform Sir Roderick Murchison that all is well, that we
 are in latitude 14° 30' upon the Nile, and that the Nile is settled.'
 The startling assertion caused a prodigious sensation at the main
 meeting, May 11th, 1863. Jack was fêted in Egypt by his Highness
 the Khedive and by his Majesty of Piedmont, and was presented with
 a medal bearing the gratifying inscription, 'Honor est a Nilo.' At
 Southampton he was received by the civic authorities and sundry
 supporters, including Colonel Rigby of Zanzibar, who, for purely
 private reasons, had supported Jack against _me_. On June 22nd, 1863,
 Jack received an ovation in the shape of a special meeting of the
 Royal Geographical Society, when the windows were broken in by the
 eager crowd. By-and-by people began to cool their enthusiasm. Despite
 all that Jack had done to me, I was the first to give flattering
 opinions of the exploration, until the personal account Jack gave,
 told me how little had been done. It was something to have passed over
 three hundred and fifty untrodden miles, but it would take a great
 deal more than that to settle the Nile problem. Jack tried to crush
 all expressions of thought. A welcome to Jack was put forth in 1863
 by _Blackwood's Magazine_, a periodical from which, for reasons _best
 known to myself_, I never expected, nor wanted to receive justice. The
 author of 'The Welcome,' who sought advertisement, wrote: 'We were the
 first to satisfy ourselves with Captain Speke's geographical views.'

 "In January, 1864, Jack's book appeared, 'The Discovery of the Sources
 of the Nile.' It sold like wildfire at first, and then suddenly
 dropped, like the stick of the firework. Then Messrs. Blackwood
 brought out 'What led to the Discovery of the Sources of the Nile,'
 and people were saying that 'non-discovery would be the fitting
 term;' and the second stick fell from the rocket. I understood then
 the danger to which I had exposed myself by _not travelling alone_,
 when I perceived that a lake, seen only for twenty miles, at the
 southern edge, was prolonged by mere guesswork to two hundred and
 forty miles to the north--enough to stultify the whole Expedition.
 Had we met at Bath, the discussion which _must_ have resulted would
 have brought forth a searching scrutiny upon _both our Expeditions_,
 and mine would have been found to have been a genuine article; as
 it is, I am obliged to remain dumb upon many points upon which, if
 Jack had been alive, I should certainly have spoken. After so long a
 silence upon the subject, I am justified in drawing public attention
 as to what was effected by _my_ Expedition, in which I was not only
 unaided, but I may say hindered. I went into the country ignorant of
 it, its language, trade, manners, and customs, preceded only by a
 French naval officer, who was murdered almost directly he landed. My
 friend Hamerton, the Consul at Zanzibar, was dying. Without money, or
 support, or influence, lacking in the necessaries of life, I led the
 most disorderly caravan that ever man could gather together, into the
 heart of Eastern Africa, and discovered the Tanganyika and the Nyanza
 Lakes. I brought home sufficient information to smooth the path of
 all who chose to follow me. They had but to read 'The Lake Regions
 of Central Africa' (2 vols., 1860), and the whole of Vol. XXXIII. of
 the _Proceedings of the Royal Geographical Society_ (Clowes and Sons,
 1860), to know all about it. Dr. Beke called mine emphatically 'a
 memorable expedition;' but, except for a few esteemed friends, my
 work has been ignored and forgotten. _My_ labours rendered the road
 easy for Jack and Captain Grant. I opened the line to Englishmen, and
 they had but to follow me.

 "I bring no charge against Jack of asserting what he does not believe.
 In his Taunton speech he declared that, 'as the _real_ discoverer,
 he had in 1857 hit the Nile on the head, and in 1863 drove it down
 to the Mediterranean,' and he believed these words as firmly and as
 unreasoningly as he did in his Victoria Nyanza Lake or his 'Mountains
 of the Moon.' His peculiar habit of long brooding over thoughts and
 memories, secreting them until some sudden impulse brought them forth,
 may explain this great improbability. He could not grasp a fact; hence
 his partial eclipse of the moon on the 5th and 6th of January, 1863,
 which did not occur. A 'luxurious village' was a mass of dirty huts,
 a 'king of kings' is a petty chief, a 'splendid port' is a display of
 savagery. The French of those parts are barbarians, with little more
 knowledge than their neighbours.

 "Captain Grant also has never acknowledged the vast benefits which
 the second Expedition derived from mine. I therefore mean to produce
 a small volume, called 'The Nile Basin,'[2] in which I shall
 distinctly deny that any 'misleading, by my instructions from the
 Royal Geographical Society as to the position of the White Nile,'
 left me unconscious of the vast importance of ascertaining the Rusizi
 river's direction. The fact is Jack was deaf and almost blind, I was
 paralytic, we were both helpless, and I may add penniless; we did our
 best to reach it, and we failed.

 "I must also again allude to Jack's 'Mountains of the Moon.' He
 published a sketch-map in _Blackwood's Magazine_, September and
 October, 1859, which showed a huge range estimated to rise six or
 eight thousand feet high. At first the segment of a circle, it
 gradually shaped itself into a colt's foot, and effectually cut off
 all access from the Tanganyika to the Nile; then he owns in his book,
 p. 263, to having built up these mountains on solely geographical
 _reasonings_, deriving from the same source the Nile, the Congo, and
 the Zambesi. Now, Captain Grant afterwards said that the mountains
 were the work of the engraver, and that Jack was amused by them; but
 if he had looked into the map-room of the Royal Geographical Society,
 he would have found Jack's own map, showing the lunar horseshoe in all
 its hideousness. Now, in the map done by Stanford, the Mountains of
 the Moon are placed in the northern extremity of the Lake Tanganyika;
 but in his _own_ map, published in his _journal_, he altered their
 position, and inserted them round the western north-sides of the more
 northern Lake Rusizi, which was manifestly a widening of the river;
 and again he said, p. 324, 'It was a pity I did not change the course
 I gave to the Maraungu river, _i.e._ making it an effluent, and not
 an influent; I forgot my lesson, and omitted to do so;' and when he
 inquires of the natives whether this river runs _into_ or _out_ of the
 lake, he says, 'Because they all say it runs into the lake, _I_ am
 quite convinced that it runs out of the lake,' which, to say the least
 of it, is an extraordinary train of reasoning.

 "Mr. Macqueen, an old and scientific geographer, was told by an Arab
 who had been to Unyamwezi, 'It is well known by all the people there,
 that the river which goes through Egypt takes its source and origin
 from the Lake Tanganyika.' Dr. Beke, an old and scientific traveller,
 quotes De Barros: 'The Nile has its origin in a great lake, the
 Tanganyika, and after traversing many miles northwards, it enters a
 very large lake which lies under the equator.' This would, I believe,
 be the Bahr el Ghazal, or the Luta Nzigé. With regard to the levels,
 the Tanganyika is allowed but 1844 feet, but during our exploration
 the state of our vision would, I am sure, explain a greater difference
 than the fraction of a degree. At Conduci, a harbour on the East
 African coast, a common wooden bath instrument boiled at 2˙14° Fahr.:
 this would give a difference of about 1000 feet. The Nyanza was made
 3550 feet high by my expedition, that of Jack raised it to 3745 feet.

 "Mr. Macqueen, F.R.G.S., author of the 'Geographical Survey of
 Africa,' wrote a very able review on Jack's expedition with Captain
 Grant, and I shall reprint it in the 'Nile Basin' from the _Morning
 Advertiser_. In it he speaks in unmeasured terms about the cruelty of
 the manner in which he crushed Consul Petherick with his ill-temper,
 vanity, and jealousy, having used him in his own service all he
 could. Petherick wrote: 'To add insult to injury, flesh and blood
 cannot bear it, and, whilst not wishing to depreciate the labours of
 others, I am determined to maintain my own;' and Mrs. Petherick wrote
 an account of Jack's dining with them. They had a tremendously large
 ham, which they had brought from England, cooked. They were to wait
 with boats, well armed and provisioned, until Jack should appear at
 Gondokoro. They waited long beyond their time, they spent their money,
 they lost their health, they sacrificed their own trade, and Jack,
 having helped himself to what he wanted, treated them _de haut en
 bas_. Mrs. Petherick writes: 'We always meant to open this ham when we
 met Speke. During dinner I endeavoured to prevail on Speke to accept
 our aid, but he drawlingly replied, "I do not wish to recognize the
 'succour-dodge.'"' She adds, 'The rest of the conversation I am not
 well enough to repeat. I grow heartsick thinking of it after all our
 toil. Never mind, his heartlessness will recoil upon him yet. I soon
 left the table, and would never dine with them again.'

 "But when Jack got home, and was in the full fling of his triumph,
 his unfounded charges influenced the Government, who had employed
 Petherick to convey assistance and advice to Jack, whose flippant
 conduct caused this man and his wife to be thrown overboard without
 pity, his private fortune wasted, his character as a merchant and a
 public servant blasted, being also deprived of his Consulship. Mr.
 Macqueen, in his paper, said that Speke left England on a great and
 noble enterprise. He was patronised and supported by the British
 Government, by the Royal Geographical Society, and the good wish and
 sanguine hopes of the public. He says it is incredible that any
 man, but especially a man who had gone a thousand miles to see the
 position of the outlet of the Nile supposed to be in that spot, should
 have remained five months within eight miles of it, without hearing
 or seeing something certain about the great object of his search, or
 have found some means to see it. He says, 'All that he brought back
 was the sacrifice and ruin of zealous associates, first Burton, then
 Petherick, Grant treated as a cipher, and a mass of intelligence, if
 such it can be called, so muddled and confused that we do not believe
 he understands it himself. We regret the miserable termination which
 the second great African exploration has had; we lament the time that
 has been lost, and the money that has been spent; but the only person
 to blame for its poor results is Captain Speke himself.'"

The following five maps, brought up to 1867, are inserted with the kind
permission of the Royal Geographical Society, whose property they are.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

[1] "Träume sind Schäume."

[2] Which he did in 1864.--I. B.




CHAPTER XIX.

SANTOS, SÃO PAULO, BRAZIL--RICHARD'S SECOND CONSULATE.

    "My native land's the land of Palms,
      The Sabiá sings there.
    In this drear land no song-birds' notes
      With our sweet birds compare.

    "More radiant stars bestrew our skies,
      More flowers bedeck our fields,
    A fuller life teems in our woods,
      More love our Home-life yields.

    "My wakeful thoughts--alone--at night
      Full of sweet memories are,
    Of mine own land,--the land of Palms,
      Where sings the Sabiá.

    "My land has sweetest fruits and flowers,
      Such sweets I find not here.
    Alone--at night--in wakeful hours
      More pleasures find I there,
    Mine own dear land,--the land of Palms,
      Where sings the Sabiá.

    "God, in His mercy, grant I may
      To that dear land return,
    Ere the sweet flowers and fruits decay,
      Which here, alas! I mourn;
    That once again, before I die,
      I may the Palm-Trees see,
    And hear again the Sabiá
      Sing its sweet melody."
                      ----DANIEL FOX (_translated from the Brazilian
                           of the poet Antonio Gonçalves Dias_).


During this stay at home we had represented to Lord Russell how
miserable our lives were, being always separated by the climate of
Fernando Po, and he very kindly transferred us to Santos, in the
Brazils, where I _could_ go. So Richard agreed that I should go out
with him to Portugal for a trip; that he should go on to Rio de
Janeiro; that I should return to London to wind up our affairs, and
then join him at Santos; and we set sail in May. I now began to learn
Portuguese. We had very bad weather, and on the fourth day we arrived
at Lisbon, and went to the Braganza Hotel.

[Sidenote: _We explore Portugal._]

Here was a totally new experience for me. Our bedroom was a large
white-washed place; there were three holes in the wall, one at the
bedside bristling with horns, and these were cockroaches some three
inches long. The drawing-room was gorgeous with yellow satin, and the
magnificent yellow curtains were sprinkled with these crawling things;
the consequence was that I used to stand on a chair and scream. This
annoyed Richard very much. "A nice sort of traveller and companion
_you are_ going to make," he said. "I suppose you think you look very
pretty and interesting, standing on that chair and howling at those
innocent creatures." This hurt me so much that, without descending
from the chair, I stopped screaming and, made a meditation, like St.
Simon Stylites on his pillar, and it was, "that if I was going to live
in a country always in contact with these and worse things, though I
had a perfect horror of anything black and crawling, it would never
do to go on like that." So I got down, fetched a basin of water and a
slipper, and in two hours, by the watch, I had knocked ninety-seven
of them into it. It cured me. From that day I had no more fear of
vermin and reptiles, which is just as well in a country where nature
is over-luxuriant. A little while after we changed our rooms, we
were succeeded by the late Lord and Lady Lytton, and, to my infinite
delight, I heard the same screams coming from the same rooms a little
while after. "There!" I said in triumph, "you see, I am not the _only_
woman who does not like cockroaches."

Here he insisted on taking me to a bull-fight, because he said I ought
to see everything _once_. But there is a great difference between a
Spanish and a Portuguese bull-fight. In Portugal the bull's horns are
knobbed; he does not gore horses nor dogs--he tosses men softly, and
if I do not mind that, it is because the men go in for it willingly,
are paid for it, and are bred to it as a profession from father to son
for endless generations. The only torment the bull has to endure is the
darts thrown into the fat part of his neck. If he fights well, they are
taken out afterwards and his wounds dressed with oil, and he is turned
out loose to fight another day. If he won't fight, he is killed for
beef; so you get all the science and the play without the disgusting
cruelty. At first I crouched down with my hands over my face, but I
gradually peeped through first one finger and then another, until I saw
the whole of it; but it awed me so much that I was almost afraid to
come out of our box, for fear we should meet a bull on the stairs.

We then went to Cintra, and to Mafra. Richard found an old mosque in
Cintra, and we saw Mr. Cooke's beautiful house.[1] For people who have
not been to Lisbon, I may say that Belem Church is, I think, quite the
most beautiful thing in the world. It is one of the noted dreams in
marble. From Lisbon we went on to Corregado, to Serçal and Caldas, to
see Alcobaço, where there is a most beautiful monastery. In the days
of rebellion and persecution, the days of Don Miguel, somewhere in the
early thirties, the monks had to clear out, and my father took one
of them, whose name was Antonio Barboza de Lima, to be our tutor and
chaplain, when we were children (and he is now buried at Mortlake);
so Richard and I took an extra interest in the details. We then went
to Batalha, where there is another beautiful monastery, to Pombal, to
Leiria, and to Coimbra. This seat of learning is one of the prettiest,
dirtiest, and slowest places imaginable, and we soon made our way to
Oporto, and went to Braga to see the Whit-Sunday _fête_, from thence
to Malozinhos. This northern part of Portugal is ever so much more
beautiful than Lisbon. The more you get into Douro, and the nearer you
are to Spain, the larger and handsomer become the people.

However, our time was short, and, after a delightful two months'
Portuguese exploration, we had to get back to Lisbon, where we saw
another bull-fight, and Richard embarked for Brazil. I promised him
to go back by the very next steamer that sailed. As I used to keep
my word _very literally_, a few hours after his departure, a very
tiny steamer came in, much worse than the West African boats; but I
thought myself obliged to go, and we started at 9.20 in the evening,
in spite of north-easterly gales, and had a bad time of it in the
Bay of Biscay, she being only 428 tons. The route was from London to
Lisbon, Gibraltar, Mazagan, Mogador, Canary Islands, coast of Spain,
Morocco, and Portugal. On board, besides myself, having made the
same mistake, was Dona Maria Rita Tenorio y Moscoso, who afterwards
married the Portuguese Minister in London, Count Lavradio. We were in
a tremendous fog off Beachy Head, went aground somewhere near Erith
in the fog, and were very glad to land on the eighth day, having
roughed it prodigiously. I note nothing important except some very
interesting experiments at Mr. William Crookes's, both chemically and
spiritualistically.

[Sidenote: _I rejoin him at Rio de Janeiro._]

By end of August, _i.e._ in a month, my work was accomplished, and I
may as well now say, that whenever we were going to leave England for
any length of time, he used mostly to like to start _at once_ in light
marching order, go forward and prospect the place, and leave me behind
to settle up our affairs, pay and pack, bringing up the heavy baggage
in the rear. It saved time, as double work got done in the space; so,
having completed all, I embarked from Southampton in one of the Royal
mails. Heavy squalls and thunder and lightning began next day, and at
Lisbon the thermometer was 80° in the cabin. We passed Santa Cruz,
off Teneriffe, having a good view of the Peak. We got to St. Vincent
in ten days, quite the most wretched hole in the world--only barren
rocks, and the heat was like a dead wall. We had very charming people
on board, mostly all foreigners, except Mr. and Mrs. Wodehouse, and Mr.
Conyngham. Neptune came on board on the night of the 24th, we crossed
the Line on the 25th, and the ceremonies of "crossing the Line" were
gone through, the tubbing and shaving, the greasy pole and running in
sacks, and a hair was drawn across the field-glasses, through which you
were requested to look at the "Line." The perhaps most striking thing
to a new-comer going out, is losing the Great Bear and the Northern
Star, and all that one is accustomed to, and exchanging them for the
Southern Cross and others.

We arrived at Pernambuco on the 27th, and there I found all the letters
that I had written to my husband since we parted, accumulated in the
post-office, consequently I did not know what he would think had become
of me. Here we had a very rough sea and boiling surf. I passed the
evening miserably, thinking about the letters; though everything was
looking very beautiful, and the band was playing tunes and everybody
waltzing, I sat by the wheel and had a good "boo-hoo" in the moonlight.
On the 30th we reached Bahía, and went ashore and lunched with Mrs.
Baines, and visited Mr. Charles Williams. The women wanted to sell me
small black babies in the market for two shillings. We sailed the same
day, and had heavy weather. I rose at five, just before we went into
the harbour at Rio. It is about the most glorious sight that a human
being can behold, at sunrise and at sunset, the mountains being of most
fantastic shapes, and the colours that of an opal. Richard said it
beats all the scenery he had ever seen in his life--even the Bosphorus.
He came on board at half-past eight in the morning, and we had a joyful
meeting, and I handed him all the letters which, by some strange
mischance, had accumulated at Pernambuco during our month's separation.

We stayed at the Estrangeiros Hotel, where there was quiet, fresh air,
beautiful scenery, and several disadvantages, including cockroaches
and mosquitoes. We enjoyed a great deal of hospitality, both Naval
and Diplomatic, and had several excursions and picnics. All nations
have a "Flagship" and other ships in the harbour; there is a great deal
of gaiety and _esprit de corps_ amongst the Diplomatic and Consular
service. Amongst others here was Mr. Gerald Perry, our Minister, Sir
Edward and Lady Thornton, Chevalier Bunsen, the son of the great
Bunsen, with whom we used to have learned discussions very often in
the evening on "Geist" and other scientific subjects, and German
metaphysics generally. Mrs. Elliot, the wife of Admiral Elliot, the
Admiral of the Station, was a very kind friend to me, on this my first
_début_ into this kind of life. We had our first dinner-party at our
hotel, and after all the formal people had gone, Richard and the
young ones proposed a moonlight walk. We went down to the Botanical
Gardens, and tried to get in, but the gates were locked--tall iron
gates--and nothing would do but that, as we could not get in, we should
scramble over them. It was quite contrary to law, but we had a nice
walk about the gardens. There was either no watch-dog, or the guard
being unaccustomed to such daring, was not on the look-out; but there
were too many snakes about, and particularly the coral snake, of which
nobody has any idea in England, because its colours fade as soon as it
is put in spirits; so we all came back and climbed over the gate again,
and got back without any danger.

But we had come out of hot rooms, and it was dewy and damp, so next day
I had my first fever. It consisted of sickness and vomiting, colic,
dizziness, faintness, shivering, heat and cold, delirium, thirst,
disgust of food. The treatment was calomel, castor oil, hot baths,
blankets, emetics, ice, starvation, and thirty grains of quinine. It
did not last long, but my being delirious alarmed Richard very much,
and he mesmerized me.

In Rio one generally takes a native steamer, which is not very
comfortable, to go to Santos, one hundred and twenty miles south of
Rio. As soon as I was able to move, Captain Napier took us on board
H.M.S. _Triton_ for Santos. It was very rough. The captain had given
up his quarters to me; the stern ports were not closed, and at night a
tremendous sea came in, and swept our cots. It continued very squally,
and we anchored at Ilha Grande; next day the men practised gunnery and
small-arms, and Captain Napier made me practise with a revolver. It
was fifty-eight miles from Rio to Ilha Grande, a pretty mountainous
island, which surrounds a lovely bay, with a few huts on it. We then
proceeded seventy-eight miles further to St. Sebastian, which is a
grand copy of the Straits of Messina (Scylla and Charybdis), and spoils
your after-view of what people who have seen nothing bigger, think
so wonderful. You steam through an arm of the sea, appearing like a
gigantic river, surrounded by mountains (whose verdure casts a green
shade upon the water), dotted with houses, small towns, and gardens.
The chief town is St. Sebastian, which is very populous. The water is
calm; there is a delicious sea-breeze. When Richard went ashore they
saluted him with the usual number of guns, and Brazilian local "swells"
came off to visit us.


SANTOS, BRAZIL, HIS SECOND CONSULATE.


[Sidenote: _Arrival at Santos and São Paulo._]

We awoke next morning, the 9th of October, 1865, off the Large. About
eleven we were at the mouth, whence one steams about nine miles up
a serpentine river, and at one o'clock anchored opposite Santos. We
saluted, and the Consular corps came off to see us. We stayed on board
that night, and we left the ship at half-past seven next day, loitering
about Santos.

Santos was only a mangrove swamp, and in most respects exactly like
the West Coast of Africa, the road slushy and deep. Tree-ferns,
African mangrove, brown water full of tannin, patches of green light
and green dark, in rare clearings here and there houses and fields
near town, much water, and good rice. The sand runs up to the mangrove
jungle; there is good fishing, and deer in the forests. The heavy sea
sometimes washes into the gardens, spoils the flowers, and throws up
whale-bones in all directions. At the time of our arrival, the railway
from Santos to São Paulo, about eighty miles into the interior, was
only just beginning, and a large staff of Englishmen were engaged upon
it. Mr. J. J. Aubertin, now, since his freedom, poet, author, and
traveller, was then superintendent of it. Richard had been here, and
inspected the place before my arrival, although he had met me at Rio,
and he had arranged, as there were _two_ places _equally requiring the
presence of a Consul_ (São Paulo on the top of the Serra, and Santos
on the coast), that we should live at both places, riding up and down
as occasion required, thus keeping our health; and Mr. Glennie, the
Vice-Consul--who had gone to Santos as a boy, had been there over forty
years, had married there, was perfectly devoted to it, and the only
hardship he would have known would have been to live out of it--could
remain there. His one ambition of life was to be Consul of Santos, and
when we left, some years after, and his nomination was just going out
to him, he died--as Richard used to say, "so like Provy."

We therefore, that same day, went in trollies to Mugis, where we
lunched. Richard and Captain Napier had started on foot, and soon
after Mr. Aubertin and thirteen others joined us. We were twenty-one
people. Dr. and Mrs. Hood lived at the foot of the Serra, and they
gave us a big tea-dinner. Mrs. Hood, the widow, with her now large
grown-up family, strange to say, is now my near neighbour in Mortlake.
Next day, what with mules, walking, riding, and occasional trollies,
we got at the top of the Serra. There was a huge chasm over which the
rail would have to pass on a bridge, with an almost bottomless drop.
There were only planks across it; but, as I was on in front, supposing
that was what we had got to cross, I walked right across it, about some
two hundred yards. When I got to the other side, I turned round to
speak, but nobody answered me, and facing round I saw the whole company
standing on the other side, not daring to breathe, and my husband
looking ghastly; so I turned round and was going to walk back again,
when they motioned me off by signs, and all began to file round another
way on _terra firma_. It was fortunate that I had such a good head, and
did not know my danger.

The train line up the Serra is a very steep incline, one in nine, and
is managed by a chain with a stationary engine at the top, a train
being hooked on at each end of the rope. On one side was a mountain
wall, and the other side a bottomless abyss, but the whole thing was
quite beautiful through virgin forest. At this time it was not far
advanced enough, and we rode up on mules. At the top a locomotive was
kept to take us into São Paulo, which reminded us of Bergamo, in Italy,
where we all dined at the little French inn. The next day we took a
trip to what was then the end of the line, twelve miles beyond São
Paulo, but at this time these trips were part mules, part trollies,
part walking ones. We came back to dinner; there were speeches, and
we wished the "Tritons" good-bye. Richard went down with them to set
up his Consulate, and I remained to look for a house, and set up our
_first real home_. After twelve or thirteen days, I went down to
Santos by the diligence, by bad roads, but with a lovely panorama. The
diligence takes one as far as Cubatao, where a little steamer plies for
a couple of hours, first up a fine stream, between banks of tangled
magnificence in the vegetation line, then an arm of the sea, or rather
lagoons. The journey occupies seven carriage and two boat hours.

The worst of Santos, besides the steaming heat enclosed within and at
the bottom of the hills, arising from the mangrove swamps, was the
sand-flies and the mosquitoes. Richard was quite impervious to all
other vermin, but the sand-flies used to make him come out all over
bumps. For the rest, he used to say that he liked to have me near
him--it was just like having "catch 'em alive" for flies, as everything
came and bit me, and I was not fit to be seen, and spared him.

The fact is, I had fresh English blood, and it was rather a treat to
them. The nicest thing was to drive out to the Barra. Captain Richard
Hare, R.N., then came in, and we made a large party to stay there. The
Barra was our fashionable bathing-place; the sea rolled right in to the
strip of sand between it and the mangrove swamps, on the edge of which
were (at that time) a few huts, with windows and doors opening on to
the sand. In some there were no windows; they only closed by a wooden
shutter.

After staying there for some time with Richard, I went up to São Paulo
again, because I was getting feverish; it was wet and windy, and it
took me eleven hours and a half. On going up, I engaged a very curious
little fellow in our service, who deserves a few lines. Chico was
thirty-five years of age; he was about four feet high, but perfectly
well proportioned, as black as a coal, brimming full of intelligence,
and could put his hand to anything. He had just been emancipated.
He remained with us the whole time we were in Brazil, and became my
right-hand man--more of him anon.

At last I found an old convent, No. 72, Rua do Carmo, which opened on
the street in its front, and ran a long way back behind on an eminence,
which commanded a view of almost boundless horizon into the country,
and was exceedingly healthy. I immediately took it, cleaned it, painted
and whitewashed it, and furnished it, and engaged slaves, paying their
masters so much, and so much to them, as if they were free men. They
were all Catholics, and I made a little chapel for them.

The slaves in Brazil, as a rule, formed, as it were, part of the
family, and in ninety-five houses out of a hundred they were kindly
treated and happy, but the remaining five out of the hundred were
brutal; but, however, in _all_ cases, the poor creatures were told,
or, if not told, were allowed to believe, that they had no souls, and
nothing to look forward to. I, on the contrary, taught them, and had
regular lecture and catechism for them, that not only had they souls,
but that, although they were condemned by class and colour and custom
to be slaves upon earth, just as it was in the Bible, that once dead,
they, and we, would stand equal before God. The priest used to come
to my little Oratory, where I had the Bishop's leave to have Mass and
the Sacraments, and we all received Communion together. They were very
happy, the house went upon oiled wheels, and I never had occasion to
dismiss a servant the whole time I was there. The differences were
chiefly amongst themselves. Richard having settled his Consulate
at Santos, and I having prepared our home in São Paulo, he came up
and joined me, and for the first time since our marriage we were
absolutely settled in a home of our own.

[Sidenote: _Life in Brazil._]

Up the country in Brazil, people always get one or two things in their
first few years. You either break out all over boils, so that you
cannot put a pin's point between them, and if you have a weak place,
they come there in clusters, and you can neither sit nor stand, kneel
or lie, and you are an object of misery for some months; but if you
have strength, and can pull through it, you bloom out with stronger
health than ever after that. This happened to me. I had to be slung up.
A friend gave me a barrel of porter, and it was alternately "faint" and
a "glass of porter," which revived me for a few minutes, and then more
faint and more porter, _ad infinitum_. By the time the barrel of porter
was finished, I was convalescent, and when any new ones attempted to
break out, a friend gave me two things to try--and I tell it for the
sake of those who may follow me; it was to draw a ring of caustic round
one, and a ring of laudanum round the other. The caustic ones did
not answer, but the ring of laudanum made them disappear, and I got
splendid health, which lasted at least seventeen years. Now, people who
do not get the boils are bound to get one or more of the complicated
diseases of the country, and that is just what happened to Richard. We
had no doctors up there, that I am aware of.

On the 17th of January, 1866, we had an awful storm, worse than
any known for twenty-five years; there was an awful blackness, the
lightning was red, the wind drove in the windows, the hail was jagged
pieces of ice one inch in diameter, sharp and long, and made round
holes like a bullet, there was a network of flashes, rain from all
quarters--a regular cyclone. It drove through the room fronting north,
which was like a ship's cabin in a gale. We saw the cathedral struck,
the cross knocked off, tiles blown away; the hotel room was like a
shower-bath, with a continuous stream of rain. Several houses were
struck, some of the doors split, and the streets quite flooded; people
were frightened, and lighted candles, and brought out the Madonna.
There were sharp rattlings like earthquake; it blew a clock against
the walls away; the people all met as after a revolution in Paris. The
windows were everywhere broken, and the water looked black. It was
quite local, and did not touch the shipping. In the town four were
killed and five wounded. The next day was very hot.

Santos is six thousand miles away from Europe, and we only got letters
once a month.

Richard's study was the most important feature in the house. It was a
long room, running out on an eminence forty feet long, with a good
terrace at the end of it, on which we had a telescope, and every
convenience for astronomy and observations; and perhaps the other most
striking part of the house was a large room, which occupied the whole
centre of the house, and opened on the stairs. This was dining-room,
receiving-room, and everything. Directly below that was a similar
place, that was more like stables than room. It was my refuge for the
needy and homeless after dark; they were fed and housed, and turned out
in early morning.

On the 27th of July he notes in his journal: "Dream that a bad tooth
fell out, followed by five or six big drops of blood; noted the day,
and found that my poor friend Steinhaüser had died of heart disease
quite suddenly in Switzerland that day." On the 14th of August, 1866,
the first through-train went from Santos to Jundiahy. There was a
_fête_ in consequence, and the company had the bad taste only to omit
the Consul and his wife from the invitations to all the English. On the
22nd of August Richard went to stop with the priests of the seminary
(Capuchins), which he often did, in their _chacara_, or country-house,
where he studied astronomy with Fray João, and metaphysics, physics,
and algebra, with Père Germain. Here he was engaged in writing "Vikram
and the Vampire," and he got a concession for the lead mines of
Iporanga, in São Paulo. On the 21st of December we went down to Rio for
our Christmas, which we spent at Petropolis. On the 12th of November
some one put a stone on the railway to throw the train off, and on the
19th it was said that a part of the rails was pulled up.

In Santos and São Paulo we remained from 1865 to 1869, and I may say
that his career here was equally active and useful, both on the coast
and in the interior. We thoroughly explored our own province, São
Paulo, which is larger than France. (I do not bore you with two pages
of Brazilian names of places, because very few would know where they
were, unless they had lived there and had worked in wild places, which
is not likely.) We spent a good time at the gold mines and diamond
diggings of Minas Gerães. He canoed down the river of San Francisco,
fifteen hundred miles. He went to the Argentine Republic of the
Páta-Paranà; he went to Paraguay for the purpose of reporting the state
of the Paraguayan War to the Foreign Office. He crossed the Pampas and
the Andes to Chili and Peru, amongst the dangerous Indians, whilst on
sick leave for an illness which brought him almost to death's door. He
visited the Pacific coast to inspect the scenes of the earthquake at
Arica, returning by the Straits of Magellan, Buenos Ayres, and Rio de
Janeiro.

Letters from Richard to _Fraser's Magazine_ appeared in three numbers,
headed, "From London to Rio de Janeiro." He likewise wrote three
books--"The Highlands of Brazil," 2 vols., which I edited and brought
out in 1869; "Vikram and the Vampire," one vol. of Hindú tales brought
out in 1870; "Paraguay," 1 vol., brought out in 1870. He interested
himself immensely in the coffee and cotton produce, Mr. Aubertin being
at that time the "father of cotton" in Brazil, but his chief interest
lay in the mining and mineral productions of the country. As I have
said, he obtained the concession for the lead mines of Iporanga, and
Sir Edward Thornton was very angry with him--took it in the sense
of Consuls trading, and reported him home. Fortunately, we had the
large mind of Lord Stanley (Lord Derby) at the head of the Foreign
Office, and he, knowing how caged and misplaced Richard was at such
a Consulate, thought he might at least be allowed that little bit of
amusement, and sent back a despatch that he did not think that being
interested in mineral production could be exactly classed under the
head of trading.

Amongst other things, Richard discovered something remarkable. On one
of our Expeditions we were stopping at a shanty close to a river, and
seeing something glistening, he walked up the bed of the river, which
was not deep, and scooped up some of the sand and put it in a jar. On
washing it we found that it looked very like rubies. We sent it home
to Mr. Crookes, F.R.S., the great chemical savant, and he wrote back,
"If you get any more, bigger than this, throw up the Consulate and
stick to the rubies." Now, Richard told me that this was only the dust
washed down, and that the great stones must lie further up the head of
the river. The shanty belonged to an old woman with a right for a good
stretch up the river, and she would have joyfully sold it for £50. When
I implored Richard almost on my knees to buy it, he would not, saying
it would be quite wrong to defraud that poor woman out of her place,
when she did not know that rubies were there; that if she _did_ know,
she would ask him an exorbitant sum; and, what was more, that no one
could live there for three days without getting Brazilian fever, so
that we should end by being like the dog in the fable, with the bit of
cheese and the shadow in the water, and drop the reality for a shadow.

Life in Brazil, if in Rio, was very gay; life at São Paulo was very
like a farmhouse life, with cordiality and sociability with the other
farmhouses, and some of the good Brazilian society was very charming.
The Brazilians are to the Portuguese what the Americans are to us.
The Portuguese is heavy; the Brazilian is light, active, nervous,
_spirituel_. Their parties are much enlivened by music and dance.
They have several native dances, which are danced at the balls--one
especial one, which is called the _carangueijo_, which is very active,
very amusing, and very significant. The gentlemen and ladies dance it
as furiously as the common people, as the Hungarians do the _czardas_.
The Music consists of the _modinha_, which answers to our ballad, and
is generally mournful; the _lundú_, which is mostly comic, and almost
always in the minor key; and the _recitativo_, which consists of
playing a flowing melodious accompaniment, and in a voice pitched and
attuned to that, reciting a story of love or war or anything, often
improvised at the moment. The negroes have their balls in the Plaza,
or Square, and they will dance furiously for three consecutive days
and nights to the same tune. It is amusing to watch for about an hour
out of a window. The negro girls come out _décolletée_ in pink or blue
cotton--those are the swells--the others dress like natives.

What is so beautiful is Nature, the luxuriance of vegetable and animal
life. Everything is so large--the palms, the cacti, and all the things
which here are treasured as plants and bushes, are there fine trees.
I have seen arums of which one leaf would be six feet long and five
broad, behind which a big man could easily hide himself. The virgin
forests are unspeakably beautiful, with their wild tangle of creeper
and parasite. Orchids, of which (during the rage that lasted in England
for them) one single one would have sold for £60, here grow wild--one
only had to go out with a knife and grub them up from the trees or
rocks; we sent boxes home to our friends. The fir of the country
is the araucaria; the gum copaiba is eighty feet high. Flights of
gaudy-coloured parrots and all sorts of beautiful coloured birds are
on the trees; butterflies, some of which measure ten inches from one
wing-tip to the other, when spread, float about the air like large
sheets of paper--scarlet, peacock blue, emerald green, cream, white--in
fact, every colour; and coming in and out of your room, are little
humming-birds the size of a large bee, looking like an emerald or a
ruby flitting about, and if you have the sense not to offer to touch
them, and put a little wet sugar in a saucer, they will stay there for
days; but if you try to catch them, they break their hearts and die.
The tints of Brazil are always the tints of the opal in fine weather.
The heat is awful, like the damp heat of a conservatory; I flourished
in it.

_En revanche_, Brazil has no history save three hundred years, which
relates its discovery and its gradual transfer from Indian natives to
the first Portuguese settlers. The Jesuits erected all the buildings
on the best sites, made roads, and cultivated; but the Indians are not
exterminated--they are only driven inwards--and about ten days from our
home our nearest Indians were the Botacudos. You may see them in the
Crystal Palace with their under-lip distended by a bit of wood. The
nearest to us were friendly ones, and they would come down to São Paulo
on rare occasions. They walk in Indian file, and when they passed our
house, or any other friendly house, they threw their arms out towards
the house--as if the whole file were pulled by a string--till they had
gone by it; and that is their mode of friendly salute. When the railway
was opened, they came down out of curiosity to see it. They looked upon
the engine as a sort of malignant beetle, but at last they got less
frightened, and all clambered upon it; but when it was time to start,
and the driver gave the preliminary whistle, they sprang off like mad,
and ran for their lives, nor could they be persuaded to mount again.

Another drawback was the reptiles and vermin. There is a large mosquito
that fastens its prongs into your hand. I have seen a man let it
suck, and then cut half its tail off, and it has gone on sucking
and the blood running through--the mosquito being not in the least
aware of its loss. Then there is a little grey, almost invisible,
mosquito that makes no noise. In Trieste they call them _papataci_
(papa-hold-your-tongue). There is the jigger, that gets into your
flesh, generally under your toe-nail or under the sole of your foot,
and the first time you are aware that there is anything the matter is
by your limping, and you then discover that there is a something about
the size of a pea in your foot. You send for a negress, who picks at
your foot for a few minutes with a common pin--they won't use a needle
or any other instrument, because if they did the bag would break,
and the eggs would get into your blood--and presently, with a little
hurting, she triumphantly holds it up at the end of the pin, puts on
a soothing ointment, and you are all right at once. A man thought he
should like to take a jigger home to show an English doctor, but it was
six weeks from home, and his foot was cut off before he got there.

Another nuisance is the _carapato_. It is everywhere, but chiefly
inhabits the coffee plantations. There are three sorts, which only vary
in size and colour. It is a cross between a tick and a small crab; the
biggest would be the size of a little finger-nail. If you ride through
a coffee plantation you come out covered with them. I have more than
once taken off my riding habit and found my jacket nailed to the skin
from the outside; to pull them is to tear your flesh and produce a
festering wound. You have to get into a hot bath, in which you put one
or two bottles of _cachaça_, the spirit of the country, and that clears
off most of them; and if any obstinate ones remain, you have to light a
cigarette, and apply the hot end to their tails till they wriggle their
own head and shoulders out from under your skin. Cockroaches you don't
count, but you must always look in your sleeves, and dress, and boots,
for large horned beetles or spiders or other horrors.

Poor W. H. Bates (the naturalist of the Royal Geographical Society),
who was a great friend of ours, was laughed at because he spoke of
spiders as big as a toy-terrier; but it is perfectly true--there _are_
such spiders, though they are not seen in towns, only out in the
forest, and they are the size of a good-sized crab. The body is hairy,
and when they are angry they kick up and throw their hairs on you,
which are poisonous. I was going to hit one, and a native drew me back
and made me run away, for, he said, "it can spring at you, and it is
instantaneous death." Richard and I did not go so far as to believe
this, unless your blood is in a very bad state, but we did believe in
its making people ill for several days. A priest was once going to say
Mass, and he took his vestment down from the wall where it was hung
up, and put it on, when he suddenly felt something hard in the centre
of his back. He called to the servers and asked them to remove his
vestment gently, without touching his back, telling them there was
something inside. They did so, and it was one of these big spiders;
when it was removed he fainted.

The people eat a large black ant, an inch and a half long. They bite
off the fat body, which has to them a pleasant acid, and throw the
head and legs away. Another use they make of them is to dress them up
like dolls and sell them. The _copim_, or white ants, build nests like
milestones. The people here believe in a sort of house-that-Jack-built
as regards animal feeding. They believe that toads eat ants, that
snakes eat toads, that owls eat snakes, also the geese, and that is why
they are cheap.

Snakes are everywhere--in your garden, in your basement, in
your rafters; and there is every description of them, from the
boa-constrictor in the wilder parts, to the smallest. It is a common
thing to hear the rattlesnake in the grass, and to scamper quickly.
Those who kill them cut out the rattle and give it you for good luck. I
have one now. At night, when you walk out you go with a lantern at the
end of a stick, for the snake called _jararaquassú_ lies curled up at
night on the road, looking exactly like a heap of dust, and you would
certainly put your foot on it; it bites your ankle, and they say that
you live about ten minutes.

These things, which sound so wonderful in England, become so common to
us who live and travel in Brazil, out of towns and off beaten tracks,
that we get quite accustomed to them, as everyday parts of our lives,
as you do to showers in April and dying flies in September; so that I
should not know now that they had ever happened if I had not written
them down at the time. No one who means to write, should ever trust to
memory, because scene after scene fades like a dissolving view and is
never caught again, whilst others rise to replace them.

The storms were another thing to be somewhat dreaded. For our three
summer months, which are December, January, and February (whilst the
Thames is frozen over in London), we, maybe, have 115° in the shade,
and you see a semicircle of clouds beating up. As our house was on a
kind of promontory running out, not to sea, but to grassy plain, we
used to have to make "all taut" as if we were on board a ship, because
when it did come it was like a cyclone, lasting two or three hours, and
then clearing off, leaving everything bright and beautiful, the earth
and air barely refreshed; but while it lasted the thunder and lightning
were close to you. I have frequently thought that if there was one more
clap my head would split--it deafened one. The windows were generally
broken, there were balls of fire flying through the air--blue, red,
yellow; and on one occasion, on a pitch-black night, perceiving a light
from an opposite angle in my husband's room, I thought the house was
on fire. The door was locked for the night. I ran down the corridor,
unlocked the door, and, going in, found that the lightning had broken
a window and had set on fire one of my husband's large rolling atlases
on canvas, which hung from the walls. I ran back and called him, and
it made him very uncomfortable. He thought that one of these lightning
balls of fire must have done it, but there was no aerolite or anything
to show. There was no fireplace in the room, not even a box of matches.

At nine p.m. on the 20th of October, a meteor fell with a loud sound,
and lit up the City of São Paulo. Martinico Prado and some others were
standing near it, and he fell insensible. It fell on the hill near São
Bemte; blue flame was seen in our house at the same moment. It was
intensely cold, but bright, beautiful weather.

We bought horses--one that had something of the mustang in it, called
Hawa, which always carried me, and Penha, a smaller one from Campos for
Richard. When we drove, it was in an American buckboard, seat for two,
with huge wheels, and a little place to hold a box, with a pair of wild
mules that used to pull one's arm off. When Richard did not ride with
me, Chico used to take the second horse.

Chico and I never had but one quarrel, and I will give it as an
illustration. When I first arrived, Richard used always to laugh at
me, because I was so miserable at the way the cruel people treat the
blacks--just in the same way that I, and so many others, feel about
the treatment of animals--and he kept saying, "Oh, wait a bit, till
you have lived with negroes a little; you philanthropic people always
have to give in." Well, about six weeks after I got Chico, I heard a
tremendous noise, and shrieks of agony proceeding from the kitchen, and
rushing in the direction I found Chico roasting my favourite cat at the
fire. I made one spring at his wool, and brought him to the ground.
Richard, who had also rushed out at the noise, saw me, and clapped his
hands, saying, "Brava! brava! I knew it would happen, but I did not
think it would be quite so soon." I could only blubber out, "Oh, Jemmy,
the little beast has roasted my cat." He then punished him himself, and
Chico was a good boy evermore. In begging for forgiveness, he told us
that their fathers and mothers always instructed them, that when Christ
was thirsty, if He asked a little dog for water, the dog would go and
fetch it for Him, but if He asked a cat for water, that it gave Him
something in a cup, which I cannot mention in polite society; and that
all the little negroes were taught to be cruel to cats, and that he
_had_ done atrocious things to cats, but he would never do so any more.

A very amusing thing was that this little monkey used to imitate his
master in everything. If Richard bought a suit of clothes, he used
immediately to take it to the tailor and get it exactly copied in
small, and his evening suit especially. To go to a ball he was the
_exact_ copy of his master--white shirt, white tie, little dress suit,
little _gibus_, and all. We used to make him come and show himself
to us when he was dressed, to amuse us. Then, unlike his master, he
started a toilette-table with mirror, perfumes, and scents, and his
pillow was all edged with deep lace. Each of the best families had one
of these intelligent negroes; they used to give supper-parties, and
then stand up and make speeches, just like us. Mr. Aubertin's used to
talk about the railway shares, and the value of cotton, and the coffee
produce; another, belonging to a reverend gentleman, used to stand up
and speak of the "benighted state of the souls of the black man and
the brother;" but our Chico used to declaim on "the Negro's place in
Nature," as he had heard Richard do in his lectures, and talk of the
progress that they had made from the original ape (Darwinism), and how
they might eventually hope to rise into a white man.

Portuguese studies got on very well, and the more I knew of it, the
more I enjoyed myself; but it made me quite forget the Spanish I
had learnt during my stay at Teneriffe, and whilst Richard occupied
Fernando Po. Richard had always known Portuguese from his Goanese
_Padre_ in India. You cannot speak Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian at
the same time; they are so alike, and yet so different. Portuguese
is the most Latin, and the most difficult of the lot, and has much
more literature to reward you with than Spanish; but Spanish is the
grandest and the most beautiful, albeit with less literature. Still
it once happened to me to be in company with a priest, an Italian,
and a Spaniard, and we agreed to talk for an hour in each of the four
languages. The priest took Latin, the Italian and the Spaniard each
their own, and I Portuguese, and we could understand and answer each
other, but we could not speak the other three languages. Italians come
out to Brazil and can only speak Italian, not a word of Portuguese;
they then come to a crisis, when they can speak neither; they then
convalesce in Portuguese, speak it perfectly and remain with it--they
forget their Italian. I speak of colonists.

We had two very charming picnic-places. One was the Tropic of
Capricorn, just five miles from São Paulo; your insurances suffer
all the difference, whether you are on this side or that. A boy who
was about to pass his examination for the army, who supported a poor
widow mother, and consequently was extremely anxious about passing,
and with no interest, was destined to be plucked; so the arrogant and
ignorant examiner asked the timid, humble boy, "How far is it from the
city of São Paulo to the tropical line of Capricorn." The boy, radiant
answered, "Between four and five miles, sir." "Go down, sir, you are
plucked; it is twenty miles." It was the last question. The boy grew
red and white, and turned despairingly to go; suddenly he remembered
his mother, turned round, and said nervously, "Please, sir, of course
you ought to know better than me, but I lived there five years, sir,
and I had to walk it twice a week, to go home from school to mother's
house on the Line, from Saturday to Monday." Chorus of laughter at the
examiner, and the poor boy passed. (I have already quoted this in my
"A.E.I.") Another charming place to picnic, in the mountains, was Nossa
Senhora do O.

We occasionally had big dinners, when all the English of Santos and
São Paulo assembled to do honour to some railway swell going home. We
had for a time some fortnightly balls, at a good-sized hall at the
corner of the Plaza, called the Concordia, and we had one curious case
of sporadic yellow fever from there. Mrs. Ralston, the young wife of
a very nice man (indeed a charming couple), came out of the ball-room
with me at five o'clock one morning. I had only to run across fifty
yards to my house; they had about twenty minutes to walk home, and
she was well wrapped up with shawls. She suddenly drooped her head
on her husband's shoulder, saying she felt very queer, and he had to
support her home. Almost directly he had laid her on her own bed, she
turned round and said, "Oh, is this death?" and died. Next morning, my
maid ran in and without any preface said, "Mrs. Ralston's dead." "Oh,
nonsense," I said; "I saw her seven hours ago;" and, thinking perhaps
it was possible she might be ill, and require some woman-neighbour,
I hastily threw on my things, and ran down to her house. The street
door opened on to the principal sitting-room, and was unlocked, and to
my horror the house was deserted and still, and something was lying
covered up on the sofa. I drew back the sheet, and there was my young
friend, dead. I knelt down and said a few prayers, and then, feeling
rather faint, I stooped to kiss her forehead before covering her up
again. The husband and child and servants had all been removed to
another house; as I stooped to kiss her a dreadful effluvia knocked
me back again, and I perceived that she was covered with large black
spots. I fled and ran home again, and told Richard. He looked very
grave, and rang the bell, and ordered the horses to the door. He
fetched me a large glass of brandy, and made me drink it, with some
bread. He said, "It does not matter; I have got to have a long ride
to-day on business, and you have got to go with me." We rode about ten
miles at a great pace, till I was in a good perspiration. When I got
back he gave me a teaspoonful of Warburg drops. He kept me employed all
day, and at night he took me to the little theatre, and then he told me
that he had done that to save my life, without which I probably should
have caught it, if I had not perspired, and partly from sympathy.

One thing I always regret in writing, is that I could recite so many
amusing and interesting things that would immensely please a very large
portion of English people; but England is so very queer, and I am
become convinced it is not the same England that I used to know, that
I do not like to venture them. They are not in the least risky, only
amusing and adventurous, but being very honest and straightforward,
would be sure to tread upon somebody's corns; blame or sneers would be
sure to crop up from some quarter or another, and make me regret it.
Richard was very fond of quoting the following lines to me over our
writing:--

    "They eat and drink and scheme and plod;
      They go to church on Sunday,
    And many are afraid of God,
      And more of Mrs. Grundy."

We had one very curious character at São Paulo. It was the Marchesa de
Santos. She was a beauty and a favourite in the time of the present
Emperor's father, and led a very brilliant and stormy life. She got
finally banished by his Empress (they say) to Santos, with a pension
for life, and she lived in a small house a few doors from me. I
used to see a great deal of her. She was quite _grande dame_, most
sympathetic, most entertaining, full of stories of Rio and the Court,
and the Imperial people, and the doings of that time. She had been
obliged to adopt up-country habits, and the last time I saw her, she
received me _en intime_ in her own kitchen, where she sat on the floor,
smoking, not a cigarette, but a pipe. She had beautiful black eyes,
full of sympathy, and intelligence, and knowledge. She was a great bit
of interest to me in that out-of-the-way place.

The Seminary was the most palatial building in that part, and was just
beyond the town. It was inhabited by Capuchins, French and Italians
from Savoy and Piédmont. One of the monks was a tall, magnificent, and
very powerful man, an ex-cavalry officer, Count Somebody, whose name I
forget, then Fray G----.

Before he arrived, there was a bully in the town, rather of a
free-thinking class, so he used to go and swagger up and down before
the Seminary and call out, "Come out, you miserable petticoated monks!
come out and have a free fight! For God or the devil!" When Fray G----
arrived, he heard of this, and it so happened he had had an English
friend, when he was with his regiment, who had taught him the use of
his fists. He found that his brother monks were dreadfully distressed
at this unseemly challenge, so he said, "The next time he comes, don't
open the gate, but let the porter call me." So the next time the bully
appeared, it was so arranged that the gate was opened by Fray G----
(the usual crowd had collected in the road to see the fun), who looked
at him laughingly and said, "Surely, brother, we will fight you for God
or the devil, if you please. Let us get well into the open, and the
public will see fair play." So saying, the friar tucked up his sleeves
and gown, and told his adversary to "come on," which he did, and he was
immediately knocked into a cocked hat. "Come, get up," said the friar.
"No lying there and whimpering; the devil won't win that way." The man
stood three rounds, at the end of which he whimpered and holloaed for
mercy, and amidst the jeers and bravos of a large crowd, the "village
cock" retired, a mass of jelly and pulp, to his own dunghill, and was
never seen more within half a mile of the Seminary. Richard rejoiced
in it, and used to say, "What is that bull-priest doing in that
_galère_?" Richard used to stay a great deal with them, for they were
the best-educated men in the province, and knew everything. He said he
could always learn something from them.

During the time of the Paraguayan War provisions were very scarce.
If muleteers came down to the town, they and their mules were seized
for the war. They tried sending their women down with the mules, but
then the mules and provisions were seized; the consequence was that
the towns were more or less in a state of famine. Chico and I used to
sally forth, with paniers and ropes to our saddles, and forage about,
and I found that by riding about ten miles out, I came to large flocks
of geese and other poultry, and I also ascertained that as the geese
were supposed to feed upon snakes, nobody ate them; they were chiefly
kept for ornament, and so were cheap. So the first day I came back with
both our horses laden with geese, and as I passed through the town the
squawking was immense; and most of the Grundy, respectable English
tried to avoid me, which made me take an especial pleasure in riding
up to them and inquiring after their wives and families, and entering
into a conversation, which I, perhaps, should not have otherwise done.
When I got up to our house, Richard, hearing the noise, came out on to
the balcony, and seeing what was the matter, he threw back his head
and laughed, and shook his fist, and he said, "Oh, you delightful
blackguard, how like you!" I turned the geese into our poultry-yard and
fed them well, and from that, I issued forth to all the country round
about, twice a week, and brought in various stocks of other provisions.

Mr. Aubertin, who was the Head of the railway, and whose _chacara_
was about a quarter of an hour from us, had opportunities of getting
up drinks and having a very tidy cellar, so I used to send down a
neighbourly note--"Dear Mr. Aubertin, bring up the drink--I have got
the food; dinner seven o'clock." Thus we contrived between us, to feed
very well during the whole of the war, while provisions were scarce.
Once we managed to give a ball; it was very amusing, and it was kept
up till sunrise. We had a delightful American there, who was very
witty, and used to keep us all alive, though in after years, for some
unknown reason, he blew his brains out. I still recall some of his _bon
mots_. I once asked him whether he did not think that a gentleman of
our acquaintance was very conceited this morning. "Conceited, ma'am?"
he said. "Why, God Almighty's waistcoat would not fit him." On another
occasion, there was a rather pronounced flirtation going on, and I
asked him if he did not think it would be a case. "A case, ma'am? Why,
she nestles up to him like a chicken to a hot brick." He was constantly
saying these things that one never forgot.

I think I may say in our own favour, that in this, as well as in all
our subsequent Consulates, we never allowed any scandal to be told to
us, or uncharitable talk, and we always forbid discussions on religion
and politics, which served us in good stead in all our career. Indeed,
in this particular place, there _was_ a little bit of scandal, and we
had seventeen calls on one Monday morning, but every one went away
without daring to deliver themselves of their intended tale. "What is
the meaning of this?" said Richard to me. I said, "It means that there
is some scandal afloat, and nobody dares tell it to us." But a few days
afterwards we saw it in the papers. One day a gentleman called upon
us, and a few minutes later a lady came, of whom he was rather fond.
After a while the lady got up and went down the street, and about five
minutes after the jealous husband arrived on the scene, and saw the
gentleman sitting there--his supposed rival. Without saying "How do you
do?" he turned on me and said, "Have you seen my wife?" "Yes," I said;
"I saw her go down the street a few minutes ago." The lover had turned
very pale. Richard looked hard at me over the top of his newspaper,
and the man had hardly got down the stairs in pursuit of his wife,
when my Irish maid poked her face through the door and said. "Well,
after that, ye'd swear a hole through a tin p-hot." Now, what on earth
would have been the use of making a row and a scandal, and setting on
the husband to ill-treat his wife? He did not say, "Has my wife been
here?"--he said, "Have you seen her?" Rousseau says, "Mensonge plein
d'honnêteté, de fidelité, de generosité, tandis que la verité n'eut été
qu'une perfidie;" and without some feeling of this kind--not a lie,
but a harmless throwing one's self into the breach to save another's
reputation, not one's own, nor from base fear--the milk of human
kindness would turn into cream of tartar.

I do not think that a list of the aboriginal tribes of Brazil at the
time of its discovery (one hundred discovered by Cabral in 1500) would
amuse my readers, or fit in with my subject, but they were mostly
destroyed or driven inwards in three hundred and sixty-seven years.

There is an intervening race called the Caboclas; they are the progeny
of the Indians and Portuguese settlers. They are a very handsome race,
much addicted to superstition and fortune-telling, and the only thing
I can remember was learning from them to tell fortunes by the cards,
which I afterwards perfected amongst the Mogháribehs in Syria; but it
is a practice which, though it interested my husband enormously, and I
constantly told them for him, I have long since given up as wicked. For
those who tell them ill, it is foolery; for those who tell them well,
it is better let alone.

I am not going to give a description of Brazil, because by so doing I
should take away from the subject of the book, which is solely Richard
Burton, and if I mention incidents, or myself, it is only because I
or they are woven up with his life, and cannot well be separated from
it, each one showing how he behaved, or what he did or thought on any
particular occasion.

The 14th of February was the opening day of the railway, as far as
Jundiahy, and this time we were invited and had a very gay time.

Here, in São Paulo, Richard worked hard at Camoens, and we both worked
together at our translations--"Iraçema, or Honey-lips," and "Manuel
de Moraes, the Convert," and the "Uruguay," all from great Brazilian
authors; but we found, although we printed the two first, that they
were not well received in England, because they were translations, and
I could write a page or two upon the amount of literature and education
we lose by boycotting that of other countries.

In spring of 1867 there was fighting in the streets for a couple of
nights, about the election time.

The staple food of the people of the country, which takes the place
of what the potato would be to the Irish, is a savoury mess of small
brown beans, called _fejão;_ a very coarse flour, called _farinha_,
which looks like a dish of shaved horse-radish, is usually sprinkled
over the beans, and then it is called a _fejoada_. It is delicious,
and I should have been quite content to, and often did, dine on it.
Another favourite dish is a scone of _milho_, the full-grown Indian
corn, made hot and buttered. The only way to eat it, is to take it up
in your two hands and gnaw it up and down like a bone, which is rather
disagreeable, because it covers you with butter. A pepper-pot is also
a usual thing, and is kept up _à perpétuité;_ it comes on the table in
its native earthenware pot, and everybody takes a little bit at the end
to digest dinner, in lieu of cheese. Of course Europeans have their own
dishes besides.

The greatest difficulty that I found was, that I was obliged to have
five relays of every meal. First of all, Richard and I sat down, and
our guests, if we had any; after we left the table, succeeded my Irish
maid, who had become Donna Maria, and an Irish brother that she had
imported, who was very like the "Mulligan" in "Perkinses' ball," and
for whom I was fortunate enough to get a good berth on the railway at
£200 a year, through the kindness of Mr. Daniel Fox and Mr. Aubertin,
and he rose to £600 in course of time, traded, but unfortunately died
after some years. After these the food was removed to some other room,
where the German servants dined, because they would not sit down with
the blacks. When they had finished the emancipated slaves sat down,
who would not sit down with the slaves; these being too near their own
kind, they obliged them to stand or to sit on the floor in the corners,
where they gave them the leavings. But do not let anybody imagine that
the slaves suffered, because when they had been about three months with
me, from having had a little rice at their old masters', they would
sometimes clamour for ducks and chickens, not being content with the
good meat and bread and everything else that they got in plenty.

[Sidenote: _Life at Rio._]

At Rio we met with a very funny and interesting man--a certain Dr.
Gunning, with a kind good wife. They lived in a pretty cottage
somewhere along the rail up in the forests, and we went to spend a
day or two with them. He was a tall gaunt Scotchman, with a good deal
of character, and some very curious ideas. He used to do what some
people did with horses in Trieste. He used to buy up diseased and
useless negroes, treat them well, feed them up, cure them, and then
make them work for him; so he got their labour in return for his outlay
and his kindness and trouble, and he left in his desk their papers of
manumission. Unfortunately, one day in a soft moment he told them so,
so the next night they shot him; but as his skull was a good hard one
it only gave him a wound, and after that he went on some different tack
with them.

He had a curious way of treating snake-bites, of which many thousands
die during the year. He told us this himself. He said, "When I am
called to attend a negro for a snake-bite, I cauterize the wound, and
tie a ligature, and then I give him an awful thrashing, and," he said,
"that counteracts the torpor or sleep, produces perspiration, and
stimulates the action of the heart; and then I give him spirits or milk
in large quantities." However, we all liked him very much. One of the
nicest things at Rio was the bathing in the sea. We used to go out of a
little gate at the bottom of the garden, and walk along the beach till
we came to some circular rocks which acted as bathing-machines, where
we could undress, get into the sea and bathe, and come back. In my time
there were no bathing-machines in Brazil, only sometimes it was very
rough and very deep, and one had to be on the look-out. One day I put
my maid to sit upon my clothes, and thought I would swim out to a log
of wood, lying apparently about a hundred yards off, when to my horror
I saw it move. I swam back for my life, where I found my maid in deadly
terror; and, looking, we saw it was a shark, and a good big one too.

One thing that made staying at Rio so very pleasant was the great
kindness of the Emperor and Empress to us. The Emperor delighted in
scientific men, and the Empress liked good Catholics, so that we were
frequently sent for--Richard alone to the Emperor, and I alone to the
Empress, or both together. Richard gave two lectures at which all the
Imperial family attended. The Imperial family consisted of the Emperor
and Empress, the Imperial Princess Isabel, heir to the throne, her
husband the Count d'Eu, and the Duke and Duchess de Saxe. These last,
however, were less known, less cordial, and less popular in Rio. I
can remember on one occasion, when we were sent for to an audience,
at which were present the Emperor and Empress, the Princess Isabel
and her husband, her Majesty's little dog came in and sat on the rug
in the centre of the circle, and sat up begging. They all burst out
laughing very heartily. The Emperor was a tall, handsome, fair man,
with blue eyes, and brimful of kindness and learning. The Empress was
not handsome, but she was the kindest and best of Empresses--very
devout, dressed very plainly, but was most imperial in her manners
and carriage. The Princess also had the manner of her rank, and was
soft and sweet. The Princess Isabel used to give balls every Monday
fortnight during the season, to which all persons entitled to go to
Court were invited. One night, at one of Princess Isabel's balls, the
Emperor walked up to Richard and said, "How is it, Captain Burton,
that you are not dancing?" "I never dance, your Majesty--that is, not
often; but the last time I did so, it was with the King of Dahomè, to
the music of cutting off heads--in pantomime, of course." The Emperor
laughed, and he said, "The best of it was, Sir, that the authorities
at home were in an awful rage with me, as her Majesty's Commissioner,
for dancing with him; but I should like to have seen _them_ refuse his
dusky Majesty, when, at a single moment of impatience or irritability,
he had only got to give a sign, to have fifty spears run into one, or
to be instantly impaled."

It was very pretty to see the Princess and her husband go down to the
door, the street door, and receive and kiss the hands of the Emperor
and Empress. They circulated freely amongst us, and talked to us. The
Empress would draw her chair over to me or to any other lady that she
had a fancy to talk to, and sit down and chat as affably as any other
great lady without ever abating one little bit of her Imperial dignity.

I remember one night Richard and I were giving a large dinner to nearly
all the Diplomatic corps at the hotel, after the reception at the
palace. At the latter there was a room for the Ministers to wait in,
and a room for the Consuls. We were, of course, put into the Consular
room. Presently a messenger came and took us into the Ministers' room.
This rather offended official etiquette, and _they_ said, "Oh, you
must not come here; you must go into the Consuls' room." "But," we
said, "we have just been fetched out of the Consuls' room and put in
here, so we do not know what to do." There was an immense long wait,
and several times a messenger came to let in somebody else, and we all
stood up in our places, expecting the Emperor. After a long time, when
everybody was getting very impatient, a messenger arrived, and said,
"This way." They all flocked to the door, and we hung back, thinking we
must not have audience with the Ministers. Then the messenger said,
"No, no! not for you, gentlemen, but Captain and Mrs. Burton." The poor
humble people were exalted; their Majesties had sent for us to their
private drawing-rooms, and gave us a long sitting-down audience. As we
were driving home, Richard said, "I am afraid all the other fellows
will be awfully angry;" and the fact of the matter is, that though we
waited dinner for a long time, there were a great many empty chairs
that night, which disappointed us sorely; but they were all right next
morning.

[Sidenote: _The Barra for contrast._]

Whenever we were sickly we used to go down to the Barra, near Santos,
which I described before as our fashionable watering-place, where
somebody generally lent us a hut. We used to sit in the water and
let it roll over us, and walk about without our shoes and stockings
(there was not a soul to see us). We took to making collections of
butterflies, reptiles, snakes, and ferns, of which there are some four
thousand specimens; the orchids we used to send home. I can recollect
on some occasions, being down there alone, and being asked to dinner
about a mile and a half along the sands from my hut, I used to put
my dress and my shoes and stockings up in a parcel, and mounting
barefooted, with waterproof on, ride the small pony lent to me;
sometimes I used to have to get down and lead him through the streams
that were rushing to the sea, to which he had a dislike; so we used to
wade through, and then I would get up and ride him on to the next one,
and when we reached the hospitable door I was conducted into a room to
put on my shoes and stockings and my dinner dress. However, we were not
_décolleté_, nor did we wear flowers or diamonds on that lonely coast.

Whenever we went down to Rio, it always meant a great deal of gaiety
with the Diplomats and the Squadron, and receptions at the palace. It
was especially gay in Sir Edward and Lady Thornton's reign, and I think
we all look back to that time as a happy and a very pleasant and lively
one.

One of the great charms of Rio, was our little club, numbering about
twenty-five intimates, all belonging either to the Diplomatic corps or
the Navy. We used to give each other some very nice dinner-parties,
and ours was by necessity at the hotel; we mostly dined together at
one house or the other every night. Then, besides the frequent palace
entertainments, was the Alcazar, where there was a charming French
troupe, of which the star was Mdlle. Aimée, and we used to have all
Offenbach's music and operas.

One time we went up to Robeio and to Ubá, the end of the railway,
and I was given a treat to go on the engine and drive it, with the
engine-driver by me.

[Sidenote: _To the Mines in Minas Gerães._]

On the 12th of June we started on a delightful Expedition. We sailed
in a steam launch across the Bay of Rio, which is like a beautiful
broad lake studded with islands and boulder rocks and bordered by
mountains. Two hours brings you to a rickety wharf, where a little
railway, running for eleven miles through a mangrove flat, lands you
at the foot of the mountains. Here a carriage waits for you, drawn by
four mules, and you commence a zigzag ascent for two hours up these
most regal mountains, and arrive at a table-land some distance from the
summit, where the small white settlement called Petropolis lies. It
is a German town with Swiss valleys, pretty views, rides, and drives.
The Cascadinha leads down a winding path, or a steep wooded mountain,
and as you reach its depths, facing you from opposite, comes the body
of water frothing and bounding over the boulders. From the top of the
Serra there is a lovely panorama of Rio and its bay, seen as from
an inverted arch of mountains. The little settlement of Petropolis
possesses a theatre, a Catholic church, the Emperor's palace, and two
small hotels; the Court of Ministers and the Diplomats have snuggeries
here, and form a pleasant society. The climate is fine and cold when it
does not rain, and the scattered houses are like Italian _cascine_.

Here we took coach, which is very much after the fashion of the old
diligence, and we drove to Juizdafora. These coaches are drawn by
perfectly wild mules; they stand straight on their hind legs. While
the passengers are getting in, the coachman is already mounted with
reins and whip, and two or three men hang on to each mule. When all is
ready the driver shouts "Larga!" The men fall back and the mules rush
on at full gallop, swaying the coach from side to side. After three
months, when the mules are trained and tamed down, they are pronounced
no longer fit for their work, and are sold for carriage-driving.[2]
My pleasant recollection of Juizdafora is of lying all day on the
grass under the orange trees, and picking about nine different species
overhead, just within reach of my arms. I have never tasted oranges
equal, before or since. We then started for Barbaçena, which terminated
the coach journey. After this there was no means of getting along
except on horseback. We had to discard our boxes and leave them under
the care of a trustworthy person, and to make up a pack that we could
carry behind us on our saddles, such as a change of linen, tooth-brush,
a cake of soap, and a comb. We then mounted and rode twenty miles to
Barrozo, a small village with a ranch. We rose at three next morning,
and rode twenty-four miles further, and so on, and so on, till we
reached San João d'El Rey, where we saw the Mines. We then went on to
S. José. Our next place was Cerandahy to Lagos Dourado; here we met a
party of English engineers.

On the 24th--a great feast, St. John Baptist--they were laying the
foundation for a new railway, and we enjoyed the fun very much. We
then, after breakfasting by a brook with the engineers, rode on to an
awful place called Camapuão. Here we found the stables better than
the house, and we slept by the side of the mules and horses. At one
of these shelters that we asked to sleep at, the accommodation was
fearful, but the reception was kind and cordial. There was not much
to eat. In the middle of the night I woke, and could hear loud hoarse
whisperings through the thin partition wall; it sounded like the man
and his wife disputing. At length I heard the man say distinctly,
"Don't bother me any more; it will be quite easy to kill them both,
and I mean to do it." My hair stood on an end, as the saying is, and I
softly got up and walked on tiptoe over to Richard, touched him, and
said in a whisper, "Hush! don't speak; I have something to tell you." I
told him exactly what I had heard. He said, "You will make less noise
than I; go softly to that table and take our weapons, hand me mine,
and creep into bed with yours. We will sit and watch the door. If it
opens, I'll let fly at the door; and if a second comes in, then _you_
fire." However, nothing came, though we lay awake till daylight, with
our pistols cocked. Next morning they brought us for our breakfast
a couple of nice roast chickens, and he said, "My wife and I had a
regular quarrel in the night; we had only these two hens, and _she_ did
not want to kill them, but we had nothing else, and I was determined
that you should have them both." So we said to him, "You shall not lose
anything by it." Nor did they, for we paid four times the value; but we
were glad when he went out of the room, that we might laugh.

Next day we rode on to Sassuhy, to Congonhas do Campo, about twenty-two
miles. We saw the church of Congonhas and the seven stations of the
Cross. We left at midday, and riding through a difficult country,
arrived at Teixeiros. Next day was a very hard day. We started at
half-past three in the morning; at half-past ten we breakfasted under
a tree by the river. We crossed different rivers about twelve times,
wading our horses through. We passed through virgin forests, and up
and down scarped rocky mountains till dark, and arrived at Corche
d'Agua, a miserable place, where there were no beds or food. We started
again before dawn, rode about twelve miles in the dark, passed two
villages, and about nine a.m. arrived at Morro Velho, our destination,
where we were most kindly received by Mr. and Mrs. Gordon and family
(Superintendent of all the Mines), and soon had bath and breakfast,
and our animals quartered in good stables under the care of the host's
English groom.

Here we stayed with our kind host for five and a half weeks, making
excursions, and seeing most interesting things concerning the Mines.
The Establishment consisted of the Superintendent and his family, Mr.
and Mrs. Gordon, two sons, and two daughters, and twenty-five officers
(English); under them, about three thousand negroes (slaves), who work
the mines. On Sunday we went to their church, saw their hospital and
the stables, which contained some sixty horses, and we saw an Indian
dance.

Here there was much of interest--the muster of the slaves, and pay-day
on Saturday. We saw baptisms, and marriages, and burials. We went to
see the quicksilver washed in the amalgamation house, and Mr. William
Crookes's amalgamation; but this last did not succeed.

We started again after we were rested, passing through interesting
mining places, sleeping the night at a friendly _fazenda_; next day
we rode on to S. José de Morra Grande, Barro, Brumado, Santa Barbara,
and Cates Atlas. There we slept. Next morning we rode to Agua, Queule,
Fonseca, Morreia, and Affeixonada; from thence to Benito Rodriguez,
then Comargo, then S. Anna, and then Marianna. Here we slept, went
to church, visited the Bishop, the Seminary, the Sisters of Charity,
hospitals, orphanage, and schools, and rode to Passagem, where we
slept. Next day we went down the Passagem mines (gold), forty-five
fathoms down, and in another place thirty-two fathoms, and saw the
stamps; and then we went and did the same at the S. Anna mines. This
day we were so near Mr. Treloar's house, that we gave away all our
provisions, saying, "By breakfast-time to-morrow we shall be in a
English house." Imagine our horror, on arriving, to find that poor Mrs.
Treloar had died the evening before, and that her poor husband was in
such a state that it was impossible for him to receive us. He thanked
God for Richard's coming, because there was no church, no clergyman,
and no burial-ground, and an English Consul performing the burial
service is valid; so the sorrowful ceremony was performed, winding up
the hill-top, where she was buried, and I was left in charge of all
his negroes. They had prepared something for us to eat, for which I
had given them five _milreis_, about ten shillings. They all squabbled
so violently over this, as to draw their knives, and to begin to stab
each other; so, with that ascendency which whites generally have
over blacks, I ordered them all to come into my presence and to put
their knives down near me, and I asked them if they were not ashamed,
when their poor mistress was being carried up the hill to her last
burial-place, to behave in so unseemly a fashion, and, ordering them
all down upon their knees, I took out my Prayer-book and read the
burial service too; and I read it over and over again, until the party
came back from the grave.

We then started immediately for Ouro Preto. Here Richard went up the
Itacalumi, and I visited the two martyrs of Ouro Preto, the house of
Gonzaga. We then slept and dined, and had champagne, and we went to
tea at Mr. and Mrs. Spiers', who had a party. Next day we rode on
to Casa Branca, S. Vicente, to Rio das Pedras, where we joined some
American emigrants. Afterwards we had a very weary and hard ride to
Corele d'Agua, our old sleeping-place, where we took a cup of coffee
and rode to S. Antonio. We had a pelting rain, and we breakfasted at a
_troupeiro's_ ranch; thence to S. Rita, and from thence to Morro Velho,
six leagues away, arriving like wet dogs.

[Sidenote: _We go down the Big Mine._]

On the 24th of July we went down the big mine at Morro Velho. Now,
this was a great event; few men visitors had been down, and no woman.
I forget the positive depth of it, but am under the impression _now_
that it was three-quarters of a mile straight down into the bowels of
the earth, including the last thirty-five fathoms to the depths. We
were dressed in miners' dresses, with the usual candle in our caps,
and we got into a basket like a caldron hanging to the end of a long
chain, and then we began to descend. It seemed an eternity, going down,
down, and down, and of all the things we ever have done, it seemed to
me that it was the one that required the most pluck, so dark, so cold,
and slimy it looked, and yet suffocating, and if anything happened, you
felt that ne'er an arm or leg would ever be found; it realized more
than any amount of sermons could do "the bottomless pit." The chain had
broken a little while before, and we had seen the poor smashed negroes
brought up, and it did break the next day, but _our time was not yet
come_. I have got the broken link of that chain now; Mr. Gordon gave
it to me, and it is my one relic of those days. After an apparently
interminable time we began to see lights below, at a great distance, as
you see a seaport town from a mountain as you come down at night, and
by-and-by we began to hear voices, and finally we touched ground, and
were heartily received by those who had previously gone down to take
care of us, including Mr. Gordon himself. They gave us a hearty cheer.
We were shown all over the mine, and all its workings, and I must say
I think Dante must have seen a similar place wherewith to make his
Inferno.

Even Richard notes in his journal, "an awful sight."


RICHARD'S ACCOUNT[3] OF GOING DOWN THE MINE.


 "A small crowd of surface workmen accompanied us to the mouth of
 Walker's inclined plane, a hot and unpleasant hole leading to the
 Cachoeira Mine. The negret Chico gave one glance at the deep dark
 pit, wrung his hands, and fled the Tophet, crying that nothing in the
 wide, wide world would make him enter such an Inferno. He had lately
 been taught that he is a responsible being, with an 'immortal soul,'
 and he was beginning to believe it in a rough theoretical way: this
 certainly did not look like a place 'where the good niggers go.' Next
 the descent:--

 "Presently the bucket was suspended over the abyss, and we found in it
 a rough wooden seat, comfortable enough. We were advised by the pitmen
 not to look downwards, as the glimmer of sparks and light-points
 moving about in the mighty obscure below causes giddiness and
 sea-sickness. We did look down, however, and none of us suffered from
 the trial. More useful advice was to keep head and hands well within
 the bucket, especially when passing the up-going tub. We tipped and
 tilted half over only once against a kibble-way drum, placed to fend
 off the _cacamba_. We had three such collisions, which made us catch
 at the chains, and describe them as 'moments of fearful suspense;' we
 had been lowered in a kibble with a superfluity of chain.

 "When our eyesight had become somewhat feline we threw a glance round.
 Once more the enormous timbering under a bar, or to the east of the
 shaft, called it to every one's attention."

After describing the great extent of the mine, whose vertical height
was 1134 feet, and breadth 108 feet, "unparalleled in the annals of
mining," and which suggested "a cavern, a huge stone quarry, a mammoth
cave raised from the horizontal to the perpendicular," the narrative
winds up as follows:--


ON NEARING THE BOTTOM.


 "And now, looking west, the huge palace of darkness, dim in long
 perspective, wears a tremendous aspect; above, at first only, there
 seemed to be a sky without an atmosphere. The walls were either
 as black as the grave or reflected slender rays of light glancing
 from the polished watery surface, or were broken into monstrous
 projections, half revealing and half concealing the cavernous, gloomy
 recesses. Despite the lamps, the night pressed upon us, as it were,
 with a weight, and the only measure of distance was a spark here and
 there, glimmering like a single star. Distinctly Dantesque was the
 gulf between the huge mountain sides apparently threatening every
 moment to fall. Everything, even the accents of a familiar voice,
 seemed changed; the ear was struck by the sharp click and dull thud of
 the hammer upon the boring-iron, and this upon the stone; each blow
 invariably struck was to keep time with the wild chants of the borer.
 The other definite sounds, curiously complicated by an echo, which
 seemed to be within reach, were the slush of water on the subterranean
 paths, the rattling of the gold-stone thrown into the kibbles, and the
 crash of chain and bucket.

 "Through this Inferno gnomes and kobolds glided about in ghostly
 fashion--half-naked figures muffled up by the mist. Here dark bodies,
 gleaming with beaded heat-drops, hung in what seemed frightful
 positions; there they swung like Leotard from place to place; there
 they swarmed up loose ropes like the Troglodytes; there they moved
 over scaffolds, which even to look up at would make a nervous
 temperament dizzy. This one view amply repaid us. It was a place--

    'Where thoughts were many, and where words were few.'

 But the effect will remain upon the mental retina as long as our
 brains do their duty. At the end of two hours we left this cathedral'd
 cavern of thick-ribbed gold, and we were safely got out like ore to
 grass.

 "We found the last eighty-three fathoms of tunnel steep and dark,
 but dry and comfortable. It was well timbered with beams and Candeia
 trunks wherever the ceiling required propping. At length we reached
 another vaulted cavern, thirty-five fathoms of perpendicular depth. It
 was lit up with torches, and the miners--all slaves, directed by white
 overseers--streamed with perspiration, and merrily sung their wild
 songs and chorus, keeping time with the strokes of hammer and drill.
 The heavy gloom, the fitful glare, and the savage chant, with the
 wall hanging like the stone of Cisyphus, like the sword of Damocles,
 suggested a sort of material Swedenborgian hell; and accordingly the
 negret Chico faltered out, when asked his opinion on our return,
 'Parece o Inferno!'"

[Sidenote: _Below._]

To continue my account. There were the large dark halls with vaults
and domes; they were covered with negroes, each with a candle stuck
in his black head, hammering in time to some tune to which they were
all singing. It would have been a wonderful picture for a painter. How
often all my life I have regretted not to have been an artist, instead
of musical! The negroes are healthy and well doing; they only work
eight hours a day, and have over-pay for anything extra. The mulattoes
were the most surly looking ones. After having seen everything we
ascended again, and if I may say so, I think the ascent was worse than
the going down, and nobody knows, until they have tried that sort of
darkness, what daylight and sunlight and fresh air mean. After long
mounting, you see at last one star sparkling in the distance like an
eye, which appears miles off, and that is the mouth of the shaft.

In the evening there was a concert and a ball amongst ourselves. On the
27th Richard lectured; there were some private theatricals in which I
took a part, and forgetting the drop behind the open-air, theatre when
I backed off, I fell. I sprained my ankle so badly that my leg was all
black, and I could not move. Now, the worst of it was that we were
going to canoe down the San Francisco river, to come out at the falls
of Paulo Affonso, issuing at Bahía, and back to Rio by steamer; but it
was impossible to take a woman who could not walk. We could embark at
Sabará, a short distance from where we were, and as Richard's time was
very short, and he could not take a lame woman, he had to start without
me, and I went in the litter to see him embark in the boat _Elisa_.

As soon as I got well, Mr. Gordon, who was an exceedingly liberal,
large-minded man, recognized that having three thousand Catholic
negroes under him, manned by twenty-five English Protestant officers,
it was quite possible that in a religious sense, things might be made
more comfortable to them, and he asked me, as an educated English
Catholic, to go the rounds of Church and Hospital, and find out if
there was anything that could improve their condition. Having been for
some time in Brazil, and seeing the wants of the negroes, I thought I
could put my finger on the right spot at once. There was one particular
ward in the hospital where incurables were put, and a black cross over
their beds told them Dante's old words, "Lasciate ogni speranza, voi
ch' entrate" ("Leave every hope (outside), all ye who enter (here)").
I dismissed the attendant, for fear they should be afraid to answer,
walked round the wards and sat by them, and I will take one case as
a specimen of the whole. She was dying of diseases which need not be
named here. I said to her--

"Has your case been given over by the doctor?"

"Alas! yes," she said; "I have only got to wait."

"Should you like to live?"

"Yes, of course I should."

"Has the priest been to hear your confession? Have you sent for him?"

"Oh no; I should not dare do that."

"Why not? What is he for?"

"Oh, lady, we must not _ask_, and he doesn't come to us in _this_ ward,
only to those who go to church."

"Do you mean to tell me that none of you in this ward get the last
Sacraments?"

"Oh no; we should be so ashamed to see his Reverence."

"Why, you are not ashamed to see the doctor? What is the difference
between the doctor and the priest, except that one is for your body
and one is for your soul? You say you are afraid of the priest; will
you not be more ashamed of God, whose servant he is?" That seemed to
strike them; so, wishing them good-bye, I trotted off to the _Padre_.
No matter his name, but he appeared to take things very easy when I
told him. He said he "could not administer the Sacraments, because he
had not a pyx nor any of the vessels to convey them in."

"Well," I said, "Father, I have been commissioned by the Superintendent
to examine into these things, and to report to him what _is_ done and
what _ought_ to be done, and he is going to see it carried out; so will
you oblige me by going to hear all those confessions, _now at once_,
and taking the holy ingredients in a wine-glass, and administering
Viaticum and Extreme Unction, and say a few consoling words to them,
and let us see the results? You know that you can break these glasses
into little atoms, and you can burn the remnants in one of the
furnaces, or keep them for that purpose until I send up the proper
things from Rio."

Well, this was done, and, to cut a long story short, that woman was
back to work in a fortnight; and when Mr. Gordon saw the immense
advantage produced by relief of mind, and the consideration of their
feelings, and the action of the brain upon the body, he made it an
institution, and commissioned me to send up all the necessary things
from Rio.

[Sidenote: _Chico and I start on a Fifteen Days' Ride alone._]

As soon as I was well enough for a long ride, Mr. Gordon supplied
me with horses--one for me, one for Chico, and one for our small
baggage--a sail and a few poles to make a tent in the day, a
gypsy-kettle on three prongs, a bag of maize for the horses, and rice
and other things for ourselves, and taking an affectionate leave of
the whole company there, and especially my kind host and family, whom
we have always remembered with the sincerest affection, and sadness
too, for poor Mrs. Gordon died eventually from a horrible shock (her
youngest and favourite son was caught in the machinery in an instant
and ground to death--a subject too sad to dwell upon), I commenced my
long ride home--a very pleasant ride.

I rose at dawn; we made some tea in our kettle. Replenishing our sack
of provisions at every village, and having fed, watered, and groomed
the horses, we rode until it was too hot. We put up our bit of sail
and rested during the heat, and then we rode on till nightfall; after
this we fed again, looked after the horses and picketed them. Some of
the country, and especially the forests, were lovely. Whenever we came
to a village or a ranch, we and our animals got housed; and when we
did not, which was rare, we camped out, for it was very warm. We never
met with a single scrap of danger the whole way, nor a rude word; for
defence we had only a penknife, our toasting-fork, and an old pistol
that would not go off. I had given my weapons to Richard, whose journey
was longer and more dangerous than mine.

At one place that we stopped at, we rose at half-past three, and whilst
dressing I heard what I supposed was thrashing out grain or beating
sacks. It went on for about fifteen minutes, and I did not pay any
attention to it, till at last I heard a sob issue from the beaten mass
at the other side of the thin partition wall. I knew then what was
taking place, and turned so sick I could hardly get to the door. I ran
to the room, caught hold of the man's arms, and called for Chico and
for everybody in the place, but I was fully ten minutes before I could
arouse any one's pity or sympathy; they seemed so used to it they would
not take the trouble to get up. The man who was beating only laughed,
and beat on. I very nearly fainted. I expected the poor wretch would
have been pounded to an ointment, but to my surprise, when he gave it
a kick and told it to get up, up rose quite a fine young woman, gave
herself a shake, and walked off like a Newfoundland dog. I went after
her, and asked her if she was hurt, and she said, "Oh no, not much;
he often goes on like that!" "But then," I said, "what did he do it
for? What did _you_ do?" She said, "Another black woman and I were
quarrelling, so he thrashed us both; but as you were sound asleep you
did not hear the first."

[Sidenote: _The Landlord of the Hotel is mystified._]

We arrived in Rio about the fifteenth day. I had never enjoyed anything
more; but as I had been out for three months without any change of
clothes, I was a very curious object to look at, to say nothing of my
face and hands being the colour of mahogany. I had been told before
getting in that the Estrangeiros, where I had left my maid and baggage,
was full, so I waited till night, and then went straight to the next
best hotel in the town. The landlord naturally did not recognize me,
and he pointed to a little place on the other side of the street, where
sailors' wives went, and he said, "I think that will be about your
place, my good woman, not here." "Well," I said, "I think I am coming
in here all the same." So, wondering, he took me upstairs and showed
me his rooms; but I was so mighty particular, that it was not till I
got to his best rooms that I stopped and said, "This will do. Be kind
enough to send up this letter for me to the Estrangeiros."

Presently down came my maid, who was a great swell, with my boxes.
After a bath and dressing, I rang the bell and ordered some supper. He
came up himself, as I was such an object of curiosity. When he saw me
again he said, "Did that woman come to take the apartments for you,
madam? I do beg your pardon; I am afraid I was rather rude to her."
"Well," I said, "I am that woman myself; but you need not apologize,
because I saw myself in the glass, and I don't wonder at it." He nearly
tumbled down, and when I had explained my adverse circumstances to him,
begged my pardon till I was quite tired of hearing it. I went up to
Santos for some time; and when I thought Richard could arrive, I went
down to Rio to meet him, and used to go on board every steamer that
came in from Bahía in the hopes of his being there. At this time came
out to Rio Mr. Wilfrid Blunt and his sister Alice. I went on board ship
after ship to meet Richard, but as he never came, I got at last very
anxious and miserable, and only used to make a fool of myself by crying
when I did not find him. He had been gone over four months. At last
the first steamer that I did _not_ go to meet, he arrived in, and was
quite angry to find that I was not on board to meet him. He had had a
very jolly journey, canoeing down the river to the "falls of the Paulo
Affonso," and sleeping at different ranches on the banks of the river.
It was something like fifteen hundred miles, coming out eventually at
Bahía, where he had a great friend, an old gentleman popularly known as
"Charley Williams," who gave him hospitality till he embarked, or could
catch a steamer to Rio. We then went down to Santos together.

As Richard was canoeing down the San Francisco river, he found a lot
of stones called Pingua d'Agua; they are formed by congealed rain in
the rocks; they get fossilized, and if polished have the glitter of
diamonds. Richard met an Englishman, who told him that he had come
over with all he had in the world, £1500, and expended it in diamonds,
of which he fondly believed he had got about £30,000 worth, and was
going home with them. So Richard told him that he had just come from
the diamond mines, and that he should immensely like to see them. When
he showed them to him, Richard's face fell, and he said, "What is the
matter?" "Well," he said, "I hardly like to tell you, but I am afraid
you have been done. Some one has passed off these Pingua d'Agua upon
you for diamonds, and I am afraid you have exchanged £1500 for thirty
shillings' worth." So the man said, "Oh, you must be a fool!" "Well,"
said Richard, "if it isn't that I am so sorry for you, I should say
'serve you right,' because I really do happen to know."

[Sidenote: _Richard dangerously Ill._]

About the 17th of April, 1868, Richard, who had been looking queer and
seedy for six weeks, but persisting all the time that he was perfectly
well, felt feverish and agueish, and went to bed. I gave him calomel
and castor oil, and then every sort of thing that I could think of. He
got worse and worse, and I was in despair, for there were no doctors;
but at last, after some days, a doctor did arrive from Rio, and I sent
for him at once, and he passed the night in the house. Of course it was
purely Brazilian treatment for a Brazilian disease, and nothing we knew
touched it. He had six cuppings, with thirty-six glasses and twelve
leeches, tartar emetic, and all sorts of other things, and there was
something to be given or rubbed every half-hour, of which a very large
ingredient was orange tea. The doctor came twice a day, and the number
of remedies was wonderful, every half-hour, and I never left him day or
night. They blistered him terribly.

When Richard thought he was dying, he sent me for Fray João, with whom
he had been learning astronomy; but Fray João was gone on an expedition
up country for two months, and he would not have anybody else for the
Sacraments; but he accepted the Scapular, which all Catholics will
understand, and to others it is not needful to explain, and he wore
it to the day of his death. One night he gave me a terrible fright;
he asked me to give him twenty drops of chlorodyne. I objected, but
he was so imperative about it that I thought he had been ordered it;
fortunately, I only gave him fifteen. He found it too strong, and,
also fortunately, he spat it out, and asked me to mix him another of
ten, which he drank. He soon frightened me by feeling sick and faint,
and I gave him lukewarm water to make him bring it up, and sent for
the doctor, who was very frightened about him. He was insensible an
hour. He gave ether pills, applied mustard to the calves of the legs
and inside the thighs, and then Richard had a calm and good sleep all
night, and from that got a great deal better. He was able to go into
his study after a month, and took his first drive five weeks after he
was taken ill, and at the end of seven weeks I was able to take him
down to the Barra, where Mr. Ford had kindly lent us his bungalow,
where Richard could sit on the sands and let the sea roll over him, and
here he got much better. I may now tell a horrid little story, as it
illustrates Richard's power of mesmerizing.

[Sidenote: _Mesmerizing._]

Richard was a great mesmerizer, a thing which everybody who knew him
will understand.[4] He always preferred women, and especially of the
blue-eyed, yellow-haired type. I need not say that he began with me
as soon as we married; but I did not like it, and used to resist it,
but after a while I consented. At first it was a little difficult,
but when once he had complete control, no passes or contact were
necessary; he used simply to say, "Sleep," and I did. He could also do
this at a distance, but with more difficulty if water were between us,
and if he tried to mesmerize anybody else and I was anywhere in the
neighbourhood, I absorbed it, and they took nothing. I used to grow at
last to be afraid to be in the same room with a mesmerizer, as I used
to experience the greatest discomfort, and I knew if there was one in
the room, the same as some people know if there is a cat in the room;
but I could resist _them_, though I could not resist Richard. He used
to mesmerize me freely, but he never allowed any one else, nor did I,
to mesmerize me. Once mesmerized, he had only to say, "Talk," and I
used to tell everything I knew, only I used to implore of him to forbid
me to tell him other people's secrets, and as a matter of honour he
did, but all my own used to come out freely; only he never took a mean
advantage of what he learnt in that way, and he used laughingly to tell
everybody, "It is the only way to get a woman to tell you the truth." I
have often told him things that I would much rather keep to myself.

In the particular instance that I am about to recount, he had
mesmerized me to consult about an expedition that he was going to take,
as he had previous to his illness meant to start, and I had said to
him, "Don't start, because you are going to have a very bad illness,
and you will want me and your home comforts;" so he now re-mesmerized
me to know what he should do, and I said to him, "Don't take the man
that you are going to take with you, because he is a scoundrel; don't
buy the things that you are going to buy for the expedition, because
you will never use them. You will go a long journey south for your
health." I then said to him, "Look! what a curious procession is
passing our door, a long procession of people in white, and headed by
Maria and Julia"[5]--who were our old cook and her daughter, aged about
seventeen--"they are all in white, with flowers on their heads. What
can it mean?" I raved all night about this procession, till Richard got
up and shut the shutters, and closed the door, which opened out on to
the sands, the night being very hot. The next day this procession made
an impression on him, and for curiosity's sake he sent up a mounted
messenger to São Paulo to know if anything had occurred, or if there
was any news. We had brought no servants with us, had left my maid and
everybody behind.

Now, on a former occasion, about three months back, he had mesmerized
me, and I had had this very cook called to me, and I had said to her,
"Maria, go to confession and communion, then send to a lawyer and make
your will. You have got a little cottage, and you have saved £150; you
have a few boxes of clothes and things. Leave everything to Little
Peter"--her son aged six--"and don't trouble about Julia." When I came
to, she told me the extraordinary things I had been saying to her, and
how frightened she was; but she said, "I will do all that you have told
me, only I can't leave Julia without anything;" and I said to her,
"I am not conscious of having said anything; but in that case, you
had better say that whatever you leave to Julia goes to Peter at her
death." Well, this was the news that we got by the mounted messenger:
The old cook had died that day in an apoplectic fit, and before the
maid had time to call or send for the daughter, she walked in, looking
very ill, and sat upon the sofa, rocking and moaning, and she said,
"I have come from my mistress to die _here_. I feel so very ill, I
will not leave you." From all she told the maid, and the strange way
she was going on, the maid inferred that the girl was in a particular
kind of trouble, and it would be impossible to keep her there, and she
begged of her to let her fetch a carriage and conduct her back to her
mistress, where at least if she was ill she could be taken care of,
and seeing her in such a state, she was afraid to inform her that her
mother was lying dead. One of the slaves fetched a carriage, and they
put her into it, and were conducting her home, but she was so bad on
the road they had to lift her out, and take her into a little _venda_
(a place where they sell wine), and run to fetch a priest, who was just
in time to give her the last Sacraments, when she expired. The blood
oozed from her eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and from all the pores of her
skin. She died very shortly and was buried, and the smell was so bad
in the _venda_ that the walls had to be scraped and rewhitewashed,
although she was only there a few hours. It was afterwards proved
that she and the black cook at her mistress's were both in love with
the same man, and as she had announced her intention of visiting my
house, the cook had given her a cup of coffee before she set out, and
had said, "Go! you will never come back." The body was exhumed. It
was supposed she had received in the coffee a Brazilian poison, mixed
with powdered glass, made of some herbs of which the negroes have the
secret. Little Peter would have now become practically, though not
theoretically, a Brazilian slave, and his little property would have
been absorbed; but by the will made at the Consulate, he was under the
protection of the Consul. His education was undertaken, and he was
sole inheritor of the cottage, £150, and the boxes of clothes and
other property.

[Sidenote: _Regatta._]

At Santos we had a regatta, a separate boat for each nation, about
nine or ten in all. The English blustered awfully, and the Americans
also--talked a great deal about "Bull's Run," and so forth. All the
other people sat very quiet, expecting to be beaten; the consequence
was the Portuguese won, and the English came in last, and we sent up
and hauled our flag down. The sea was very rough, and surrounded our
bungalow; we walked through bare-legged, and went into Santos, and then
went back again, and eventually to São Paulo, partly on an engine, and
partly walking--butterfly-catching.

[Sidenote: _We leave Brazil--Richard goes South._]

When we got back to São Paulo, Richard told me that he could not stand
it any longer; it had given him that illness, it was far away from the
world, it was no advancement, it led to nothing. He was quite right. I
felt very sorry, because up to the present it was the only home I had
ever really had quietly with him, and we had had it for three years;
but I soon sold up everything, and we came down to Santos, and embarked
on the 24th of July, 1868. Here he applied for leave, as the doctors
advised him not to go to England at once, but to go down south to
Buenos Ayres for a trip, and he asked me to go to England and see if I
could not induce them to give him another post. I saw Richard off down
south, and taking an affectionate leave of all kind friends, embarked
for England.


OUR SEPARATE JOURNEYS.


Richard had a splendid journey to the Argentine Republic and the rivers
Plata-Paraná and Paraguay, for the purpose of reporting the state of
the Paraguayan War to the Foreign Office. He crossed the Pampos and the
Andes to Chili and Peru amongst the bad Indians. He went to the Pacific
Coast to inspect the scene of the earthquake at Arica, returning by the
Straits of Magellan, Buenos Ayres, and Rio to London.

During his delightful trip, which completely recovered his health,
he fell in with the Tichborne Claimant, and travelled with him for
a week, and never having seen the real man, and as he appeared very
gentlemanly, and when he gambled, lost his money and won it without
any emotion, he concluded that he was the real thing until he came
home. He acquired all the history of the ins and outs of the war, and
later produced his book on Paraguay--"Letters from the Battle-Fields of
Paraguay," which did not see the light till 1870.

I had, as usual, all my work cut out for me. First I was to try and
work the Iporanga mines in London, whole mountains of lead and
quicksilver, also gold and copper (twenty-eight square miles). I was to
bring out his "Highlands of Brazil," the "Journey of Lacerda," and a
second edition of "Mecca," "Uruguay;" "Iracema," and "Manoel de Moraes."

I also had a small adventure on the way home at Bahía. I went ashore
with a friend from the ship to dine with "Charley Williams," my
husband's friend. He was very fond of keeping a menagerie; besides
having his garden stocked with wild beasts, his hall contained cages
of snakes, amongst them two rattlesnakes. After we had dined in his
_chacara_, he insisted on showing me his snakes, and he quietly took
one up (out of its cage) near its head. He was used to doing this, but
whether he was agitated or what I cannot say, but the snake slipped
through his hand, and bit him on the wrist. The friend had bolted
upstairs the moment the cage was opened; Mr. Williams just had time to
dash it back into the cage and lock it, and staggered against the wall.

Richard had always taught me how to be ready on such emergencies
travelling up the country, but the only thing in the hall was a box of
wooden lucifer-matches, so I struck them one after another, and kept
cramming them into the mark on his wrist made by the snake till I had
made a regular little hole. I tied my handkerchief tightly above it,
called out loudly for the servants, told them what had happened, and to
go and get a bottle of whisky. By degrees I got the whole bottle down
his throat, and then my friend and I and the negroes kept walking him
up and down for about three hours. We then allowed him to go to bed,
and next morning he was no worse for what had happened. I think the
bite must have been very feeble not to have done more harm--probably
the snake had only time to graze the skin; anyway, the dear old man was
so pleased, he brought me home a riding-whip of solid silver up to the
lash, which I keep now as a memento.

We had a bad sea and, strong trade winds most of the way; the ship,
was horribly lively off Finisterre, and the hatches down. We found,
it bitterly cold in August, and on the 1st of September my family met
me at Southampton. They were then all puffing and panting and fanning
themselves on account of the "tropical weather," as they called it, and
I found it so bitterly cold, I had to have several blankets and a big
fire, showing the difference of the climates. There was great amusement
when my sisters came on board. I took them to my cabin, which was
considered the best in the ship. The Captain was showing it off, when
one of them, who had never been, at sea in her life, turned round to me
and said, "Now, Isabel, do you _really_ mean to say that you have lived
in that housemaid's closet for a month, and slept on that shelf?" The
Captain laughed. "Really, ladies," he said, "this is considered a very
swell ship, and everybody fights for that cabin."

[Sidenote: _Lord Derby gives Richard Damascus._]

I did my work well, carrying out everything according to Richard's
directions, and Lord Derby, then Lord Stanley, whose sound sense and
great judgment knew exactly the man to suit the post, and the post
to suit the man, gave him the long-coveted Consulship of Damascus,
and was brave enough not to heed the jealousy and spite which did its
best to prevent his being allowed to take the post. The Missionaries
raised up their heads on the one side, and the people who wanted it
for their friends, did all they could to persuade Lord Stanley that
it would displease the Moslems, because he had been to Mecca. Richard
was delighted when he got the intelligence of his transfer from Brazil
to Damascus. He heard it casually in a _café_ at Lima, where he was
congratulated, having missed most of his letters. He hastened back at
once, and he wrote and guaranteed to Lord Stanley that all would be
well with the Moslems, as it had ever been from the starting of his
career in 1842 up to the present time, 1868--a period of twenty-six
years; consequently the appointment was signed, with a thousand a year.
Richard's prospects were on the rise, and it was hinted that if he
succeeded _there_ he might eventually get Marocco, Teheran, and finish
up at Constantinople. In fact, we were on the zenith of our career.

I had one very pleasant dinner at Mr. Froude's to meet Giffard
Palgrave, Mr. Ruskin, and Carlyle. I brought out Richard's "Highlands
of Brazil" for Christmas. I was not successful with the mines, and I
found no market for the Brazilian translations, though I published two
of them.

[Sidenote: _His Carbine Pistol._]

Amongst other things I must not forget--

[Illustration: CARBINE PISTOL.]


 "CAPTAIN BURTON'S CARBINE-PISTOL AND PROJECTILE (PATENTED).


 "The principle of the weapon is to avoid the use of the shoulder on
 horseback. The weapon can be used either as a carbine with both
 hands, the left arm extended as in archery: in this case the cartridge
 contains eighty-four grains of gunpowder. Used with one hand, the
 charge must be reduced to forty-five grains. The projectile serves to
 blow up ammunition, to fire inflammable articles, and so forth. When
 explosive projectiles are used with this weapon, a special _safety_
 bullet has been provided by Captain Burton (see section). It will
 neither explode if let fall on its point, nor on being fired through
 brushwood.


 "A CAVALRY PISTOL.


 "Sir,--Will you kindly allow me to describe in your well-read columns
 the pistol which is proposed for countries where the traveller's life
 must often depend upon his weapons?

 "I have lately inquired in vain, whilst inspecting stock at half the
 armouries of the West End, for a single-barrel breech-loading pistol.
 Of double-barrels there were plenty, but none pleased me. The system
 of opening the breech is complicated by the presence of two cocks,
 and it is not what a man requires when looking around at the enemy;
 he must use the hands without the guidance of the eyes. Moreover, the
 prices vary from £9 5_s._ to £16. This unconscionable sum is supposed
 not to include any 'fixings,' even the normal hundred cartridges.
 I come to the conclusion that the trade prefers the double-barrel
 simply because the public has to pay double for it. The French are,
 as usual of late years, well to the fore of us. M. Lefancheux, of Rue
 Vivienne, has a good single-barrel, throwing a round ball of one ounce
 (one-sixteenth of a pound); but the breech opening is in a manner
 which I do not admire, and the price is three hundred francs.

 "In conversation with a London gunsmith, I suggested as a
 holster-pistol a central-fire Albini rifle--the weapon adopted in
 Belgium--with barrel cut short to about one foot, and the stock
 changed to a saw-handle; this should, for the purpose of leverage, be
 made long and heavy. The gunsmith adopted the idea at once, wrote to
 the Albini Company, and the result was a weapon which, with certain
 unimportant improvements, will, I believe, presently supplant the
 popular but uncertain and dangerous revolver, whilst by a tolerably
 strong wrist it can be used as a pistol. It may be fired at rest on
 the left arm, or held like a carbine in both hands. With bandolier or
 cartridge-case bound to his breast, the soldier will readily do with
 this weapon the work of a succession of revolvers, each holding only
 five to six shots. The 'Albini pistol' cannot miss fire. How many good
 lives have been lost by depending upon this revolver! And the pistol
 deals a one-ounce ball; not the pellets of which many a backwoodsman
 has taken a cylinderful, and yet has continued 'shyuting' till he
 killed his man. Finally, it is economical. My weapon, with belt,
 pouch, and a hundred charges, costs £6 10_s._; but a large demand will
 readily bring down the price to £5.

 "I am convinced that the Albini, or some similar system, will be the
 pistol of the future, and I take the liberty of introducing it to you
 immediately after its birth.[6]

 "RICHARD F. BURTON, F.R.G.S.

 "P.S.--In a forthcoming volume upon the Paraguayan War, I hope to show
 that the pistol will be, _par excellence_, the future arm of cavalry."


 FROM THE PRESS.


 "A pistol that can kill at five hundred yards has not, we believe,
 been yet introduced to the public. This boon has been left for Captain
 Burton to invent, and he has invented, and, what is more, patented it.
 The butt is that of an ordinary pistol; the barrel is that of a good
 rifle, cut short, but leaving sufficient 'turn' to send the bullet
 on its deadly errand with the proper spin. The chief object is to
 send a rifle-bullet at an enemy or at game without having to use the
 shoulder, especially when on horseback. And to accomplish this the
 barrel is fitted with a steel handle to be grasped by the left hand,
 while the arm is extended as in archery. The left arm is, in fact,
 formed into a beam of your own flesh and blood, and the carbine-pistol
 moves freely as on a pivot placed at the end of it, while the butt
 is directed by the right hand, which takes aim and fires. The recoil
 is scarcely felt by the rigid left arm; it does not affect the firer
 so much as the kick to the shoulder would do. The advantage of this
 arrangement in the case of ladies is obvious. The pistol can also
 be used with one hand like an ordinary pistol. But in that case it
 is recommended that the charge be reduced from eighty-four grains
 of gunpowder to forty-five. The inventor has also provided a patent
 safety bullet which will explode as a shell when it crashes against
 the bones of large game, but will pass through brushwood or through
 the skin of a wild animal like an ordinary ball. It will not explode
 if let fall upon its apex, but if fired into a box of ammunition it
 will blow up everything without fail. It is an invaluable projectile,
 combining the best qualities of the bullet and shell, just the weapon
 of precision which sends it to its destination, combines the best
 features of the carbine and the pistol. The carbine-pistol is so light
 and handy that it will become an indispensable _vade mecum_ with
 people making excursions through jungles in India. No tiger could
 afford to laugh at it, though in appearance it is as unpretending as a
 horse-pistol."

This year, before Richard arrived, I had the pleasure of making the
acquaintance of Sir Samuel and Lady Baker; I was very much fascinated
by the latter, and thought her very pretty. Next day I lunched with
them. I also saw a good deal of the Petherwicks, and amongst others
on his return we dined more than once with my husband's old Egyptian
friend, John Larking, at his place, "The Firs," Lea, Kent.

At last the time came round when I got a telegram to say that the
_Douro_, Royal Mail, would be at Southampton, with Richard on board; so
I went down to Southampton, and at four o'clock in the morning, when
Richard looked over the side, I was the first person he saw, and when
the plank was thrown across, I was the first to go on board. As far as
clothes went, he was pretty nearly in the same condition that I was in,
when I arrived from the mines; but for all that, as soon as he had had
bath and breakfast, we drove to Netley Abbey, and went to the flower
show; then came up to town, and drove to a haberdasher, tailor, and
hatter, that he might be fit to dine with my people, who had a party
and an enthusiastic reception for him.

He went straight to the Foreign Office next day to report himself,
and call on Lord Stanley and Lord Clarendon, who had succeeded to
the Foreign Office, and went a round of publishers, mappers, and
commissions. That night we had to go to the Admiralty party, and from
thence to the Foreign Office party, and the next night, at the Literary
Fund, Richard made a speech. He dined with Sir Roderick Murchison, and
he went to the Royal Geographical Society Meeting, found it slow, and
_was not satisfied with his reception_; he also went to the Levée.

We then went down to Shrewsbury, to stay with Mr. Henry Wace, a
bachelor lawyer and a faithful friend, and drove to Uriconium, the
Pompeii of Shrewsbury, and then to Haughmond ruins, formerly a
Cistercian monastery. Amongst other pleasant things was a lunch-party
at Bernal Osborne's, and delightful dinners at Shirley Brookes'.

[Sidenote: _Pleasant Days in Vichy and Auvergne._]

At last we crossed to France, visited our old haunts where we met
as boy and girl. Boulogne, however, was very much changed since our
days. She was then "a girl of the period;" she was now "_vieille_ and
_dévote_." From here he sent me back, as usual, to "pay, pack, and
follow." He was going to Vichy, to take a month's course of the waters,
after which he would drop down to Brindisi and go to Damascus.

Soon after Richard had started to Vichy, I began to get unhappy, and
wanted to join him, and I did not see why I could not have the month
there with him and make up double-quick time after; so I just started
off with Mr. J. J. Aubertin (of Brazil memory, whose many works have
made him well known, and whose charming "Wanderings and Wonderings" is
attracting the literary world now), who was also going there to join
him. It was the last _Fête Napoleon_. I never saw Paris so splendid; it
was lighter than day--from the Tuileries to the Barrière de L'Étoile
it was one mass of light. The Tuileries Gardens were hung with lamps
representing huge bunches of grapes, fastened together with festoons
and knots the whole length of the Champs Élysées. It was the last blaze
of glory; before that day year they were fighting the Germans. As soon
as I arrived at Vichy, Richard, with Swinburne, came to the station to
meet me, and we were joined by Sir Frederick Leighton, and later on,
Mrs. Sartoris.

Vichy is a dull small place, full of sickly people with liver
complaints. Like all other places, the baths and the water-drinking
fountains are the principal rendezvous. There is the usual band,
promenade under the trees, casino, garden, and theatre.

They were very happy days. We made excursions in the day, and in the
evenings the conversation, I need not say, was brilliant; everybody
contributed something that made him or her valuable. Swinburne recited
poetry, Mrs. Sartoris sang to us. All will remember her exquisite
contralto voice, and she sang _en intime_ without accompaniment.

We went to the Château Bourbonnais at Bussy, and then to Ardoisière
cascade and cave, and lovely walks to Malavaux, where there is a châlet
at the foot of the mountain and a steep ascent. Here is the ruin of a
convent of Templars, who are said to have committed atrocities, who
blew up a château containing their only neighbours with gunpowder.
There were no roads this way, and they were Lords of the soil. There
is a cemetery in the distance, and close to us the Devil's Well, said
to have no bottom, and also the Blessed Virgin's Well. Whilst we
were at the top, the harvest moon arose; there was a glorious scene
of beautiful lights and shadows. Swinburne has lately celebrated
this journey in a glorious elegy, of which I quote three verses (the
_Fortnightly Review_, July, 1892)--

    "The huddled churches clinging on the cliffs
      As birds alighting might for storm's sake cling,
    Moored to the rocks as tempest-harried skiffs
      To perilous refuge from the loud wind's wing;

           *       *       *       *       *

    "Deep down the Valley of the Curse, undaunted
      By shadow and whisper of winds with sins for wings,
    And ghosts of crime wherethrough the heights live haunted
      By present sense of past and monstrous things."

The elegy ends--

    "But not the soul whose labour knew no end--
      But not the swordsman's hand, the crested head--
    The royal heart we mourn, the faultless friend,
      Burton--a name that lives till fame be dead."

[Sidenote: _The Fell Railway._]

From St. Armand there is a splendid view of Vichy, and also for
forty-four leagues, if it is clear enough to see around; and the
drives are lovely through the mountains and ravines. There was another
splendid view from the Montagne Vert. We went to St. Germain des
Fosses, and drove all over Clermont, where we visited the Cathedral,
all the Churches, Museums, and springs, and bought some of the
wonderful petrifactions.[7] We then made our way to Langéac, from
whence we drove thirty-six miles through a most interesting country
to Puy. The descent to Puy is very beautiful. It is a curious and
striking-looking town; mountains of rock, like huge combs, rise out of
its heart. On the top of one of these is a huge statue of the Blessed
Virgin, sixteen metres high, cast in iron from the metal cannons of
Sebastopol, and we got up into its head to look out of the eyes.
When we were in the head we were nearly five hundred feet high from
the plain. The Child's head holds three people. The Cathedral has a
miraculous black Virgin, and St. Michael has his church too. All these
great heights mean climbing five hundred feet, and then ascending
two or three hundred steps. On another cone stands an old church.
There are basaltic masses just like organ-pipes. We drove to the old
Castle and Fortress of Polignac, and to the basaltic rocks, and then
we went to see the Museum of Puy. We made our way by the train to
Lyons. The country was beautiful, with mountains, gorges, rivers, and
old ruined castles, which spoke of feudal times; but two hours before
reaching Lyons it is as bad as the black country in Lancashire. Here
Swinburne left us for Paris. Richard and I went to Fourvières to make
a pilgrimage.[8] We went to the Cathedral, and the great shrine of
Notre Dame de Fourvières. From here Lyons spreads out under your feet
like a map; on a clear day you may see Mont Blanc. We visited the
source of the Rhone and Saone, and then went on to Culoz; thence to
Aix les Bains, where we went to look at the Roman ruins. We changed
trains at S. Michel for "Fell's Company" across the Mont Cenis (the
railway not being made in those days as it is now). Mr. Bayless, the
superintendent, and his secretary met us, and took us on the engine,
and showed us everything. The scenery was splendid all day; the rise
began from S. Michel to Lanslebourg, which is four thousand four
hundred feet high. The ascent was most amusing; we whisked about in
the most frolicsome way, close to frightful gorges and over ravines.
From inside, you could sometimes hear little hysterical squeaks,
or people taken worse, as the curves were very sharp and the pace
good. Lanslebourg is a group of old broken-down châlets, and two
broken-down chapels, grouped in a corner. It has a new chapel now. A
mountain-torrent sweeps through the village, and the new railway runs
by it. Magnificent piles of mountains rose on all sides; the lower
range are pine-covered, the higher by snow and glaciers--the snow and
fresh mountain air are most exhilarating. I can remember passing this
place ten years before, in March, with a carriage and eleven mules,
and, owing to the snow, we were five days and nights travelling from
Venice to Geneva. It was then a savage country; now every available
spot is cultivated in little patches. We had a charming evening at
the inn, and dined on fresh mountain trout. The descent next day was
marvellous. How little Napoleon I. thought, when he was making a road,
that he was only the pioneer for an English railway, thereby making
their labour and expense only half of what it would have been! We went
from here to Susa and Turin, and from Turin we drove up the Collina,
and got a splendid view of the City and of Mount Rosa before going to
bed. Here I saw Richard off to Damascus; he was to catch the P. and O.
at Brindisi. My train Londonwards left a few hours after, and I did not
stop till I reached Paris.

[Sidenote: _Geographical Disagreeables._]

During this short time, Richard's absence permitted a few disagreeables
in the geographical line, and as he always relied upon me to answer for
him, when he was away, I did so. He said he felt like having a second
self on a spot where he could not be, when our affairs compelled us
to do double work. Therefore, in answer to a question of Sir Roderick
Murchison's, "Where is Livingstone?" I wrote--


 "DR. LIVINGSTONE.

 "To the Editor of the _Daily Telegraph_.


 "Sir,--Will you spare me a little space in your columns to do a
 service to Dr. Livingstone, by calling attention to Lucenda or Lunda
 City, the capital of the African chief, known as the Muata (king)
 Cazembe?

 "He is not the least important of the eight negro monarchs--namely,
 the Muata Ya Noo, vulgarly 'Matiamoo,' in the south; in the eastern
 tropic, the despots of Karagwán, of Uganda, and of Unyoro; and, in the
 western regions, the sanguinary tyrants of Benin, of Dahomè, and of
 Asiante or Ashantee. And the name of this somewhat obscure potentate
 has, during the last few weeks, come prominently before the Royal
 Geographical Society of London.

 "Not long ago Sir Roderick Murchison suggested in the _Times_ that
 Dr. Livingstone, having found a discrepancy between the levels of the
 'Albert Nyanza' and the Tanganyika lakes, probably turned westward,
 and attempted to trace the drainage of the latter into the Atlantic
 Ocean. My husband, Captain Burton, objected to this view of his
 revered Chief, after whose image--to use the words of the late Lord
 Strangford--our modern geographers are, so to speak, created. The
 hydrography of the West African coast is now well known, and it shows
 no embouchure capable of carrying off so vast an expanse of water
 as the Tanganyika. The Congo mouth may suggest itself to some, more
 especially as the north-eastern branch has long been reported to issue
 from a lake. But the north-eastern is the smaller arm of the two.
 Moreover, Captain Burton, during his visit to the Yellalah or Rapids,
 in 1863, ascertained, by questioning the many slaves driven down from
 the far interior to the Angolan coast, that the Congo lake is distinct
 from the Tanganyika, and is probably that which figures in old maps as
 Lake Aquilonda or Achelunda. It will not be forgotten that our good
 friend Paul du Chaillu made sundry stout-hearted attempts to reach
 that mysterious basin, concerning which he is also of opinion that it
 is wholly independent of the Nile Valley.

 "The latest intelligence touching Dr. Livingstone suggests the
 possibility of his having been detained in the capital of the Cazembe,
 and at once explains the non-appearance of the traveller, and the want
 of communications, so heartrending to his host of friends. Why are we
 whispering this to one another as a secret? The report, if we believe
 in its truth, should be published throughout the length and breadth of
 England, whose great heart will readily supply men and means to rescue
 one of her favourite sons from a precarious and perhaps perilous
 position.

 "Unhappily for himself, Dr. Livingstone, unlike Captain Burton,
 has never made a friend of the Moslem. He has openly preferred to
 him the untutored African--in other words, the vile and murderous
 Fetisheer--and his published opinions must be known even at Zanzibar
 to the religion of the State. The Maskat Arabs are, as my husband
 reported long ago, all-powerful at the city of Cazembe; and if Dr.
 Livingstone be detained there, it is doubtless at their instigation.

 "I should not have ventured to trouble you with this letter, but
 Captain Burton is _en route_ for Damascus, and I have written to
 him to supply the public with a complete account of the scene of
 Dr. Livingstone's supposed captivity, which may tend to suggest the
 properest measures for securing the safety of a Christian hero who has
 offered up the flower of his days to the grand task of regenerating
 the Dark Continent.

 "I have the honour to be, Sir,

 "Yours obediently,

 "ISABEL BURTON.

 "October 23, 1869."

[Sidenote: _Work._]

I worked in earnest during my few weeks in England, to be able to join
him the quicker. First, I had to go down to Stratford, to the Essex
flats, to see the tube-wells worked, as Richard was anxious to be able
to produce water, if possible, wherever we stopped in the desert. I had
many publishers and mappers to see. Not knowing exactly what Damascus
was like, I invested in a pony-carriage, and Uncle Gerard gave me a
very handsome old family chariot, which was out of fashion in England,
and must originally have cost at least three hundred guineas. Lord
Houghton made a great many jokes about our driving in our chariot drawn
by camels. I very prudently left it in England until I saw what sort of
place it was, but took out the pony-carriage. There was only one road
in the country, of seventy-two miles, so I sold it, and was actually
lucky enough to find a willing customer, who kept it as a curio. I took
lessons about taking off wheels and patent axles, and oiling them and
putting them together again, and taking my own guns and pistols also to
pieces, cleaning and putting them together again. The time passed in
buying things to stock the house with. Richard did not receive any of
my letters, just as at Pernambuco, so I had to telegraph to him.

During this time Mr. William Crookes and I visited the Mesmeric
Hospital, where, I regret to say, I did a good deal of unintentional
mischief, by absorbing the mesmerism from the patients; and I attended
the meetings of the Royal Geographical Society, and felt very angry
with Sir Roderick Murchison, which I expressed in two letters attached
to the Nile affair, as follows:--


 "THE SOURCES OF THE NILE.

 [Sidenote: _The Nile._]

 "To the Editor of the _Times_.


 "Sir,--As you daily devote a certain portion of the _Times_ to
 redressing wrongs, I may hope that you will not make an exception to
 the disadvantage of Captain Burton.

 "Five African explorers have pined for the honour of discovering the
 sources of the Nile, and each one in his turn has believed himself
 to be that fortunate person, until now that Livingstone (the one who
 cared the least for that honour) has discovered waters more southerly
 still. We have all been looking forward with eagerness for this
 news. Judge, then, of my mortification at the meeting of the Royal
 Geographical Society on Monday night, to hear all the papers read
 and discussed almost without reference to Captain Burton, who is _en
 route_ to Damascus. His lake (Tanganyika), which lies the nearest to
 Livingstone's new discovery, was almost skipped over, and my revered
 friend, Sir Roderick Murchison, spoke of 'Central, or Equatorial
 Africa, in which lie those great water basins which, thanks to the
 labours of Speke, Grant, and Baker, are known to feed the Nile.'
 After the meeting I went up to Sir Roderick Murchison and asked him
 _why_ Captain Burton had been left out, and he replied in the kindest
 manner, 'that if it had been so, it was a mere oversight, which he
 was sorry should have occurred,' and I heard him give the order that
 it should be rectified in the report before sent to press. I see by
 your columns of Wednesday, the 10th, _that it was not done_, and I
 therefore ask you in kindness and courtesy to insert these few lines,
 that Captain Burton may not be counted for nothing by that large
 meeting on Monday night in the matter nearest his heart.

 "In 1854 and 1855 Captain Burton was employed in heading the Somali
 Expedition (which ended so fatally), taking with him Captain Speke and
 two others. From 1856 to 1859 he was occupied in exploring Central
 Equatorial Africa, taking again Captain Speke as second in command.
 He was the first to conceive the idea twenty years ago, the first to
 enter and to penetrate that country, which he did under every obstacle
 and difficulty, bringing back sufficient information to smooth the
 path to all who chose to follow him. Lake Tanganyika was his first
 discovery, Nyanza was Speke's.

 "In 1860 Captain Speke started on his own account, taking Captain
 Grant as second in command, whereby we gained some three hundred and
 fifty geographical miles, only hitherto known by vague report. Captain
 Burton spent those three years on the West Coast, at Dahomè and Du
 Chaillu's country, making ten years, off and on, in Africa.

 "Then followed Sir Samuel Baker's Lake, and now Livingstone's.

 "It is therefore _impossible_ to ignore Captain Burton's services in
 the Nile question. Dr. Livingstone has undoubtedly discovered _the_
 sources,[9] and must rank the first, but no man can claim the second
 honour, or the water nearest Livingstone's discovery, but Captain
 Burton, and no one can deny the fact that he, so to speak, opened the
 oyster for the others to get at the pearl.

 "All our friends are asking me why he was left out the other night,
 and the kind-hearted ones offer me the consoling proverb that 'good
 wine needs no bush,' which, after all, is nonsense to any but
 connoisseurs.

 "I am, Sir, yours obediently,

 "ISABEL BURTON.

 "14, Montagu Place, Montagu Square,

 "November 12th, 1869."

[Sidenote: _Still the Nile._]

I then sent to the _Athenæum_ the little tracing of 1856, which I have
inserted on page 255, with the following letter:--


 "THE SOURCES OF THE NILE.


 "To the Editor of the _Athenæum_.

 "November 20th, 1869.

 "I enclose you a copy of a small map which I have had for many years
 in my possession, showing Captain Burton's theory respecting the
 sources of the Nile as far back as 1856. In that year he left England
 to command the Expedition for their discovery, which had been the
 object of his thoughts and studies for many previous years--always
 a disciple of Ptolemy. Captain Speke joined him, and after three
 years of unheard-of difficulties and dangers, they returned, having
 discovered Tanganyika. Whilst they were absent, Captain Burton,
 being very ill for a short time, and experiencing a yearning to be
 alone, sent Captain Speke on a twenty days' march to try and find
 a lake, which his calculations, theories, and inquiries from the
 Arabs, assured him ought to be there. Speke sighted a water then, and
 subsequently found on his next expedition, but much farther north, a
 lake which he called Victoria Nyanza.

 "I quote a note from Captain Burton's 'Nile Basin,' p. 37, which
 is the pivot of the whole affair: 'I distinctly deny that any
 "misleading, by my instructions from the Royal Geographical Society as
 to the position of the White Nile," left me unconscious of the vast
 importance of ascertaining the Rusizi river's direction. The fact is,
 Captain Speke was deaf and almost blind. I was paralytic, and we were
 both helpless [he might have added penniless]. We did our best to
 reach it, and failed.'

 "Captain Burton always said from the first that the Nile must have
 many sources, and that there were probably waters south of the
 Tanganyika. In his 'Lake Regions' he speaks of a large river, Marungu,
 draining the southern countries towards the Tanganyika, and entering
 the lake at its southernmost point, which has now been proved by Dr.
 Livingstone.[10] He was misled by Captain Speke's erroneous elevation
 of the lake, and by the more than probably wrong information received
 from the African chiefs, as interpreted by his negro servant Bombay.
 In short, Captain Speke determined to have his own lake at all
 hazards, and for a time he became master of the field.

 "I am anxious, before I sail to join Captain Burton at Damascus--and
 I have not many days left--to claim Captain Burton's proper position
 amongst the five explorers of the lakes, having already had a reminder
 that '_les absents ont toujours tort_.' That position means, _second_
 to Livingstone as explorer, to whom he has shown the way to the Nile,
 and _first_ as lake discoverer.

 "The outlines of the map I refer to were drawn for me in 1856, and
 where lakes are now correctly marked on maps stood pencil notes, which
 said, 'Should be water here,' 'Supposed site of a lake.' The lakes
 and names were successively filled up for me in 1859 and 1864. Perhaps
 you may think it interesting enough to give it a place in your paper,
 and will kindly allow this letter to accompany it; or the letter by
 itself if there is no room for the map.

 "ISABEL BURTON."

Then appeared in _Punch_--


 "A CARD FROM THE ISLE OF AFRICA.


 "Father Nile presents his respectful compliments to Mr. Punch, and
 (with grateful remembrance of the delightful way in which that
 gentleman depicted saucy Miss Britannia discovering the Father
 among his rushes, a few years back) begs leave to inform Mr. Punch,
 and therefore the world, that the Father, at the suggestion of the
 REVEREND DOCTOR LIVINGSTONE, has removed his head-quarters
 to a delightful region, about eleven degrees south of the Equator,
 or Equinoxious line, where for the present he is to be found by his
 friends. Carriages to set down at Cazembe, a couple of hundred miles
 or so south of Burton's Lake Tanganyika.

 "N.B.--You are heartily welcome to any refreshments which you may
 bring with you. Niggers about here don't need to be shot."


 "NAME! NAME!


 "DEAR PUNCH,

 "Over the signature 'Isabel Burton,' names belonging to the
 accomplished wife of the Consul at Damascus, hath appeared (_Times_)
 a wifely and spirited letter, pointing out that at the great
 geographical meeting last week, recognition was not made of the
 discovery, by Captain Burton, of Lake Tanganyika.

 "Sir, I am glad of anything that causes Mrs. Burton to publish
 anything. Unlike some of her sex (and of mine), that lady can think as
 well as write.

 "But I have two reasons for wishing that another system of
 nomenclature, in regard to places, were adopted.

 "(1) I am not good at spelling, even in English, and the barbarous
 names given by savages worry me much, and send me across the room to
 atlases, and the like, when it is a bother to me to get off my chair.
 Perhaps on cold days, like to-day, my style, in the winter, is much
 more involved than in summer. This is because, to avoid going into the
 cold, I go into periphrase, and circumvent hard words.

 "(2) Injustice, like that indicated by Mrs. Burton (in this case
 accidental; Sir Roderick is _sans reproche_), would be impossible if
 new discoveries were stamped properly.

 "Henceforth call Lake Nyanza Lake Speke-Grant; the lake above
 mentioned (which I pray you to excuse me from spelling a second
 time), Lake Burton; and the new aggregation of water, now believed to
 be the Nile source, Lake Livingstone, and oblige

 "Your faithful friend,

 "EPICURUS ROTUNDUS.

 "Goneril Villa, Regan Park."

[Sidenote: _I sail for Damascus._]

At last the day came round when everything was bought and paid for, and
packed and sent off, and I was at liberty to start; and the same night
that my arrangements were complete, I left my mother's house for Dover.
It was blowing a hurricane, waves mountain high, and a black night, and
my brother and sisters, who accompanied me, decided that I must not
go on board. I have told that story in my "Inner Life of Syria." Next
morning, however, we picked up the poor passengers, who had crossed the
night before, and had come to grief. At Paris I found that two of my
nine boxes were missing; one contained all my ship comforts, and the
other £300 in gold--my little all. I had already taken my passage at
Marseilles, and I had to choose between losing my money and losing my
passage. I went to the station-master, registered my tale, omitting all
about the money, told him where to forward the baggage,[11] travelled
on, and was just in time to catch the P. and O. _Tanjore_ before she
steamed out, and I immediately, on arrival at Alexandria, took my
passage on board the first steamer for Beyrout, which was a Russian,
the _Ceres_, which passes or touches at Port Said and Jaffa, and Kaifa,
the ancient Helba of the tribe of Aser, St. Jeanne d'Acre, and then I
arrived at Beyrout.

[1] One of the lions of Cintra.

[2] In travelling, the mules are mostly difficult to treat, and one
never passes their noses or their heels without care. I have seen a
fine mule spring like a goat on the top of a piano case in the yard, to
avoid being saddled. I never before understood the French expression,
_Méchante comme une âne rouge_.

[3] "The Highlands of Brazil." By Captain Richard F. Burton, F.R.G.S.

[4] Captain Gambier tells me that he used to mesmerize him when he was
a child, and tell him to go up to some room in the dark, and fetch him
some particular article or book which he only thought of.

[5] We were then at the Barra.

[6] I keep two of these pistols in case any one would be willing to
order some, so as to push it.--I. B.

[7] Faubourg St. Alyre, "la Fontaine petrifiante" (like Matlock),
issues from volcanic tufa on granite. Carbonic acid dissolves
calcareous matter.

[8] There were three things Richard could never resist--a pilgrimage to
a holy shrine, mining, and talking with and enjoying gypsies' society.

[9] Which turned out afterwards to be an error--it was the head waters
of the Great Zaire or Congo River that he discovered.

[10] Dr. Livingstone died with this belief, but he had really
discovered the head-waters of the Great Zaire or Congo River (1892).

[11] They both arrived five months later, and, strange to say, intact.




CHAPTER XX.

DAMASCUS--HIS THIRD CONSULATE.


[Sidenote: _I find Richard has had a Cordial Reception._]

There was no husband to meet me, and I felt very indignant, just as had
happened at Rio last year to him. (Here I met Madame de Persigny.) I at
once started for Damascus by road, in a private carriage, and drove for
seven hours, putting up at Shtorra, where I was obliged to sleep. Next
day I drove on and on, and reached Damascus at sunset; went straight
to the inn, which by courtesy was called a hotel, known as Demetri's.
It had taken me fifteen days and nights without stopping from London
to Damascus. After an hour Richard came in, and I was glad that I had
waited for nothing but necessity, as I found him looking very old and
ill. He had arrived, and had had a most cordial reception, but he had
been dispirited by not getting a single one of my letters, which all
arrived in a heap afterwards. He had gone down over and over again
to meet me, and I had not appeared, and now the steamer that I had
come in, was the only one he did not go down to meet, so that when he
came in from his walk, it was a pleasant surprise to him to find me
ensconced comfortably in his room; and I found the enclosed scribbled
on the corner of his journal, anent my non-arrival--

    "'Twas born, thou whisperest, born in heaven,
      And heavenly births may never die;
    While truth is pure of leasing's leaven,
      I hear and I believe then--I!
    Heaven-born, thy love is born to be
      An heir of immortality.

    "And yet I hear a small voice say,
      But yesterday 'twas not begot;
    It lives its insect-life to-day,
      To-morrow death shall be its lot.
    Peace, son of lies! cease, Satan, cease
      To mumble timeworn lies like these!"

A few persons who disliked the appointment, and certain missionaries
who feared that he was anti-missionary, and have since handsomely
acknowledged their mistake, took measures to work upon Lord Clarendon
on the plea that he was too fond of Mohammedans, that he had performed
a pilgrimage to Mecca, and that their fanaticism would lead to troubles
and dangers. On becoming aware that he had lived in the East, and with
Moslems, for many years after his pilgrimage, Lord Clarendon, with
that good taste and justice which always characterized him, refused to
change his appointment until that fanaticism was proved. He had the
pleasure of reporting to him a particularly friendly reception. He
wrote before he left London--

 "I now renew in writing the verbal statement, in which I assured your
 lordship that neither the authorities nor the people of Damascus will
 show for me any but a friendly feeling; that, in fact, they will
 receive me as did the Egyptians and the people of Zanzibar for years
 after my pilgrimage to Mecca. But, as designing persons may have
 attempted to complicate the situation, I once more undertake to act
 with unusual prudence, and under all circumstances to hold myself, and
 myself only, answerable for the consequences."

Though he had not received his barat (_exequatur_) and firman till
October 27th, he exchanged friendly unofficial visits with his
Excellency, the _Wali_ (Governor-General) of Syria. Then he was
honoured with the visits of all the prelates of the Oriental Churches,
as well as by a great number of the most learned and influential
Moslems, and of the principal Christians. Amongst them were his
Highness the Amir Abd el Kadir, his Excellency the Bishop of the Greek
Orthodox Church, the Syrian Orthodox and the Syrian Catholic Bishops,
the Archimandrite Jebara of the Russian Orthodox Church, the Shaykh el
Ulemá (Abdullah Effendi el Hálabi), the Shaykh el Molawíyyeh of Koniah,
Ali Pasha el Aazam, and Antun Effendi Shami; Said Effendi Ustuwáneh,
President of the Criminal Court of Damascus and its dependencies;
Mohammed Effendi el Minnini, Vice-President of the Criminal Court of
Appeal; the Mufti Mahmúd Effendi Hamzeh; Shaykh Mohammed Effendi el
Hálabi, member of the Lower Court, and several others.

All these dignitaries evinced much pleasure and satisfaction at his
being appointed H.M.'s Consul in their City. Some of them, indeed,
earnestly requested him to interest the English public in forming a
company for making railways through Syria, that being the sole means of
bringing about the civilization of the country.

In conclusion, notwithstanding Abdullah Effendi, the Chief of the
Ulemá, being the most learned, influential, and Orthodox Moslem, and
though it is not consistent with his principles to call upon any
Christian before being visited, he did so; and, after an interview of
fifty minutes, departed with a promise to renew the visit.

Owing to the great quantity of fountains and tanks about the house,
neuralgia had set in, and Richard had not been getting any sleep; so
the following day we cast about for a better sort of living-place, and
a quarter of an hour away, through the gardens of Damascus, higher
up than Damascus, and just under and on the north of Jebel Kaysún,
the Camomile Mountain, in what is _called_ a wild and lawless Kurdish
village, we found a house that suited us,[1] and we took it, and moved
into it next day, starting with a small quantity of furniture, but soon
made it very comfortable. After all said and done, although some of the
houses in Damascus were very grand and very romantic, they were all
damp; cold in winter; suffocating, from being closed in, in summer. If
there is an epidemic, it is like being hived. If there is an _émeute_,
you are like a mouse in a trap. If there is a fire at night, you are
safely locked within the town gates. Ours was a freer and wilder life;
you could mount your horse, and be out in the desert in ten minutes, or
in Damascus either.

Mr. and Lady Adelaide Law arrived in Damascus, and I took her to Lady
Ellenborough and to Abd el Kadir. It was her father, Lord Londonderry,
whose diplomacy with Louis Napoleon delivered this great hero from
imprisonment in the Château d'Amboise, and he received her with
effusion. Later on came Lord Stafford (present Duke of Sutherland), Mr.
Crawley, and Mr. Barty Mitford.

[Sidenote: _We go to Palmyra, or Tadmor in the Desert._]

We were soon installed, and bought horses, and I began to study Arabic.
The first thing Richard determined to do was to go to Tadmor. This
journey was an awfully difficult thing in those days, though I am not
aware whether it is now. First of all, six thousand francs used to be
charged by the El Mezrab, who were the tribe who escorted for that
journey. It was the tribe of Lady Ellenborough and her Bedawin husband,
and she was more Bedawin than the Bedawi. There was no water, that is,
only two wells the whole way, and only known to them. The difficulties
and dangers were great; they travelled by night and hid by day. You
may say that camels were about ten days on the road, and horses about
eight days. The late Lady Ellenborough was the third of a small knot
of ladies, of whom I had hoped to make the fifth--Lady Mary Wortley
Montagu, Lady Hester Stanhope, Lady Ellenborough, and the Princesse de
la Tour d'Auvergne.

[Sidenote: _We go without an Escort._]

Lady Ellenborough was married to a Bedawin, brother to the Chief, and
second in command of the tribe of El Mezrab, a small branch of the
great Anazeh tribe. She aided the tribe in concealing the wells and
levying blackmail on Europeans who wished to visit Palmyra, which
brought in considerable sums to the tribe, whose demand was six
thousand francs a head (£240). Richard was determined to go, and we had
not the money to throw away; he asked me whether I would be willing to
risk it, and I said, what I always did, "Whither thou goest, I will
go." Lady Ellenborough was in a very anxious state when she heard this
announcement, as she knew it was the death-blow to a great source of
revenue to the tribe. She was very intimate with us, and distantly
connected by marriage with my family, and she would have favoured us,
if she could have done it without abolishing the whole system. She did
all she could to dissuade us; she wept over our loss, and she told us
that we should never come back--indeed, everybody advised us to make
our wills; finally, she offered us the escort of one of her Mezrabs,
that we might steer clear of the Bedawi raids, and be conducted quicker
to water, _if it existed_. Richard made me a sign to accept the escort,
and we did.

From our earliest married days, one of his peculiarities (used rather,
I suspect, for training me to observe him, and to understand his wants)
would be that he would not tell me directly to do a thing, but I used
to find in a book I was reading, or some drawer that I opened every
day, or in his own room, marked by a weight, a few words of what he
wanted, conveying no direct order, and yet I knew that it was one. I
grew quite accustomed to this, and used regularly to visit the places
where I was likely to find them, and if I missed there was a sort of
"Go seek" expression on his face, that told me that I had not hunted
properly, and I knew (by another expression) when I had succeeded.
I used to call these "African spoors." We could almost talk before
outsiders in this way, without speaking a word out loud.

On the same principle, he used to teach me to swim without my arms, and
afterwards to swim without my legs, using either one or the other, but
not both, in case of falling out of a steamer and being entangled.

I mention this, because we always talked before people without their
perceiving it, and he told me in this way exactly what to say to her;
but we provided ourselves with seventeen camels, laden with water, in
case of accident. We had each two horses, and everything necessary for
tenting out, and were armed to the teeth. We had a very picturesque
breakfast, affectionate farewells--the _Mushir_ and the whole cavalcade
to see us out of the town. We cleared Damascus and its environs by a
three hours' march; then Richard, according to his custom, called a
halt, and we camped out and picketed, because, he said, it would be so
easy to send back for anything, if aught were missing.

We eventually reached Da'as Agha, the Chief of Jerúd, who has a hundred
and fifty fighting men. These little villages in the middle of a desert
are sometimes very acceptable for the renewal of provisions. This Jerúd
was a large one, and was surrounded with salt and gypsum. After this
there was only one more village, Atneh, till the Great Karryatayn,
in the heart of the desert. Here we were told of some underground
curiosities, and we stopped to dig, and discovered an old catacomb.
The women only wear one garment; they are covered with coins, and bits
of stone made into necklaces and charms against the evil eye. After
this we had a long desert ride, and were caught in a dust-storm. A
dust-storm is no joke; you may lie down and perhaps make your horse
lie, and cover yourself up with rugs, but if it is a bad storm, like a
snowstorm, you may be buried. Richard advised our galloping through it,
laying the reins on the horses' necks, and letting them go where they
would, for, he said, they would know a great deal more than we should;
so, covering our faces up in our _kuffíyyehs_--for, as far as heads
and shoulders went, we dressed like natives--we gave our horses their
heads, and they went at a rattling pace, and about three hours took us
out of the storm. Richard and I were alone; all the rest lagged behind.
When the horses once got out of the storm (they seemed to understand
all about it--one was desert bred and took the lead), they relapsed
into a walk till they got cool. We then went by the compass in the
direction we meant to take, and were joined eventually by our followers.

We now had to sleep in our clothes, revolvers and guns at our sides,
and make our men take turn to watch, in case of an attack from a
_ghazú_, or Bedawi raid, and we took off the camels' bells. A _ghazú_
may pass you in the night, and if you are quite silent, and a foal does
not whinny, nor a dog bark, you are all right; but those are the two
things you have to dread. I ought to have said that, though we accepted
the escort, we were not hoodwinked. I kept taking stock of our Mezrab
between Damascus and our first halt, and I thought he had an uncanny
and _amused_ look; so I rode up to Richard, and told him, in a language
that was not understood, what I thought. Richard gave a grim smile, as
Ouida says, "under his moustache," and said, "Yes, I have thought all
that out too. Mohammed Agha, come here."

Whatever Richard told Mohammed to do, he did it thoroughly. If he
wanted a culprit that had run away, he would say, "Bring me So-and-so,
Mohammed." "Eywallah! ya Sidi Beg" (Yes, by Allah, my Lord Beg); and he
would go off, saying, "If he were in hell I would have him out." Once
he brought a man kicking and struggling under his arm, and put him down
before Richard, saying, "There he is, your Excellency."

This faithful Afghan had served him in India, and he had accidentally
found him in Damascus, and made him his chief _kawwás_. He now rode
up. Richard gave him a few orders in Afghani, which no one else
understood. He saluted and retired. When we got about three hours away
from Damascus in the open desert, the Bedawin had his mare and his
arms taken from him, and was mounted on a baggage mule. Every kindness
was shown to him, and he enjoyed every comfort that we had, but two
mounted guard over him day and night, and he was thus powerless. We
knew quite well that the Bedawin, on his thoroughbred mare, would have
curveted off in circles, pretending to look for wells, when in reality
he would have fetched the tribe down upon us, and we should have been
captured; orders would have been given to respect and treat us well,
and then we should have to be ransomed, and this would have _proved_
the impossibility of visiting Palmyra without a Bedawi escort at six
thousand francs a head, and the Foreign Office would have smartly
reproved, and perhaps recalled, their Consul for running such a risk.
We stuck our Mezrab up for a show, to prove that we had a Bedawin
escort, whenever Bedawi raids were near, but he was not allowed to move
or to make a sign. Da'as joined us with ten of his men, and whenever
there was the smallest occasion for joy or self-congratulation, they
used to do a _Jeríd_. When I say the men are riding _Jeríd_, I mean
that they are galloping about violently, firing from horseback at full
speed, yelling, hanging over in their stirrups with their bridles in
their mouth, playing with and quivering their long feathered lances in
the air, throwing them and catching them again at full gallop, picking
things from the ground that they have thrown there, firing pistols,
throwing themselves under the horses' bellies and firing under them
at full gallop, yelling and shouting their war-cry, as Buffalo Bill's
cowboys do, only far more picturesque figures, with their many-coloured
dresses, and better mounted on their beautiful mares. The wildness of
the whole spectacle is very refreshing; but you have to be a good rider
yourself, as the horses simply go wild.

On one occasion we saw a large body, apparently of mounted Bedawi.
We waved and whistled our stragglers in, and drew up in line; the
others did the same. We fully expected a charge. By this time I
had transformed myself into a boy (Richard's son)--found it more
convenient for riding long distances, and for running away. It
_sounds_ indecent, but all Arab clothes are so baggy and draping that
it little matters whether you are dressed as a man or woman. So he
let me ride out with two other horsemen from the ranks forward (it
would have been undignified for _him_ to do so, being in command of
the party); they did the same, and this is what it proved to be--the
Shaykh and his fighting men on the part of a distant village, and a
priest on the part of the Archbishop of Karryatayn, with invitations.
All the men embraced, my hand was kissed, and we were escorted back
in great triumph, riding _Jeríd_ as before. We rode to the village of
the Shaykh, and we sent on others with our letters to Omar Beg, the
Brigadier at that time commanding troops at Karryatayn, because they
expected a revolt of the tribes.

We eventually arrived at Karryatayn. We were treated with great
hospitality by Omar Beg, and when we left he accompanied us a little
way with an immense cavalcade, which was very picturesque and pretty.
We saw a mirage that day in the desert, and were very tired, and had
to sleep with our arms, without undressing. We then had a somewhat
dangerous defile to pass through mountains, where we found a well.
I had invented a capital way of watering the beasts. Man can always
draw water, but nobody thinks of the horses, and in a cup or tin
pot you cannot get enough water for them. I had bags made of skins,
exactly like a huge tobacco-pouch with ropes, and whenever we came to
inaccessible water _these_ were lowered until every animal had drank
its fill. At each of these places, Jerúd, Atneh, and Karryatayn,
several who had been longing to go to Tadmor wanted to join us, secure
of protection, of food for themselves, and corn for their animals
without paying a farthing for it. We increased to a hundred and sixty
persons, and some had one and some two animals. I had one man with
me as my own servant, a Syrian Christian, who gave us a great deal
of trouble. He was very clever, and the best dancer; but the second
or third day after a hard day's ride, the horses were dead beat, and
instead of taking his horse and watering and feeding it, and putting
it in shelter as I desired, he drew his sword and cut its throat, in
hopes of being allowed to ride my second horse, so I ordered him off
to the baggage in the rear. No Moslem would have done such a thing.
I never liked him after. We could not turn the man out to die in the
desert, but the day that we got back to Damascus, my husband sent him
to prison, for that and thefts in the houses where we stayed.

We met with another _ghazú_ before we arrived, but we imposed on them
by calling a halt, planting the flag, showing our Bedawin, and ordering
breakfast to be spread. We then improvised a _tir_ by planting a lance
in the sand at a good distance, with a pumpkin at the top, or an
orange, and showed them how far our rifles would carry, and the _ghazú_
being mounted on mares, not camels, we were not attacked. A few of
ours curveted about, preparatory to bolting, but my husband called out
to the men to form into line, and then he shouted, "The first man who
leaves this line, I'll shoot him in the back as he rides away." That
made them settle down.

[Sidenote: _Tadmor._]

The first sight of Palmyra makes you think it is a regiment of cavalry
drawn out in single line on the horizon; it was the most imposing
sight I ever looked upon, though I have seen plenty of other ruins.
It is so gigantic, so extensive, so bare, so desolate, rising out of,
and partially buried in a sea of sand. There is something that almost
takes your breath away about this splendid City of the Dead. When you
are alone and gazing in silence upon her solitary grandeur, you feel
as if you were wandering in some unforgotten world, and respect and
wonder bid you hush like a child amidst the tombs of a long-closed and
forgotten churchyard. This was the Tadmor built by Solomon, as a safe
halt for the treasures of India and Persia passing through the desert
(2 Paralipomenon or Chronicles viii. 4), "And he built Tadmor in the
wilderness, and all the store cities, which he built in Hamar." Read
also 3 Kings or 1 King ix. 18.

I shall never forget the imposing sight of Tadmor. There is nothing
so deceiving as distance in the desert. At sea you may calculate it,
but in the desert you never can. A distant ruin stands out of the sea
of sand, the atmosphere is so clear that you think you will reach
it in half an hour; you ride all day and you never seem to get any
nearer to it, just as if it receded in proportion as you advanced. We
camped outside, close to the great colonnade. We had five tents, our
free-lances ten, the rest of the party theirs, and the animals close
by. There were four sulphurous streams; we kept one to drink, and one
to bathe, and two for the animals. There is a height of rock on which
is a castle; the mountain-top was cruised all around with an infinity
of labour to form a drawbridge and moat. The ascent is exceedingly
steep. On two sides is a fine range of mountains, on the other two a
desert of sand, stretching far away like a yellow sea. The ruins and a
small oasis caused by the foundation lie at our feet. It is possible
that Tadmor once spread over all the irrigated part of the plain.
A few orchards, and the splendid ruins, and a handful of wretched
people have huts plastered like wasps' nests within them. The whole
City must have been composed of parallel streets, and similar streets
crossing them, some formed by immense columns, and stretching far over
the plains, and cornered by temples and castles. The Temple of the
Sun was carved from great blocks of rock from the mountains; has some
fine cornices, some still perfect. In one direction there is a falling
wall on the slant, as if it was arrested in falling. It has a square
court of seven hundred and forty feet each side, encompassed by a wall
seventy feet high. The central door is thirty-two feet high and sixteen
wide. The temple still has one hundred columns standing. The few people
who live there are disgusting and ophthalmic.

The tombs are a great interest--tall square towers with a handsome
frontage. Inside are four stories. The ceilings are beautiful; the
entrances are lined with Corinthian columns and busts. There are tiers
to the very top for bodies. One contained one hundred bodies. One bore
a 102 B.C. date, one Anno Domini 2--evidently a very swell family,
and all speaking of sad ruined grandeur. The ruins are enormous and
extensive, and simply splendid. I cannot describe the sensation of
being in a great City of the Dead, and thinking over all the story of
Zenobia and her capture, especially by moonlight. The simoom blew our
tents nearly down part of the time. Richard discovered caves, and he
spent several days excavating. We found human curios, human bones, and
skulls with hair on them, which we brought home. There is a sulphurous
river, bright as crystal, and tepid with the properties of Vichy. Water
issues from a cavernous hole in the mountain, and streams through
Palmyra. A separate spring, of the same quality, bubbles up in the sand
near it. The Damascenes send for Vichy water; why don't they get it
from here? We also found some Greek statues; one of Zenobia, life size.
Some of our men were taken with _wahteb_, a disease peculiar to Syria,
and hereditary--a sort of convulsions or hysteria. They generally get a
firstborn to tread up and down the back, but I brought them to quicker
with doses of hot brandy and water. We returned by a different route
part of the way. There is a well-known river and outwork six hours'
ride away from Palmyra, called Selamíyyah, and bearing east-south-east
of the Mount of Hamah. Here begins a high rolling ground called El
Aláh, which we come to later on. We had very bad weather, and our tents
were nearly carried away at night. We had a wild-boar hunt on the way.
We fell in with fifty Bedawi; they were not strong enough to attack us,
but we had to stick to our baggage. Our usual day in the desert (in
which we lived off and on) was as follows:--

[Sidenote: _Camp Life--Our Travelling Day--Night Camps._]

The usual travelling day is that those who had anything to do rose two
hours before starting, but those who had not got into their saddles
at dawn. Being, as one may say, head _sais_, or groom, I saw the
horses groomed, fed, watered, and saddled. Our dragomans[2] attended
to striking the tents and the baggage. We started at dawn, and rode
until the sun was unbearable; we then halted for one or two hours.
The animals were ungirthed, fed, and watered, and we had our food and
smoke, and perhaps a short sleep; after which we mounted, and rode till
near sunset. We then halted for the night. The tents were pitched. If
we were near an inhabited place Richard sat in state on his divan and
received the Chiefs with _narghíleh_ and sherbet; I saluted, and walked
off with the horses. I had drilled my people so well that they were
all drawn up in line; at one word of command, off with the bridles,
and on with the head-stalls; at another word the saddles off, the
perspiring backs rubbed with a handful of _raki_, to prevent galls,
and the horse-cloths thrown on. They were then led about to cool for
a quarter of an hour, then ridden down to water, if there was any, or
watered out of the skins if there were not, and their nose-bags put on
with _tibn_--straw chopped up as fine as mincemeat, the hay of this
country--then picketed in a ring, heels out, heads in, hobbled fore and
aft, and grooms in the middle.

I would then go back to my husband, and sit on the divan at a
respectful distance and in respectful attitude, speak little, and be
invited to have a sherbet or _narghíleh_. I then saluted, and went
to see the horses groomed for the night, and get their suppers; then
I returned to my husband's tent, supper and bed, and to-morrow _da
capo_. The baggage animals, with provisions and water, are directed to
a given place so many hours in advance by the compass. One man of our
riding-party slings on the saddle-bags, containing something to eat and
drink; another hangs a water-melon or two to his saddle, another the
skins to draw water for the horses, and another or two, nose-bags with
corn. We ride on till about eleven, and dismount at the most convenient
place, and water as we go along, if there is any. The horses' girths
are slackened, their bridles changed for halters; they drink, if
possible, and their nose-bags are filled with one measure of barley. We
eat, smoke, and sleep for one hour or two; we then ride on again till
we reach our tents.

We are supposed to find them pitched, mattresses and blankets spread,
mules and donkeys free and rolling to refresh themselves, baggage
stacked, the gypsy-pot over a good fire, and perhaps a glass of
lemonade or a cup of coffee ready for us. It does sometimes happen
that we miss our camp, that we have the ground for bed, the saddle
for pillow, and the water-melon for supper. Richard used to take
all the notes, sketches, observations, and maps, and gather all the
information. The sketches and maps were Charles Drake's business, when
with us. I acted as secretary and aide-de-camp, and had the care of
the stable and any sick or wounded men; I could also help him with the
sextant, and with some of his scientific instruments.

A short day's riding would be eight hours, a very long one would be
thirteen, and we generally stayed at any place of interest till it was
exhausted. In this way we saw all Syria, Palestine, and the Holy Land
off the beaten tracks, and through the deserts, the Haurán and wild
places included. I do not like to say too much about it, because my two
volumes of "Inner Life of Syria," which were published in 1875, and
"Unexplored Syria," written by Richard, Charley Drake, and me (2 vols.,
1872), have mostly told everything. These will be republished in the
Uniform Library.

Camping out is the most charming thing in the world, and its scenes
will always live in my memory. It is a very picturesque life, although
hard, but one gets so used to it, as quite to dislike a house. I can
never forget some of those lovely nights in the desert, as after supper
we all sat round in circles; the mules, donkeys, camels, horses, and
mares picketed about, screaming, kicking, and holloaing; the stacked
loads, the big fires, the black tents, the Turkish soldiers, the
picturesque figures in every garb, and wild and fierce-looking men in
wonderful costumes lying here and there, singing and dancing barbarous
dances (especially the sword-dance); or stories told, or Richard
reciting the "Arabian Nights," or poor Palmer chanting Arab poetry,
or Charley Drake practising magic to astonish the Mogháribehs, though
neither of these two were with us _then_. A glorious moon lights our
tripod and kettle; the jackals howl and chatter as they sniff the
savoury bones, and if you can remain breathless, it is the prettiest
thing to see them gambol in the moonlight, jumping over one another's
backs, but if one, smelling food, runs round your tent when all are
asleep, the shadow on the white canvas is so large that it frightens
you. A distant pack coming along sounds like the war-cry of the Bedawi
booming down upon you; their yell is unearthly as it sweeps by you,
passes, and dies away in the distance. I used to love the sound,
because it told me I was in camp, by far the most delightful form of
existence when the weather is not too cruel.

[Illustration: OUR DESERT-CAMP.]

Madame Omar Beg's two pets were a hyæna, which received me at the
gate, and a lynx that lay upon the divan. The first put its fore-paws
on my shoulders and smelt my cheek, and did "pouf" (like a bellows
blowing in your face) to frighten me; and the other sprang at me and
mewed and lashed its tail. For sheer fright I stood stock still and
they did nothing to me, and amused Madame Omar immensely when she came
in.

Camel-riding is very pleasant, if it is a _delúl_ with a long trot, but
a slow walk is horribly tedious, a baggage animal is bone-breaking,
and a gallop would be utter annihilation. A _shugduf_ or _takhtarawán_
shakes you till you are sore. The nicest mount is horse or mare--mare
safer; but Richard did a very wise thing--he chose _rahwáns_. They run
an American trot, and there is no more fatigue in riding them than
sitting in an armchair. You have only to sit still and let them go, and
they cover enormous spaces in the day; so he used to arrive perfectly
fresh when we were all tired out. I possessed a couple of stallions.
I was headstrong and foolish, and I would ride them, because I hated
the _rahwáns_' paces; so I took a great deal more out of myself than I
need have done, as they generally danced for a couple of hours before
they settled down to their work. However much you may love the desert
and camp life, when you have had your fill of it, I cannot tell how
refreshing it is to see the first belt of green, like something dark
lining the horizon, and to long to reach it. When you enter by degrees
under the trees, the orchards, the gardens of Damascus, you smell the
water from afar, and you hear its gurgling long before you come to the
rills and fountains; you scent and then see the fruit--the limes, figs,
citron, water-melon; you feel a madness to jump into the water, to eat
your fill of fruit, to go to sleep under the delicious shade.

[Sidenote: _Return Home after Desert._]

Such is entering Damascus. You forget the bitter wind, the scorching
sun, the blistering sand; you wonder if it is true that you are going
to have a bath, to change your clothes, to sleep in a real bed, without
having to watch against Bedawi, or if your brain is hurt by the sun, or
if your blinded eyes are seeing a mirage. Your tired, drooping horse
tells you it is true; he pricks his ears, he wants to break out into a
mild trot; done up as he is, he stops to drink at every rill, and, with
a low whinny of joy, gathers a mouthful of grass at every crop. You who
have never travelled in the desert do not know what _water_ means. I
have seen forty Bedawi race to a hole in a rock where as much rainwater
had gathered as would fill a hand-basin, fling themselves off their
horses, bend and put their lips to it, and then courteously make way
for each other. You will see people in the East sitting, in what would
appear to you a placid idiotcy of delight, by a little trickling stream
not a foot wide, with a _narghíleh_, and calling it _kayf_, which
means _dolce far niente_, or "sweet do-nothing."


OUR HOUSE.


 "Though old as history itself, thou art fresh as the breath of Spring,
 blooming as thine own rosebud, as fragrant as thine own orange flower,
 O Damascus, Pearl of the East!"

Our house in Damascus overhung the road and opposite gardens, with
projecting lattice windows, was bounded on the right by a Mosque, on
the left by a _Hammám_ (Turkish bath), and front and back by gardens.
On the other side of the road, among the apricot orchards, I had
a capital stable for twelve horses, with a good room for _saises_
(grooms), and a small garden with the river running through it. As soon
as you got out of our village there was a bit of desert sand, and a
background of tall yellow-coloured mountain, called Jebel Kaysún, or
the Camomile Mountain, and that was what our village smelt of. When you
entered our house, you came into a square courtyard, coarsely painted
in broad stripes of red, white, and blue. All around were orange,
lemon, and jessamine trees, a fountain playing in the middle, opposite
the _liwán_, a raised room with one side taken out of it, open on to
the court, spread with carpets and divans, and the niches filled with
plants. Here, on hot days, one receives and offers coffee, lemonade,
sherbet, chibouques, _narghílehs_, and cigarettes. On one side is a
dining-room, on the other a cool sitting-room; all the rest is for
servants and offices. Upstairs, six rooms run round two sides of the
courtyard; a long terrace occupies the other two sides, joining and
opening into the room at either end. There is a cool house-top with
plants, to spread mats and divans, to sit amongst the flowers under the
trees and by the Mosque-minaret, to look either towards our mountain,
or over Damascus and the gardens, and inhale the desert-air from the
other side of Damascus.

[Illustration: THE BURTONS HOUSE IN SALAHÍYYAH, DAMASCUS.
_By Sir Frederick Leighton._]

We also made a beautiful arbour in the garden opposite, which contained
chiefly roses and jessamine. By lifting up the overladen vines and
citrons, and branches of the lemon and orange trees, and supporting
them on a frame-work, so that no sun could penetrate their luxuriance;
we had a divan made under them for the cool summer evenings near the
rushing river, and many happy hours of _kayf_ we passed there. The
Mosque next door to us, seemed to be built round and clung to a huge
vine tree, which spread up and down all over it and its terrace, and
the _Muezzin's_ Minaret and my study window were cheek by jowl. The
village was charming--domes and minarets peeping out of trees,
bubbling streams, the music of the water-wheel.

[Sidenote: _Native Life._]

Whenever we were in Eastern life, whether in Syria or elsewhere,
we always made a point of being thoroughly English and European in
our Consulate; but, when _not_ obligatory, we used to live a great
deal _with_ the natives, and _as_ the natives, for the purpose of
experience. We wore European dress in Damascus and Beyrout, and we wore
native dress up the country or in the desert. It was as easy for me to
wear men's dress as my own, because it was all drapery, and does not
in the least show the figure. There is nothing but the face to tell
by, and if you tuck up your _kuffíyyah_ you show only half a face, or
only the eyes. Thus we would eat what they ate. If I went to stay with
a harem, I always went in my own clothes; but if I went to the bazar,
I frequently used to dress like a Moslemah with my face covered, and
sit in the shops in the bazar, and let my Arab maid do all the talking
lest I might be suspected, that I might hear all the gossip, and enter
something into their lives. And the women frequently took me into the
mosques in the same way, knowing who I was.

We attended _every sort_ of ceremony, whether it was a circumcision, or
a wedding, or a funeral, or a dervishes' dance, or anything that was
going on, or any religious ceremony--my husband to the Cafés and the
Mosques, the evening story-tellers' haunts; I to the charm shops, where
the _khosis_ (fortune-tellers) hang out and administer love philters
or, in short, every sort of thing, and mix with all classes, religions,
and races and tongues. My husband's friendship with Mohammedans, and
his knowledge of Arabic and Persian, the language of literature,
put him in intimate relation with the Arab tribes and all the chief
authorities, and the _only man_ who could not get on with him was the
Turkish _Wali_, or Governor-General, Rashíd Pasha.

[Sidenote: _The Arabic Library at Damascus._]

I cannot do better than copy Spyr. R. Lambros's letter describing the
Arabic Library at Damascus, which was a rich find for Richard:--

 "The library was founded by the Ommayads. The building is situate
 near the stately Djami which bears their name. It has a great stone
 vault supported upon four columns, and ornamented with mosaics. Not
 so long ago it was restored with much taste under the superintendence
 of the Governor of Syria, Achmet Hamdi Pasha, a favourite of the
 Sultan Abdul Hamid. There is no proper catalogue of this library, nor
 is it arranged. Several of the manuscripts are moth-eaten and much
 injured by damp. Still there exist in it valuable papyri, as well
 as manuscripts on parchment and paper. Among them, according to M.
 Papadopulos, a conspicuous place is due to a history of Damascus in
 nineteen large volumes. A great deal that is new is to be found in
 them regarding the City and its walls, as well as about the fine
 arts in Damascus. This codex is a jewel of Arabic literature, and an
 inexhaustible source for the whole annals of the city.

 "The collection of old Arabic papyri is rich. There are several that
 throw light on obscure periods of Arabic history and poetry, or deal
 with the general history of Arabs and their literature. 'Some of these
 papyri are as late as the fifteenth century, and may be considered,'
 says M. Papadopulos, 'as copies of various monuments in stone.' On
 papyrus rolls are to be found whole collections of poems by celebrated
 Arab authors, of whom Ibn Khaldoun is the most notable. Others contain
 decrees of the Emirs of Damascus.

 "M. Papadopulos mentions also a history on parchment of the Tartars,
 by Abulghazi Bahadur, and a history and geography of Damascus and
 Palmyra, by Abulfeda. Although M. Papadopulos gives no details
 regarding these writings, one can identify the history of Abulghazi
 as that which was discovered by Swedish officers in the captivity
 after the battle of Pultowa, 1709, and translated into German, and
 subsequently (1726) into French, and published in two volumes under
 the title of 'Histoire Généalogique des Tatars.' Regarding the work
 of Abulfeda one cannot, from the brief notice that M. Papadopulos
 supplies, come to any certain conclusion, whether it be a portion of
 the 'Annales Moslemici' or an unpublished production of the celebrated
 Mohammedan prince and polyhistor.

 "Among the other treasures of the library are a treatise of
 Abul-Hassan, the Arabian astronomer of the thirteenth century; a roll
 of Abumazar, the astronomer (_circa_ 855), on the observatories at
 Bagdad and Damascus; a medical treatise of the teacher of Avicenna,
 Abu-Sahaal; a meteorological bulletin relating to Damascus, by
 Abul-Chaiz; papyrus rolls containing the Pentateuch, the Psalter, and
 the Gospels, in Kufic characters; papyrus rolls and others, consisting
 of Plato's 'Laws,' in Arabic, the 'Organon' of Aristotle, the work
 of Hippocrates, 'De Aëre, Aquis, et Locis,' and one containing some
 portions of the 'Birds' of Aristophanes (in Arabic?), and presenting
 variants from the received text, and the Bible, in Syriac.

 "But the great prize of the library, so far as one can judge from the
 inadequate description given of it, is a Greek manuscript of the Old
 and New Testament, comprising the Epistle of Barnabas and a portion of
 the Shepherd of Hermas. As the discovery of it is highly interesting,
 I will give an exact translation of the passage referring to it.

 "'One of the most important of the so-called uncial manuscripts, which
 contain the whole of the New Testament complete, is as follows:--

 "'The manuscript is written on well-prepared parchment, and is 12½
 inches wide and 13¾ inches tall. It consists of 380½ leaves, of which
 200 contain the Old Testament (in the Septuagint version) incomplete;
 but 180 the whole of the New Testament, the Epistle of Barnabas, and
 a large portion of the Shepherd of Hermas. The manuscript is divided
 into four columns, and in each column there are fifty lines. This
 manuscript may be regarded as similar to the Codex Sinaiticus, and
 consequently is worthy of a searching inquiry and investigation. The
 discovery of this gem is due to us.'

 "Every reader will see that it is really a gem. Not only is the
 mere antiquity of the manuscript a point of importance, but also
 the fact that it contains a portion, and a considerable portion,
 of the Shepherd of Hermas, which has lately been seen in a new
 light, thanks to the researches and criticisms of scholars like
 Hilgenfeld and Harnack. It is well known that Hilgenfeld maintained
 that he had found the Greek conclusion, still missing, of Hermas,
 in a London publication of the well-known forger, Constantin
 Simonides (Nutt, 1859). This supposed conclusion was, after the
 appearance, simultaneously with Professor Hilgenfeld's conjecture,
 of the collation of the Athos Codex by Lambros, accompanied by an
 introduction by Mr. Armitage Robinson, utterly rejected by Professor
 Harnack, and declared to be a pure forgery of Simonides--an opinion
 in which I concur. Now comes the ancient manuscript from Damascus
 as a new document. Does it contain the conclusion of the Shepherd?
 Unfortunately the meagre notice supplied by M. Papadopulos neither
 throws light on this point nor affords us sufficient information, nor
 does it allow us to form any certain opinion on the whole question
 of the importance of the Damascene Codex and its similarity to the
 Sinaitic, which also contains, besides the Testament, a small portion
 of the Shepherd. I hope, however, to be soon in a position to give
 further intelligence on this important discovery.

 "SPYR. R. LAMBROS."


ENVIRONS OF DAMASCUS.


[Sidenote: _The Environs of Damascus._]

The small rides and excursions round Damascus are innumerable and
beautiful; they lead through garden and orchard with bubbling water,
under the shady fig and vine, pomegranate and walnut. You emerge on
the soft yellow sand, and you throw off your superfluous strength, by
galloping as hard as you will. There is no one to check your spirits;
the breath of the desert is liberty. There is Mizzeh, a village placed
exactly on the borders of the green and yellow; one side looks into
trees and verdure, and the other side in the bare sand. After that, you
get into the desert, and to Kataná, a village three hours away, and
Hámah. Jeramánah is a Druze village. Jobar is a Moslem village with a
synagogue, dedicated to Elijah, and is a pilgrimage for Damascus Jews,
and built over a cave, where they believe the prophet used to hide
in time of persecution. A railed-off space showed where he anointed
Hazael. When the prophet was at Horeb, "the Lord said unto him, Go,
return on thy way to the wilderness of Damascus, and when thou comest,
anoint Hazael to be King over Syria" (1 Kings xix. 15). Burzeh is a
beautiful little village almost hidden under the mountain, nestling
in verdure, and partly hidden by a cliff at the mouth of the glen.
A Moslem Wely, called Makám Ibrahím (place of Abraham), assembles
thousands of pilgrims on its festival day, where they practise the
_Da'aseh_, meaning the treading--that is, the Shaykh riding over the
prostrate bodies of the Faithful without hurting them--as at Cairo.
Josephus, or rather Nicolaus of Damascus, says, "Abraham reigned at
Damascus, being a foreigner who came with an army out of the land above
Babylon, called the land of the Chaldean, but after a long time he got
up and removed from that country, also with his people, and went into
the land of Canaan, but now the land of Judea. Now, the name of Abraham
is still famous in the country of Damascus, and there is shown a
village named from him 'the habitation of Abraham,' and Burzeh is this
village." It is still disputed whether Burzeh or Jobar is the true site
of Hobah. These rides will take you from our mountain in a semicircle
all round Damascus (at the distance of about an hour and a half from
Damascus during the whole time), which is in our centre.

The longer excursions are the Convent of Saídnaya, considered by the
Greeks to be Ptolemy's Danaba. There are also the Rock-tombs and
temples of Menin Helbon, said to be the Chalybon of the Bible, once
famed for its wine, exported to Tyre, noted by Ezekiel and Strabo,
and horrible stuff it is, if it was the same as it is now. Then there
is the village of Dhumayr, which contains a well-preserved temple,
built in A.D. 246. This is the first day's station for the Baghdad
camel-post, which Richard was responsible for. About two miles eastward
of that, and at the foot of the lowest range of Anti-Lebanon, called
Jebel el-Kaus, are the ruins of a little town and fort deserted for
centuries. The desert of Arabia stretches right away to the east and
south-east.

These are the little and middling runs. It was very pleasant for us,
as we used to get acquainted with all the Shaykhs and people for two
or three days' ride all round Damascus, and if we felt dull--which, by
the way, we never did--we could run out and pay them a visit, such as
Shaykh Sali's camp, passing El Bassúleh to Hijáneh. Lakes are marked on
the maps a day's journey from Damascus. There are four lakes supposed
to receive the Abana and Pharphar, but they are generally dry, the
rivers evaporating or disappearing in the sand. You ride across the
Ghutah plain, the Merj, and Abbs (the plains of Damascus) into the Wady
el Ajam. It is also pleasant to ride down to the coast, seventy-two
miles, and take a steamer going to Tyre, Sidon, and other coast places.

[Illustration: SALAHÍYYAH, DAMASCUS IN THE OASIS--THE DESERT BEYOND.]

[Sidenote: _How our Days were passed._]

Richard's day, as I said, was divided into reading, writing, studying,
and attending to his official work. There was one kind of duty
within the town, another without the town, to scour mountain and
desert, to ride hard, and to know everything that is going on in the
country, and _personally_, not through dragomans only. His talents
were particularly Eastern, and of a political and diplomatic kind; his
knowledge of Eastern character was as perfect as his languages. He
was as much needed out of the town as in it, and very often when they
thought he was far away, he was amongst them, and they wondered how he
knew things. I interested myself in all his pursuits, and I was a most
fortunate woman that he allowed me to be his companion, his secretary,
and his aide-de-camp. I looked after our house, servants, stables,
and animals. I did a little gardening. I helped my husband, read and
wrote, studied Arabic, received and returned visits, saw and learnt
Damascus through, till I knew it like my own pocket, looked after the
poor and sick of my village and its environs. Sometimes I galloped
over the plains, and sat in the Bedawi tents, sometime went up all the
mountains. Summer times I smoked _narghílehs_ by the waterside in a
neighbour's garden. Sometimes I went to pass two or three days with a
harem. Our lives were wild, romantic, and solemn. After sunset the only
sounds were the last call to prayer on the Minaret top, the howling of
the wild dogs, the cries of the jackals in the burial-ground outside
the village, the bubbling of the fountains, the hootings of the owls in
the garden, the soughing of the wind through the mountain gorges, and
the noise of the water-wheel in a neighbour's orchard. There was often
a free fight in the road below, to steal a mare, or to kill. We have
often gone down to take some poor wretch in, and bind up his sabre-cuts.

[Sidenote: _Our Reception Day._]

I used to have a large reception every Friday, and not only of the
Europeans, but the Authorities as well as the natives of every tongue,
race, and creed, who used to assemble in our Divan for _narghílehs_,
sherbet, and coffee. It used to begin at sunrise, and go on till
sunset. How I look back to those romantic days when the assembled
party, being afraid to remain in our quarters after the sun was down,
used to file down through the orchards and gardens to the safe shelter
of the Damascus gates at sunset, and the mattresses and cushions of
the divans were spread on the housetop, backed by the romantic Jebel
Kaysún, with a bit of desert sand between it and us, and on all the
other three sides a view over Damascus, and its surrounding oasis, and
the desert beyond!

Then the supper was prepared on the roof, and there remained with us
the two most interesting and remarkable characters of Damascus, the
two who never knew what fear meant--the famous Abd el Kadir and Lady
Ellenborough, known there as the "Hon. Jane Digby el Mezrab." Abd el
Kadir was a dark, handsome, thoroughbred-looking man, with dignified
bearing and cool self-possession. He dressed in snowy white, both
turban and burnous. Not a single ornament except his jewelled arms,
which were splendid. If you saw him on horseback you would single him
out from a million; he had the seat of a gentleman and a soldier.
He was every inch a Sultan. His mind was as beautiful as his face.
He spoke the perfection of Arabic, he was a true Moslem, and he and
Richard were both Master-Sufi. All readers will know his history. He
was the fourth son of the Algerine Marabout Abd el Kadir Mahi ed Din,
and was born in 1807. You all remember his hopeless struggles for
the independence of Algeria, his capture, his imprisonment in France
from 1847 to 1852--a treacherous act, and a tarnish to the French
Government. Lord Londonderry earnestly entreated Louis Napoleon to
set him free, which he did, going to the prison himself to let him
out, and treating him with the greatest honour. He pensioned him and
sent him to Damascus, where he was surrounded by five hundred faithful
Algerines. He divided his time into prayer, study, business, and very
little sleep. He loved the English, but he was loyal to Louis Napoleon.
When the massacre in 1860 took place, he used to sleep at his own door,
lest any poor Christian wretch should knock and petition to be saved
from slaughter, and for fear his Algerines, being Moslems, should turn
a deaf ear; and he saved many, sending guards down to the convents of
women, and to his friends.

[Sidenote: _A Most Interesting and Remarkable Woman._]

Our other friend was the Hon. Jane Digby, of the family of Lord Digby,
married to Lord Ellenborough, and divorced. She made her home in
Damascus, and eventually married a Bedawin Shaykh (Mijwal el Mezrab),
the tribe of Mezrab being a branch of the great Anazeh. She was a most
beautiful woman, though at the time I write she was sixty-one, tall,
commanding, and queen-like. She was _grande dame au bout des doigts_,
as much as if she had just left the salons of London and Paris, refined
in manner and voice, nor did she ever utter a word you could wish
unsaid. My husband said she was out and out the cleverest woman he
ever met; there was nothing she could not do. She spoke nine languages
perfectly, and could read and write in them. She painted, sculptured,
was musical. Her letters were splendid; and if on business, there
was never a word too much, nor a word too little. She had had a most
romantic, adventurous life, and she was now, one might say, Lady Hester
Stanhope's successor. She lived half the year in a romantic house
she had built for herself in Damascus, and half her life she and her
husband lived in his Bedawi tents, she like any other Bedawin woman,
but honoured and respected as the queen of her tribe, wearing one blue
garment, her beautiful hair in two long plaits down to the ground,
milking the camels, serving her husband, preparing his food, giving him
water to wash his hands and face, sitting on the floor and washing his
feet, giving him his coffee, his sherbet, his _narghílehs_, and while
he ate she stood and waited on him, and glorying in it; and when in
Damascus they led semi-European lives. She looked splendid in Oriental
dress, and if you saw her as a Moslem woman in the bazar you would have
said she was not more than thirty-four years of age. She was my most
intimate friend, and she dictated to me the whole of her biography,
beginning 15th March, 1871, and ending July 7th.

After I left a report came home that she was dead. I answered some
unpleasant remarks in the Press about her, throwing a halo over her
memory, in which I stated that I being the possessor of the biography,
no one had a right to say anything about her except myself. She
reappeared again, having only been detained in the desert by the
fighting of the tribes. Her relatives attacked her for having given
me the biography, and she, under pressure, denied it in print through
one of the missionaries, and then wrote and asked me to give it back
to her; but I replied that she should have had it with the greatest
pleasure, only having "given me the lie" in print, I was obliged for my
own sake to keep it, and she eventually died. I have got it now, but I
shall never publish it.

After this episode of my being publicly attacked about her biography,
_Chambers' Journal_, September 9th, 1876, produced the following
notice:--

 [Sidenote: _A Romantic History._]

 "Jane Elizabeth, Lady Ellenborough, if we may trust the matter-of-fact
 pages of Lodge's 'Peerage,' is the only sister of the present Lord
 Digby, being daughter of the late Admiral Sir Henry Digby, G.C.B.,
 great-grandson of the fifth Lord Digby; her mother was a daughter of
 Thomas William Coke, of Holkham, the veteran M.P. for Norfolk, and
 well-known agriculturist, afterwards created Earl of Leicester. She
 was born in April, 1807, and when little more than seventeen, was
 married to the late Lord Ellenborough (the Governor-General of India);
 but the union was dissolved by Act of Parliament in 1830.

 "The rumour of her death was effectually contradicted a few months
 later by a letter in her own handwriting, addressed to an English
 lady, who was well acquainted with her in Damascus. This lady and her
 husband had mourned old Lady Ellenborough for two or three months as
 having died in the desert, and had quite given up all hope of ever
 seeing her again, when one day she received from her a letter stating
 that she was alive and in the best of health, and asking her to
 contradict the rumour of her decease.

 'Lady Ellenborough was fortunate in the possession of at least one
 sincere friend, generously eager to defend her when attacked, and to
 make out the best case possible for her. Mrs. Isabel Burton, who had
 been intimately acquainted, and in the habit of daily intercourse
 with this extraordinary woman, during a residence of some years in
 Damascus, while her husband, Captain Burton, was the English Consul
 at that city, appears to have contracted a warm attachment for her,
 and speaks of her, in spite of all her faults, in terms of the highest
 praise. To Mrs. Burton Lady Ellenborough confided the task of writing
 her biography, and dictated it to her day by day until the task was
 accomplished. In a letter to the _Pall Mall Gazette_, written in
 March, 1873, when under the belief that Lady Ellenborough was dead,
 Mrs. Burton says, in allusion to this biography, 'She did not spare
 herself, dictating the bad with the same frankness as the good. I was
 pledged not to publish this until after her death and that of certain
 near relatives.'

 "Mrs. Burton subsequently adds, 'I cannot meddle with the past
 without infringing on the biography confided to me; but I can say a
 few words concerning her life, dating from her arrival in the East,
 as told me by herself and by those now living there; and I can add
 my testimony as to what I saw, which I believe will interest every
 one in England, from the highest downwards, and be a gratification
 to those more nearly concerned. About sixteen years ago, tired of
 Europe, Lady Ellenborough conceived the idea of visiting the East, and
 of imitating Lady Hester Stanhope and Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, not
 to mention a French lady, Mdme. de la Tour d'Auvergne, who has built
 herself a temple on the top of Mount Olivet, and lives there still.
 Lady Ellenborough arrived at Beyrout and went to Damascus, where she
 arranged to go to Baghdad across the Desert. A Bedouin escort for this
 journey was necessary; and as the Mezrab tribe occupied the ground,
 the duty of commanding the escort devolved upon Shaykh Mijwal, a
 younger brother of Shaykh Mohammed, chief of this tribe, which is a
 branch of the great Anezeh tribe. On the journey the young Shaykh fell
 in love with this beautiful woman, who possessed all the qualities
 that could fire the Arab imagination. Even two years ago she was
 more attractive than half the young girls of our time. It ended by
 his proposing to divorce his Moslem wives and to marry her; to pass
 half the year in Damascus--which to him was like what London or Paris
 would be to us--for her pleasure, and half in the Desert to lead his
 natural life. The romantic picture of becoming a Queen of the Desert
 and of the Bedouin tribes exactly suited her wild fancies, and was at
 once accepted; and she was married, in spite of all opposition made
 by her friends and the British Consulate. She was married according
 to Mohammedan law, changed her name to that of the Honourable Mrs.
 Digby El Mezrab, and was horrified when she found that she had lost
 her nationality by her marriage, and had become a Turkish subject. For
 fifteen years she lived as she died,[3] the faithful and affectionate
 wife of the Shaykh, to whom she was devotedly attached. Half the year
 was passed in a very pretty house, which she built at Damascus just
 without the gates of the City; and the other six months were passed,
 according to his nature, in the Desert in the Bedouin tents of the
 tribe.

 "'In spite of this hard life, necessitated by accommodating herself to
 his habits--for they were never apart--she never lost anything of the
 English lady, nor the softness of a woman. She was always a perfect
 lady in sentiment, voice, manners, and speech. She never said or did
 anything could wish otherwise. She kept all her husband's respect, and
 was the Mother and the Queen of his tribe. In Damascus we were only
 nineteen Europeans, but we all flocked around her with affection and
 friendship. The natives did the same. As to strangers, she received
 only those who brought a letter of introduction from a friend or
 relative; but this did not hinder every ill-conditioned passer-by from
 boasting of his intimacy with the House of Mezrab, and recounting the
 untruths which he invented, _pour se faire valoir_, or to sell his
 book or newspaper at a better profit. She understood friendship in
 its best and fullest sense, and for those who enjoyed her confidence
 it was a treat to pass the hours with her. She spoke French, Italian,
 German, Slav, Spanish, Arabic, Turkish, and Greek, as she spoke her
 native tongue. She had all the tastes of a country life, and occupied
 herself alternately with painting, sculpture, music, or with her
 garden-flowers, or poultry, or with her thoroughbred Arab mares, or
 in carrying out some improvement. She was thoroughly a connoisseur
 in each of her amusements or occupations. To the last she was fresh
 and young; beautiful, brave, refined, and delicate. She hated all
 that was false. Her heart was noble; she was charitable to the poor.
 She regularly attended the Protestant church, and often twice on
 Sundays. She fulfilled all the duties of a good Christian lady and an
 Englishwoman. She is dead. All those who knew her in her latter days
 will weep for her. She had but one fault (and who knows if it was
 hers?), washed out by fifteen years of goodness and repentance. Let
 us hide it, and shame those who seek to drag up the adventures of her
 wild youth to tarnish so good a memory. _Requiescat in pace._'

 "But Lady Ellenborough was _not_ dead. It will, of course, be obvious
 that, along with Lord Brougham, she has been privileged to read the
 obituary notice of her own career; and she is probably destined to see
 many more summers and winters in her Arab home.

 "It is evident, from the tenor of the last few sentences of the
 foregoing letter, that the 'one fault' to which the writer alludes was
 the elopement of Lady Ellenborough with Prince Schwartzenberg, and
 that Mrs. Burton entirely disbelieves in the half-dozen or more of
 apocryphal husbands intervening between Lord Ellenborough and the Arab
 sheikh. At any rate, the eccentric lady is entitled to the benefit
 of the doubt; and public curiosity respecting this extraordinary
 woman must remain unsatisfied until the period shall arrive when her
 friend and confidante, Mrs. Burton, will be at liberty to publish the
 autobiography committed to her charge.

 "It would be possible, without difficulty, to draw at once a
 parallel and a contrast between the eccentric Lady Ellenborough and
 the scarcely less eccentric niece of the younger Pitt, Lady Hester
 Stanhope, whom I have named above, and who, more than half a century
 ago, exchanged English life, habits, and sentiments, and possibly also
 to some extent her faith as well, for those of the wild and romantic
 East."

The others, besides Richard and myself, on the house roof were
frequently Charles Tyrwhitt-Drake, an indefatigable worker in the
Palestine Exploration; and E. H. Palmer, afterwards professor of Arabic
at Cambridge, and in 1882 murdered by the Bedawi in Arabia. We were
six, and I need not say how romantic those evenings were, what a halo
my memory throws around them, what conversation, what real adventures,
real life, real wit, real spirituality we enjoyed; and we often stayed
there till the moon was on the wane. The two Englishmen were living
with us, and Abd el Kadir, with an escort of his Algerines, who were
picketed in our court, would see the lady home on his road to his own
palace. Now I am the only survivor of those happy meetings.

[Illustration: THE BURTONS' HOUSE-ROOF AT DAMASCUS AND THE ADJOINING
MOSQUE-MINARET.]


RICHARD AND CHILDREN.


[Sidenote: _Richard's Love for Children._]

Richard's love for children was quite extraordinary. If there was a
child in the room, even a baby in arms, no one could get a word out of
him; but you would find him on the floor, romping with them, and they
were never afraid of him. I do not think there could possibly be a
better illustration than the very admirable and striking account given
by Salih, who was one of the missionaries in Damascus:--


 "_Burton at Damascus._


 "My first sight of Captain Burton revealed not only the man in his
 complex character, but supplied the key to the perplexing vicissitudes
 of his extraordinary career.

 "On his arrival in Damascus, Burton called at my house. My study
 adjoined the drawing-room, into which he was shown by a native
 servant. I heard him command the Arab to fetch me in harsh, peremptory
 tones, which were meant to be obeyed. The servant, not thinking that I
 was in the study, went to seek me elsewhere. I advanced, in noiseless
 Damascus slippers, to the drawing-room door, and I came upon a scene
 never to be forgotten.

 "At one side of the room stood my curly-headed, rosy-cheeked little
 boy of five, on the other side stood Burton. The two were staring at
 each other. Neither was aware of my presence. Burton had twisted
 his face into the most fiendish-like aspect. His eyes rolled, exposing
 the whites in an alarming manner. The features were drawn to one side,
 so as to make the gashes on his jaw and brow appear more ghastly. The
 two cheeks were blown out, and Burton, raising a pocket-handkerchief
 to his left cheek, struck his right with the flat of his right hand,
 thus producing an explosion, and making the pocket-handkerchief fly to
 the left as if he had shot it through his two cheeks.

 "The explosion was followed by a suppressed howl, something between
 the bark of a hyæna and a jackal. All the time Burton glared on the
 little fellow with the fiery eyes of a basilisk, and the child stood
 riveted to the floor as if spell-bound and fascinated, like a creature
 about to be devoured. Suddenly a very wonderful thing happened. The
 little boy, with a wild shout of delight, sprang into the monster's
 arms, and the black beard was instantly mingled with the fair
 curls, and Burton was planting kisses all over the flaxen pate. The
 whole pantomime was gone through as quick as lightning, and Burton,
 disentangling himself, caught sight of my Arab returning without me,
 and, instead of waiting for an explanation, hurled at him a volley
 of exasperating epithets, culled from the rich stores of spicy and
 stinging words which garnish Arabic literature. Burton had revealed
 himself to me fully before he saw me. The child's clear, keen instinct
 did not mislead it. The big, rough monster had a big child's heart
 behind the hideous grimaces. The child's unerring instinct was drawn
 by affinity to the child's heart in the man."

During our time a very interesting episode occurred at Damascus--a sad
one, too. Lord and Lady Langdale had a daughter who was married to
Count Téleki. It was not a very happy marriage. She made a journey to
Syria and Palestine with her mother, a very nice cousin, and a young
friend of his, for diversion. Like many travellers, unused to sun, hard
riding, bad water, exposure, and fatigue, she got the usual fever and
dysentery, and was brought down in a dying state to Damascus. She was
of Agnostic principles, but in her last few hours she desired to be
baptized a Catholic. I did all I could for her in the way of nursing,
and Richard as far as his power went. When she died, her desk was found
to contain a letter which had been written years before, when she had
been very much excited by reading Buckle's "History of Civilization,"
and she wrote, "Should I die at Damascus, I should like to be buried by
Buckle." It so happened that there was place for two next to Buckle,
and she was buried there--a most impressive and touching funeral. Her
coffin was covered with the Union Jack; Richard and all his dragomans
and _kawwáses_, in full uniform, were present; and some time after,
appeared the following note in a newspaper:--


 BUCKLE'S GRAVE.


 "The London correspondent of the _Manchester Guardian_ says, 'A
 traveller just arrived in London from Damascus gives some rather
 interesting details about the present condition and surroundings
 of Buckle's grave. Though it was left for so long after his death,
 without a stone even to mark it, that it had the altar-tomb of white
 marble and black basalt that was at length erected, and was now
 enclosed in a high wall with a padlocked gate. Next to Buckle's tomb
 are the tombs of two rather remarkable women. The first is that of
 the Countess Téleki (a daughter, I believe, of Lord Langdale), who
 especially desired that her grave should be next to Buckle's; and the
 next tomb is that of Lady Ellenborough, erected by her brother, Lord
 Digby, with an Arabic inscription from the Korán, placed on it by her
 later husband, the Arab sheikh, in singular proximity to the cross
 which forms part of the monument. On Buckle's tomb also, on which,
 however, there is no cross, there is an Arabic inscription, suggested
 by the famous Emir Abd el Kadir.'"


SYRIA.


[Sidenote: _Richard's Notes on our Wilder Travels._]

Each year in January we rode out with the Meccan Caravan, or Haj, as
far as Ramsah, the third station, and one year returned to Damascus
_viâ_ Izra (the Edhra of the Handbook) and the celebrated Haurán valley
plain, inspecting the chief settlements and making acquaintance with
the principal Shaykhs. Richard writes--

 "I had business at Hums (Emesa), generally written Homs, and Hamáh
 (Hamath Epiphaneia), on the northern borders of the consular district
 of Damascus. From there I examined and sent home native facsimiles of
 the four unique basaltic stones, whose characters, raised in cameo,
 apparently represent a system of local hieroglyphics peculiar to this
 part of Syria, and form the connecting link between picture-writing
 and the true syllabarium. A friend was kind enough to give me some
 valuable papers, amongst them two maps noting the most important of
 the three hundred and sixty villages, which he had traced himself by
 aid of native information. These stud the plain known as El'Aláh; the
 same number of villages are allotted to the Lejá. This plain is a
 high rolling ground beginning at Selamíyyah, the well-known ruin and
 outwork of Palmyra, six hours' ride from, and bearing east-south-east
 of the Mound of Hamáh. It extends five days' journey to the north, and
 from east to west two or three days'. Some call it the 'Great Syrian
 Desert;' but the Seleucidæ here kept their immense studs of elephants
 and horses. The whole is virgin ground, as are also the eastern slopes
 of the Jebel Kalbíyyah, on the left bank of the Orontes, and of the
 country extending from the parallel of Hums to that of Selamíyyah. In
 the first five hours we had examined five ruins; and the basaltic
 buildings are exactly those of the Giant Cities of Bashan. We returned
 to Damascus by Jebel el Hulah; saw the fine crusading castle called
 Husn el Akrád, the plain of the Nahr el Kabír, the Eleutherus river.
 Our hardships were considerable; the country was under water, and the
 rushing torrents and deep ditches caused long detours. We had heavy
 and continuous rains, furious blasts, snow and sleet like Norway.
 One of the followers sickened and died, and we were all frostbitten.
 In all my trips and peregrinations, I had business to do as well as
 pleasure.

 "Throughout Syria, when the basaltic soil runs to any depth, the
 earth is loose and treacherous, fatiguing to traverse in summer,
 and impassable in winter. In some places the water is sulphurous or
 brackish, but in most places without any unpleasant taste; it is
 strongly diuretic."


UNEXPLORED SYRIA.


Taken from Richard's journals of excursions to the Libanus with
Charley Drake and me, and once with Drake alone, the Tulúl el Safá,
the Anti-Libanus, the Northern Libanus, and the 'Aláh. We collected
eighty-one original Greek inscriptions in the Haurán mountain, and in
the 'Aláh, a collection of Alpine plants from the Libanus, shells, and
geological specimens. Charley Drake did the plans and sketches and
maps, Richard and I the writing.

Richard wrote--

 [Sidenote: _The Tulúl el Safá._]

 "The fact was we had long been tantalized by the sight of the
 forbidden Tulúl el Safá, or Hillocks of the Safá Pyramids, looking at
 the distance like baby finger-tops, dotting the eastern horizon within
 sight of our housetop, and, thinning out northwards, prolonged the
 lumpy blue wall of the Jebel Durúz Haurán, which appears to reflect
 the opposite line of the Anti-Libanus. Many also were the vague and
 marvellous reports which had reached our ears concerning a cave called
 by the few who knew it Umm Nírán, the mother of fires. The difficulty
 and danger of visiting these places arose in my time simply from the
 relations of the _Wali's_ government with the hill tribes of Bedawin,
 who, mixed up with the Druzes, infest the Trachonic countries. The
 hill tribes proper are Agaylát, the Hasan, the Shurafát, the Azámát,
 and the Masá'id. The Safá is tenanted by the Shitayá, the Ghiyás,
 and the Anjad, whilst the Lejá belongs to the Sulút, as clients of
 the Druzes. These are nine hordes intermarried, who combine together
 in the warfare of the tribes. They are the liege descendants of the
 refractory robbers of the Trachonitis, who, to revenge the death of
 their Captain Naub, rose up against the garrison of three thousand
 Idumæans stationed in their country by Herod, son of Antipater. Their
 prowess as plunderers is still famous.

 "To the scandal of every honest man, they are allowed to scour the
 plains, carry off the flocks, and harry the flocks and herds of the
 peasantry. They served as ready implements of revenge against all
 those disaffected to or disliked by the petty autocrat [Rashíd Pasha]
 who then disgraced the land by his rule. They are small and slightly
 made, with oval face, bright brown eyes, and restless roving look
 of the civilized pickpocket. The features high and well formed, the
 skin a clear olive yellow. They wear long love-locks of raven-wings'
 tint, well buttered. Their dress scanty and irregular. The action,
 like the eyes, is wild and startled; the voice is a sort of bark. When
 attacked, they put the women, children, and cattle in the rear, form
 a rude line, carefully guard against being out-flanked, and advance
 file-firing with great regularity. They attack strangers, and they
 have no sense of hospitality, and for this reason it was not really
 safe to ride alone three hours beyond the Eastern gate of Damascus.
 The Subá'a, therefore, made the plain of Damascus a battle-field, and
 the Wuld Ali levied black-mail in Cœle-Syria.

 "Dust was thrown in the eyes of the civilized world whilst the _Wali_
 employed hordes of banditti to plunder its own hapless subjects,
 whilst the satellites had the audacity to publish, 'Le désert est
 cultivé, les Bedouins sont soumis, et le brigandage anéanti.' So it
 came to pass that all the broken-down Gassanian convents had never
 to our knowledge been visited by any European traveller. Mr. Porter
 was told that a hundred horsemen would not attempt a journey to El
 Diyúrá. We received no damage, and nighted in the old temple of Ba'al,
 called Harrán el'Awámid. However, the Ghiyás found us out, advanced in
 a steady line, treated us to a shower of bullets, severely wounding
 in the leg our gallant companion and friend, Bedr Beg. As we were
 well mounted and armed, and the riding ground good, we could have
 brought down as many of them as we pleased, for we were all armed with
 six-shooters, and eight shot rifles, but, as we wanted to avoid a
 blood-feud, we did not return fire. After Rashíd Pasha was gone, the
 mystery of their attacking us was cleared up.

 "These convents are in an excellent state of preservation. What we
 have to complain of is that the spirit of clique too often succeeds
 in ignoring the real explorer, the true inventor, the most learned
 writer, and the best artist. The honour is denied to the right
 man. Party is successful against principle. The Pharisee, with his
 aggressive, vigorous, narrow-minded nature, with his hard thin
 character, all angles and stings, with his starch inflexible opinions
 upon religion, politics, science, literature, and art, with his broad
 assurance that _his_ ways are the only right ways, rules with a rod
 of iron the large herd of humanity, headed by Messrs. Feeblemind and
 Ready-to-halt. We find in our national life, when the Battle of the
 Creeds, or rather of 'Non-Credo' _versus_ 'Credo,' has been offered
 and accepted; when every railway station is hung with texts and
 strewed with tracts for the benefit of that British-public-cherished
 idol the working-class; when the South Kensington Museum offers
 professional instruction in science and art for women before they
 become mothers, suggesting that creation by law may be as reasonable
 as creation by miracle; when Secularism draws the sword against
 Denominationalism; briefly, when those who 'believe' and those who do
 not, can hardly keep hands off one another in a _mêlée_, it suggests a
 foretaste of the mystical Armageddon."

Richard and Charley Drake sketched and fixed the positions of some
fifty ruins which are fated to disappear from the face of the earth.
They took squeezes of from twenty to twenty-five Greek inscriptions,
of which six or seven have dates, and explored the Harrah, or
'Hot-Country,' the pure white blank in the best maps, and took
hydrographic charts, as they found that the guide-books and the maps
teemed with mistakes.

 "I thought," he said, "when I came here that Syria and Palestine would
 be so worn out that my occupation as an explorer was clean gone, but
 I soon found that although certain lines had been well trodden, that
 scarcely ever a traveller, and _no tourists_, have ever ridden ten
 miles off the usual ways. No one knows how many patches of unvisited
 and unvisitable country lie within a couple of days' ride of great
 cities and towns, such as Aleppo and Damascus, Hums, and Hamáh.

 "Where the maps show a virgin white patch in the heart of Jaydur, the
 classical Ituræa, students suppose that the land has been examined,
 and has been found to contain nothing of interest. The reverse is
 absolutely the case. Finally, as will presently appear, there are
 valid reasons for that same, for the unexplored spots are either too
 difficult or too dangerous for the multitude to undertake. To visit
 carefully _even_ the _beaten_ tracks in the Holy Land occupies six
 months, and none _except a resident_ can afford leisure or secure
 health for more, and the reason that these places have escaped
 European inspection is, that they do not afford provisions, or forage,
 or water; they are deadly with malarious fever, they are infested by
 the Bedawi. They do not often detain you for ransom, nor mutilate you;
 but they will spear you. They will not kill you in cold blood; that is
 only done for a _Thar_, which is the blood-feud between tribes. Still,
 under these mitigated circumstances, travellers may know that their
 escorts will turn tail, and will hardly care to expose themselves,
 their attendants, and baggage to a charge of Bedawin cavalry. Indeed,
 the running away of the escort is the traveller's safeguard. If the
 tribe could seize all, it knows that dead men are dumb, but it knows
 that the fugitives have recognized them, and that before evening the
 tale will be known through all the land.

 "There is no reverence in this ancient place for antiquity. Syria
 would _willingly_ change from ancient and Oriental to modern and
 European. The ruins of the 'Aláh are pulled to pieces to build houses
 for Hamáh. The classical buildings of Saccæa are torn down and made
 into rude hovels for the Druzes, who fled from the Anti-Libanus and
 Hermon. Syria, north of Palestine, is an old country, geographically
 and technologically and other ways, but it is absolutely new. A land
 of the past, it has a future as promising as that of Mexico or the
 Argentine Republic. The first railway that spans it will restore the
 poor old lethargic region to rich and vigorous life. 'Lazare, veni
 foras!'--it will raise this Lazarus of Eastern provinces, this Niobe
 of nations, from a neglected grave. _There is literally no limit that
 can be laid down to the mother-wit, the ambition, the intellectual
 capabilities of its sons. They are the most gifted race that I have
 as yet ever seen, and when the curse shall have left the country--not
 the bane of superstition, but the bane and plague-spot of bad rule--it
 will again rise to a position not unworthy of the days when it gave to
 the world a poetry and a system of religion still unforgotten by our
 highest civilization._

 "My object was to become acquainted with the Haurán and its Druzes,
 to see the Umm-Nírán Cave, called the 'fire cave,' of which one hears
 such extraordinary legends, and the Tulúl el Safá, which is the
 volcanic region, east of the Damascus swamps.

 "The South Pacific Coast, and Mediterranean Palestine, are two
 pendants in the world, only the East is on a much smaller scale. The
 lakes and rivers, plains and valleys, cities and settlements, storms
 and earthquakes, in fact, all the geographical, physical, and the
 meteorological, as well as the social features of the two regions,
 show a remarkable general likeness with a difference of proportion.

 "The world is weary of the past. In these regions there is hardly a
 mile without a ruin, hardly a ruin that is not interesting, and in
 some places, mile after mile and square mile after square mile of ruin
 show a luxuriance of ruin. There is not a large ruin in the country
 which does not prove, upon examination, to be the composition of ruins
 more ancient still. The mere surface of the antiquarian mine has
 only been scratched; it will be long years before the country can be
 considered explored, before even Jerusalem can be called 'recovered,'
 and the task must be undertaken by Societies, not by _individuals_.

 "Of history, of picturesque legend, of theology and mythology, of art
 and literature, as of archaeology, of palæography, of palæogeography,
 of numismatology, and all the other 'ologies and 'ographies, they have
 absolutely no visible end. If the New World be bald and tame, the
 Syrian old world is, to those _who know it well_, perhaps a little too
 fiery and exciting, paling with its fierce tints and angry flush the
 fair vision which a country has a right to contemplate in the days to
 be. There is a disease here called 'Holy Land on the Brain,' which
 makes patients babble of hanging gardens and parterres of flowers.
 The 'green sickness' attacks tourists from Europe and North America,
 especially where the sun is scarce. It attacks the Protestant with
 greater violence than the Catholic (the Catholic from long meditation
 is prepared for it). The Protestant fit is excited and emotional,
 spasmodic and hysterical, ending in a long rhapsody about himself,
 his childhood, and his mother. It spares the Levantine, as 'yellow
 Jack' does the negro. His brain is too well packed with the wretched
 intrigues and petty interest of material life to have any room for
 excitement at 'the first glimpse of Emmanuel's Land.' The sufferer
 will perhaps hire a house at Siloam, and pass his evenings in howling
 from the roof, at the torpid little town of Jebus, 'Woe! woe to thee,
 Jerusalem!' Men fall to shaking hands with one another, and exchange
 congratulations for the all-sufficient reason that the view before
 them 'embraces the plain of Esdraelon.'

 "_A long and happy life should be still before it. The ruined heaps
 show us what has been; the appliances of civilization, provided
 with railways and tramways, will offer the happiest blending of
 the ancient and the modern worlds. It will become another Egypt,
 with the advantages of a superior climate, and far nobler races
 of men._ Time was when I dreamt of the Libanus as my future _pied
 à terre_. When weary with warfare and wander, one could repose in
 peace and comfortable ease. I thought of pitching a tent for life
 on Mount Lebanon, whose _raki_ and tobacco are of the best, whose
 _Vino d'oro_ is _compared_ with the best, whose winter climate is
 like an English summer, whose views are lovely, a place at the same
 time near and far from society--it was _riant_ in the extreme;[4]
 but in the state of Syria in _my_ time, the physical mountain had no
 shade, the moral mountain no privacy, the village life would have
 been dreary and monotonous, broken only by a storm, an earthquake, a
 murder, a massacre. Such is the rule of the _Wali_ in this unfortunate
 time, when drought and famine, despotism and misrule, maddens its
 unfortunate inhabitants.

 "We now determined the forms and bearings of the Cedar Block, the true
 apex of the Libanus. We then went to the unknown and dangerous region
 called Tulúl el Safá, the Hillocks of the Safá district, a mass of
 volcanic cones lying east of the Damascus swamps called lakes. Then
 we explored the northern Anti-Libanus, a region which is innocent of
 tourists and traveller, and appears a blank of mountains upon the best
 maps. Of my fellow-traveller Charley Drake I can only say that every
 one knows his public worth. At the end of my time here came three
 tedious months of battling unsupported, against all that falsehood and
 treachery could devise; the presence of this true-hearted Englishman,
 staunch to the backbone, inflexible in the cause of right, and equally
 disdainful of threats and promises, was our greatest comfort: I can
 only speak of him with enthusiasm. Our journey to the northern slopes
 of Lebanon, and the 'Aláh or the highland of Syria, is an absolute
 gain to geography, as the road lay through a region marked on our maps
 'Great Syrian Desert,' and the basaltic remains in the extensive and
 once populous plain lying north-east and south-east of Hamah have been
 visited, sketched, and portrayed for the first time. We found lignite,
 true coal, bituminous schists and limestone, the finest bitumen or
 asphalt, mineral springs of all sorts, and ores of all kinds, and
 plants and rhubarb. And then the duty of a Consular officer in Syria
 is to scour the country, and see matters with his own eyes, and
 personally to investigate the cases which are brought before him at
 head-quarters, where everything except the truth appears.

 "After our visit to Ba'albak and the northern Libanus, we 'did' the
 southern parts of the mountain, the home of the Druzes as opposed
 to that of the Maronites; then we ascended Hermon, then we had our
 gallop to the Waters of Merom, that hideous expanse of fetid mire and
 putrefying papyrus. We paid a visit to the only Bedawin Amir in this
 region, the Amir Hasan el Fa'úr of the Benú Fadl tribe, and then we
 visited most of the romantic and hospitable Druze villages which cling
 to the southern and eastern folds of Hermon."

[Sidenote: _Our Home in the Anti-Lebanon._]

We used to spend all the summers in the Anti-Lebanon. Bludán is a
little Christian village, Greek orthodox, which clings to the Eastern
flank of the mountain overlooking the Zebedáni valley, which is well
known to travellers, because it leads from Damascus to Ba'albak. In it
we found the _official_ sources of the Barada, the river of Damascus,
but its _real_ source is a pool just behind our quarters, fed in winter
by the torrent of Jebel el Shakíf. The Bludán block is a few miles
north of the site of Abila, the highest summit of Anti-Lebanon, and
is fronted on the west by Jebel el Shakíf, or "Mountain of Cliffs,"
with gaps and gorges. Bludán lies twenty-seven miles to the north-west
across country, away from Damascus.

Ours was a large claret-case-shaped house of stone; the centre was a
large barn-like limestone hall with a deep covered verandah; a wild
waste of garden extends all round the house, a bare ridge of mountain
behind; a beautiful stream with two small waterfalls rushes through
the garden. It is five thousand feet high--an eagle's nest, commanding
an unrivalled view. The air was perfect, only hot at three p.m. for
an hour or two, and blankets at night. There was stabling for eight
horses; no windows, only wooden shutters to close at night. We see five
or six ranges of mountains, one backing the other, of which the last
looks down upon the Haurán. We can see Jebel Sannin, which does not
measure nine thousand feet above sea-level, monarch of the Lebanon, and
on the left, Hermon, king of the Anti-Lebanon. The Greek villages cling
like wasps' nests to our mountain, and Zebedáni, on the plain beneath,
contains thirty-five thousand Mohammedans.

[Illustration: THE BURTONS' HOUSE AT BLUDÁN, IN ANTI-LEBANON.
_By Charles Tyrwhitt-Drake._]

[Sidenote: _Our Day._]

The utter solitude, the wildness of the life, the absence of _luxe_,
and no society, the being thoroughly alone with Nature and one's
own thoughts, was all too refreshing; we led half-Eastern lives and
half-farmhouse life. We made our own bread, we bought butter and
milk from the Bedawi, we bought sheep or kids from passing flocks. We
woke at dawn, and after a cup of tea, we used to take the dogs, and
have long walks over the mountains with our guns.

The game were bears (very scarce), gazelles, wolves, wild boars, and
a small leopard called _nimr_, but for these we had to go far, and
watch in silence before dawn. But Richard had opinions about sport;
he only wanted to kill a beast that would kill us if we did not kill
it, and the smaller game, partridges, quails, woodcocks, hares, and
wild duck, we never shot unless we were hungry, and we would not have
the gazelles hunted. He had the greatest contempt for the Hurlingham
matches, and the battue slaughters in English parks, where, instead
of honestly walking for your game, and bringing it home to eat, the
young men of to-day have a gentle stroll to eat _pâté de foie gras_,
drink champagne, and the keeper hands them a gun with a pheasant almost
tied to the end of it to blow to pieces. And what Richard thought
about sport I heartily agreed with. The hot part of the day was spent
in reading, writing, and studying Arabic. He sent home from Bludán,
during 1870, "Vikram and the Vampire" (Hindú tales), "Paraguay," and
"Proverbia Communia Syriaca" (Royal Asiatic Society, 1871)--three works
he had been long preparing.

His three literary necessities were Shakespeare, the Bible, and Euclid,
and they were bound up together, with three large clasps, like a
breviary, and went everywhere. _His_ method of language-learning he
has described in his autobiography. He taught me this way. He made me
learn ten new words a day by heart. "When a native speaks, then say
the words after him to get his accent. Don't be English--that is, shy
or self-conscious--if you know five words, air them wherever you can;
next day you will know ten, and so on till you can speak. Don't be like
the Irishman who would not go into the water until he could swim. Then
take a very easy childish book, in the colloquial language of the day,
and translate it word for word underneath the original, and you will be
surprised how soon you find yourself unconsciously talking."

At twelve we had our first meal; in the afternoon native Shaykhs, or
English from Beyrout or Damascus, came to visit us, or rare tourists
would crawl up to see what sort of people we were, and how we lived.
They all used to say, "Well, it is glorious, but the thing is to get
here." We set up a _tir_ (shooting-place) in the garden, and used to
practise pistol or rifle shooting, or fence, or put on the _cavesson_,
and lunge the horses if they had had no exercise. When the sun became
cooler, all the poor within sixteen miles round would come to be
doctored; the hungry, the thirsty, the ragged, the sick and sorry,
filled our garden, and Richard used to settle grievances, and they all
got money or clothing, food or medicine, and sympathy. Before dinner
we used to assemble in the garden to eat a few mouthfuls of _leban_
salad and drink a liqueur glass of _raki_, which was quite necessary to
give us sufficient appetite. Divans were then spread on the housetop,
and we used to watch the moon lighting up Hermon, whilst we smoked the
after-dinner _narghíleh_. The horses were picketed out all these summer
nights, and the _saises_ slept with them. The last thing was to have
night prayers, and then to go the rounds to see that everything was
right, turn out the dogs on guard, and then to bed.

The mails came once a fortnight, and Richard would ride into Damascus
and see that all was well. Sometimes we used to give a picnic to
some of our Moslem neighbours, and we would gallop out in the plain,
and stay in the black tents of the Arabs. I used to have to ride
down to the Moslem village Zebedáni every Sunday for church. The
path was steep, and covered with rolling stones, so that the horses
used mostly to slide down, and it occupied about an hour and a half.
The most curious part was that the Shaykhs and chief Moslems always
accompanied me to Mass. The thing that astonished the Shaykhs the most,
was the small acolytes being able to read and sing in Latin, and they
constantly exclaimed, "Máshálláh!"

We were much grieved about this time to hear the sad news of poor Lord
Clarendon's death. Few amongst us that have not some happy recollection
of that kind, true heart. He belonged to a breed of gentlemen that with
one or two exceptions may be said to have died out. R.I.P. At this
juncture Mr. E. H. Palmer and Charley Drake had come back from Sinai
and the Tih Desert, and came to stay with us.

[Sidenote: _With Drake and Palmer in the Lebanon._]

We wandered about for a long time together. On a long day we might
easily zigzag forty or fifty miles, and thirty or thirty-six on a short
day. We never rode straight to a place, and always rode two horses, as
there is so much to be seen on both sides of a direct way.

Ba'albak is far more beautiful, though much smaller than Tadmor, and
can be seen without any danger. Tadmor is more romantic, picturesque,
more startling, and there is the attraction of the danger, and being in
the absolute desert. Londoners and Parisians would consider Ba'albak
in the desert, but we from Damascus do not. This was the holy place of
the old Phœnicians, and I do not know a finer sight, from a distant
height, when Ba'albak is lit up by the setting sun. The fertile plain
of the Buká'a, with its black Turcoman tents and camels, lies in the
distance. There is a big stone still lying there, which would weigh
eleven thousand tons. The Hajar el Hablah, or pregnant stone, is a huge
unfinished block. Our measurements were seventy feet long, fourteen
feet two inches high, and thirteen feet eleven inches broad. The
extraordinary sight makes you exclaim, "Something must have frightened
them before they had time to carry it off."

Riding about, you come to the Turcomans' tents, who have wandered about
Syria since the days of the Crusaders, and have preserved, like their
neighbours the _Nuwar_ (gypsies), their ancestral language and customs.
We then went to live for a short while with the Maronites, two hundred
thousand people, under the rule of their Patriarch, and we camped for
some time under the cedars of Lebanon. There are only nine of these
large and ancient trees left; the four largest are in the form of a
cross, and three smaller. There are 555 trees (newer than these nine),
all told, and they are 7368 feet above sea-level. While stopping with
his "Beatitude the Maronite Primate of Antioch, and of all the East,"
whom his flock calls "our Patriarch, our Pope, and our Sultan," we saw
for once the simplicity and sincerity of the Apostolic ages.

B'sherri, Jezzín, and Sadád produce a manly, independent race of
Christians, fond of horses and arms, with whom I am not ashamed to own
community of faith. In all my life I have never seen worse riding than
the Kasrawán; it consists of nothing but _débris_ of rock, fields,
valleys, and mountains, all of the largest jagged stones. Our horses
had to do the work of goats, and jump from one bit of rock to another,
and it lasted over twelve hours at once. We lost our camp, but after
seeing our exhausted horses groomed, fed, watered, and tethered in
a warm spot, we were glad to eat a water-melon, and sleep on our
saddle-cloths in the open. The next day was just as bad until we
reached Affka, but the scenery was glorious. We had three days of this
awful riding, which the Syrians call "Darb el Jehannum," the "road of
hell." We visited Mr. Palgrave's old quarters, a monastery of fifty or
sixty Jesuits, where Mr. Palgrave was a Jesuit for seventeen years.
Here we all got fever.

[Sidenote: _Religious Disturbances._]

Upon the 26th of August, Richard received at night, by a mounted
messenger, the two following letters from Mr. Wright, Chief Missionary
at Damascus (No. 2), and from Mr. Nasif Meshaka, Chief Dragoman of the
British Consulate (No. 1). I give them as they were written:--


 No. 1.


 "DEAR SIR,

 "The Christians in Damascus are in great alarm; most of them have left
 for Saídnayah, and others are about to leave for elsewhere. Their
 alarm was occasioned from the following facts: signs of crosses were
 made in the streets in the same way which preceded the massacre of
 1860. On the 23rd instant a certain Mohammed Rashíd, a Government
 inspector (_teftish_), being in disguise, caught a young Jew, twelve
 years old, in the service of Solomon Donemberg, a British-protected
 subject, making signs of crosses in a cabinet of a mosque at Suk
 el Jedíd. Yesterday another young Jew, in the service of Marco, a
 French Jew, was caught also. Both of these two boys were taken to the
 Government; being under age, they were at once released by order of
 Mejlis Tamiz Hukúk. It is believed that the Moslems are the authors
 of these signs, either directly or indirectly, to stop the Government
 from taking the Redíf (militia), which is managed in a very oppressive
 manner, that is, leaving many families without males to support them.
 Such kinds of Redíf prefer rather to be hanged than seeing their
 harims without support or any one to maintain them in their absence. A
 certain Nicolas Ghartous, a Protestant from Ain Shára, reported to me
 yesterday that while waiting on Mr. Anhouri, near the barracks of the
 Christian quarter, being dressed like a Druze, three soldiers of the
 same barracks came to him and said, 'Yakík el 'ijl,' a technical term
 used by the Druzes, meaning, 'Are you ready for another outbreak?'
 Ghartous replied, 'We are at your disposal.' The soldiers replied,
 'Prepare yourself, and we will reap our enemies from here to the Báb
 Sharki' (the Christian quarter), and thus they departed. Hatem Ghanem,
 a Catholic member in the Haurán, came here to recover some money due
 to him by Atta Zello of the Meydán Aghas. While claiming the money
 he was beaten, and his religion and Cross were cursed by his debtor,
 who was put in prison at the request of the Catholic Patriarchate.
 Twenty to thirty Redífs of the Meydán ran away to the Lejá'a, to take
 refuge there. The Redífs will be collected next Saturday, the 27th
 instant, some say at the Castle of Damascus, others at Khabboon and
 Mezzeh. The report is current that on that day there will be no work
 in town, and that there will be an outbreak. Although Ibraham Pasha,
 the new Governor, arrived on the 23rd instant, he will not undertake
 his duties till the return of the _Wali_. The Governor, as well as
 some Frenchmen, through M. Roustan, who is now at Jerusalem, intend to
 propose to the _Wali_ to leave Holo Pasha to continue occupying his
 present function under the present circumstances. The _Mushir_ left
 on the 19th instant. The _Wali_ is absent. The _Muffetish_, whom you
 know his inefficiency, is the Acting Governor-General. Consuls are
 absent (that is, the French and English). The presence of the high
 functionaries, and especially the Consuls, is a great comfort to the
 Christians in general."


 No. 2.


 "DEAR SIR,

 "I have just got in from Rasheiya, and before I sat down several
 Christians and one Moslem came in to ask if I knew what was coming.
 They seemed to be very much afraid; but, except that people don't act
 logically, I see no reason for fear. The fear, however, _does_ seem
 _very_ great. I know nothing. Any English of us here should be ready
 at the worst to fight our corner. Many thanks for your prompt action
 in our affairs. It is something to have

    'One firm, strong man in a blatant land,
    Who can act and who dare not lie.'

 "W. W."

It appeared that one of those eruptions of ill-feeling, which are
periodically an epidemic in Damascus, resulting from so many religions,
tongues, and races, was about to simmer into full boil between Moslem
and Christian. The outsiders are fond of stirring up both, for they
reap all the benefit. It appeared that a slaughter-day was fixed for
the 27th of August, 1870; all the Chief Authorities, by an accidental
combination of affairs, were absent as well as the Consuls. Wednesday
is the Moslem's unlucky day, and also, I believe, the 23rd; it is
thought it will be the day of the end of the world. There would be
nobody to interfere, and nobody to be made responsible. It was the
night of the 26th when he got these letters. Richard ordered the horses
to be saddled, the weapons to be cleaned. In ten minutes he told me
what his plans and arrangements were. He said, "We have never before
been in a Damascus riot, but if it takes place it will be like the
famous affair of 1860. I shall not take you into Damascus, because _I_
intend to protect Damascus, and you must protect Bludán and Zebedáni.
I shall take half the men, and I shall leave you half. You shall go
down into the plain with me to-night, and we shall shake hands like
two brothers and part; tears or any display of affection will tell the
secret to our men."

So it was done, and at six o'clock the next morning he walked into
the _mejlis_ (council chamber). He was on good terms with them all,
so he told them frankly what was going on, and said, "Which of you is
to be hanged if this is not prevented? It will cost you Syria, and
unless you take measures at once, I shall telegraph to Constantinople."
This had the desired effect. "What," they asked, "would you have us
to do?" He said, "I want you to post a guard of soldiers in every
street; order a patrol all night. I will go the rounds with Holo
Pasha. Let the soldiers be harangued in the barracks, and told that
on the slightest sign of mutiny the offenders will be sent to the
Danube (their Cayenne). Issue an order that no Jew or Christian shall
leave the house till all is quiet." All these measures were taken by
ten o'clock a.m., and continued for three days. Not a drop of blood
was shed, and the frightened Christians who had fled to the mountains
began to come back. There is no doubt that my husband saved Damascus
from a very unpleasant episode. Mr. L. Wright, Mr. Scott, and the other
missionaries, his own dragomans, and a few staunch souls who remained
quietly with him, appreciated his conduct, and he received many thanks
from those on the spot. The diligence was so much in request (nearly
all the Christians and Europeans had tried to leave) that a friend of
mine could not get a seat for three weeks; yet these people, so soon as
they sighted the Mediterranean, were brave and blatant. "Oh! _we_ were
not at all frightened; there was _no_ danger whatever!" Mr. Eldridge,
who had lived for ten years safely on the coast, and had never ventured
up to Damascus in his life, a civilian whose dislike to the smell of
powder was notorious, wrote me a pleasantly chaffing letter, hoping I
had recovered my fever and fright, and giving Richard instructions how
to behave in time of danger. When Richard had gone I climbed back to
our eyrie, which commanded the country, and collected every available
weapon and all the ammunition. The house was square, looking every way.
I put a certain number of men on each side with a gun each, a revolver,
and bowie-knife. I put two on the roof with a pair of elephant guns
carrying four-ounce balls, and took the terrace myself. I planted
the Union Jack on the flag-staff at the top of the house, turned our
bull-terriers into the garden, locked up a little Syrian maid, Khamoor
(the Moon), who was very pretty (Richard used to say her eyes were of
the owlified largeness of the book of beauty), in the safest room,
and my English maid, who was as brave as a man, was to supply us with
provisions. I knew that I could rely upon our own men, so I filled all
the empty soda-water bottles full of gunpowder, and laid fusees ready
to stick in and light, and throw amongst the crowd. I then rode down
to the American mission--the only other people near--to tell them if
there was the slightest movement to come up and shelter with me; and
then into the village of Bludán, to tell the Christians there to come
and camp in our garden; and lastly to Zebedáni, where there were a few
Christians living amongst the thirty-five thousand Moslems, and I sent
them up at once, because there would be no time for _them_ to reach me
if danger came suddenly. The others were close by. I then rode down to
the Moslem Shaykhs, and asked them what _they_ thought. They told me
there _would_ be a fight. "One half of our village will fight _with_
you and yours, the other half will destroy the Christians here and at
Bludán. They will hesitate to attack _your_ house, but if matters are
so bad as that, they shall pass over our dead bodies, and those of all
our house, before they reach _you_." And every night they came up and
picketed round the garden till my husband came back.

This lasted three days, and all subsided without accident. At this
time also there was a tremendous row between a Moslem and a Christian
woman; he tore the woman's ear down, smashed her black and blue,
bruised her, and took all her gold ornaments from her. The case of
Hassan Beg, on whose account my husband was reported, by the British
Syrian School missionaries, to be recalled _on account of my conduct_,
happened a whole year before my husband's recall. After this, when we
rode desert-wards, the tribes used in the evening to dance especially
for Richard. The men formed a squad like soldiers; they plant the right
foot in time to tom-tom music, with a heavy tread, and an exclamation
like that used by our street-menders when the crowbar comes down with a
thud upon the stones. When they are numerous it sounds like the advance
of an army, and they would burst out into song, of which the literal
translation would be--

    "Máshálláh! Máshálláh! At last we have seen a man!
    Behold our Consul in our Shaykh!
    Who dare to say 'Good morning' to us (save Allah) when he rules?
    Look at him, look at the Sitt!
    They ride the Arab horses!
    They fly before the wind!
    They fire the big guns!
    They fight with the sword!
    Let us follow them all over the earth!"
      (Chorus) "Let us follow, let us follow," etc., etc.

[Sidenote: _Holo Pasher gives us a Panther._]

We were very fond of animals, and especially of wild ones. Holo
Pasha had given us a panther cub trapped in the desert to show his
appreciation of what Richard had done. We brought him up like a cat.
He grew to be a splendid beast, and never did any of us harm, but he
frightened the other animals a little sometimes. We kept him very
well fed, in order that he might never attack them. Our cat was very
frightened of him, and the only animals that he was frightened of
were the bull-dogs. He used to sleep by our bedside. He had bold bad
black eyes, that seemed to say, "Be afraid of me." He used to hunt me
round the garden, playing hide-and-seek with me as a cat does a mouse.
When he bit too hard, I used to box his ears, when he was instantly
good. But he grew up and was large. There was a certain baker that the
bull-terriers used to bite, and the panther, who also saw in him what
we did not, worried him. At last the peasantry, who were frightened of
him, gave him poison in meat. He withered away, and nothing we could do
did him any good, and one day, when I went to look round the stables,
he put his paw up to me. I sat down on the ground, and took him in
my arms like a child. He put his head on my shoulder, and his paws
round my waist, and he died in about half an hour. Richard and I were
terribly grieved.

There are charming rides across the Anti-Lebanon through a mountain
defile to Ain el Bardi, where we found black tents and flocks feeding
by the water. There is very much to be seen in the plain of El Buká'a,
beginning at Mejdel. Anjar is a little village on a hillock standing
alone; on its top is a small gem of a temple built by Herod Agrippa in
honour of Augustus, with a very graceful broken column; below it are
the ruins of Herod's Palace, and a twenty minutes' further ride in the
plain lie the ruins of Chalcis. From the temple above named we could
see the greater part of the Buká'a, walled in at either side by the
Lebanon and the Anti-Lebanon, and dotted with seventy-two villages.
Anjar is bisected by the Litani river, falsely called the Leontes.
Having feasted our eyes, we rode on to the square ruins of Chalcis in
the plain, and to Neby Za'úr to see the tomb, and we carried off skulls
and bones. We crossed the plain, ascended the Lebanon, and when near
its summit turned to our left across a mountain called Jebel Barúk, in
the territory of El Akkúb.

[Sidenote: _The Druzes--Their Stronghold._]

A favourite ride was into the Druze country, beginning at Barúk, a
stronghold in a wild glen. They are a fine, tall, strong, and manly
race, who can ride and fight and shoot, and are fit to be our allies.
There is no cant about them; they are honest and plain-spoken, and do
not know intriguing, lying, stealing, or spying. A Druze house has
huge black rafters in the ceiling, and straight tall columns down the
middle; there is a private room for council. The women have one blue
garment, and one white veil showing one eye. They are chaste, and good
wives and mothers. They have clean, comfortable homes, and give a warm
welcome, and we rested here for some time. People often say, "What is
the real religion of the Druzes?" No one ever knew who was not a Druze;
they conform to the national religion, the Moslem. In speaking to you
or me, they would appear to have a particular leaning to our respective
faiths. They have a secret creed of their own, which, although women
are admitted to the council chamber, is as mysterious as Freemasonry.
Some Moslems pretend that they worship Eblis, and some Christians say
the bull-calf El Ijl.

On our road we came to another stronghold, like an ancient convent,
where lives Melhem Beg Ahmad, a Druze chief, a dare-devil-fine-old-man,
who, when he mounts, takes his bridle in his teeth, puts his musket to
his shoulder, and charges down a mountain that an English horse would
have to be led down. He lives in great style; he threw his cap in the
air, drank to our health a thousand times, and his sons waited on us
at dinner. Muktára hangs on a declivity in a splendid ravine in wild
mountains in the territory of Esh Shuf. The house we were going to is
like a large Italian _cascine_, nestled amidst olive groves, that are,
so to speak, the plumage of the heights. It is the Syrian palace of the
Jumblatts, the focus and centre of the Lebanon Druzes. Here reside this
princely family, headed then by a Chieftainess, the "Sitt Jumblatt."

Long before we sighted Muktára, wild horsemen, in the rich Druze dress,
came careering down, jeriding on beautiful horses, with guns and
lances, the sons and retainers of the house heading them. They were
splendidly mounted, and one of the sons had a black mare, so simply
perfect I infringed the tenth commandment. We descended into a deep
defile, and rose up again on the opposite side, the whole of which was
lined with horsemen and footmen to salute us, and the women trilled out
their joy-cry. Ascending the other side was literally like going up
stairs cut in the rock; it was a regular fastness. We rode our horses
up the flight of stairs into the court. We received the most cordial
and gracious hospitality from the _Sitt_, who had all the well-bred
ease of a European _grande dame_. Water and scented soap was brought
in carved brass ewers and basins to wash our hands, incense was waved
before us, we were sprinkled with rose-water, whilst an embroidered
gold canopy was held over us. Coffee, sherbet, and sweets were served.
The next morning the palace was filled with grey-bearded and turbaned
scribes, with their long brass inkstands, and the _Sitt_ explained
to Richard that her affairs were entirely neglected at Beyrout, and
asked him to do something for her. He explained that it was a great
embarrassment to him, as he was subordinate to Mr. Eldridge, but that,
whatever she chose to write, he would make a point of going himself to
present her wishes to Mr. Eldridge. Richard notes in his journal that
day among others, "Eldridge does nothing, and is very proud of what he
does. Consular office awfully careless; sick of dyspepsia; nothing to
do body and mind."

We sat down to a midday meal equivalent to a dinner, and then went to
the _Jeríd_ ground, where the sons and their fighting men displayed
their grace and skill. The stables are solid, and like tunnels with
light let in, containing sixty horses, all showing blood, and some
quite thoroughbred. At nightfall there was a big dinner, to which all
the retainers flocked in; there was dancing and war-songs between the
Druzes of the Lebanon and the Druzes of the Haurán, ranged on either
side of the banqueting hall; they performed a pantomime, they sang, and
recited tales of love and war far into the night.

An amusing thing was, that after the _Sitt_ had dined with us, I found
her shortly after sitting cross-legged on the floor of the kitchen,
devouring a second dinner. I said, "Ya Sitti, I thought you had eaten
your dinner with us; what are you doing?" She laughed, and said, "My
dear child, you don't suppose for an instant that I got a bit into
my mouth with those knives and forks; I was only doing pantomime for
the honour of the house. Now I am getting my _real_ dinner with my
fingers!" We were accompanied out with the same honours as those with
which we were ushered in. How sorry we were to leave! Our friendship
always lasted. We used to begin, "My dearest sister," and she used to
say all those sweet things which only Easterns can say, such as--"My
eyes sought for you many days till my head ached; when will you come to
repose them, that I may not see your empty place?"

We went on to Deir el Khammar to the palace of Bayt el Din (B'teddin),
where Franco Pasha (the best governor the Lebanon has ever known)
lived, and was restoring this ruined castle of the late terrible Amir
Beshir Sheháb, from whence the view is splendid. He had about five
hundred soldiers, and was doing enormous good. He had a band, a school,
was planting pine trees and wheat, teaching carpet-making, tailoring,
shoemaking, making roads, teaching religion and loyalty to God, to the
Sultan, with liberality and civilization. He produced an electric shock
upon us by the invisible band playing "God save the Queen." We sprang
to our feet, and in that wild place it made me cry. In this region we
met the only real _prince_ in Syria, the Emir Mulhem Rustam. We had an
immense quantity of deputations of Druze Shaykhs; those of the Haurán
were something like bears, with huge white turbans, green coat, massive
swords, some in red, and all exceedingly wild-looking. We then went to
Ali Beg of Jumblatt, at Baderhan. We passed innumerable Druze villages,
until we came to Jezzín, one of the three manly Christian villages.
Usuf Beg, their Chief, was a delightful Shaykh.

Sometimes these breakfasts on the march were very amusing, where there
were a mixture of races and religion. You would see forty intrigues
round a dish of rice. At Rasheya there was no water; here we were on
Druze ground again. From this we went to the top of Mount Hermon,
_i.e._ it has three tops, and we put a _kakú_ of stones on the highest
for a remembrance. The view is immense. We found a cave and saw a
hare. When we got to the bottom, there was hardly a shoe or a rag left
amongst us. Here we met some very charming Druze chiefs, and went with
them to Hasbeya, because Richard was convinced that the sources of
the Jordan were not as they are given in books; and he was perfectly
right. There is a slanting rock with some figs growing out of it, and
oleanders growing in luxurious clumps in the sand all around, and out
of this rock rushes a stream, which we traced to the Jordan. Near is a
mine of bitumen.

From thence to Kefayr, another Druze village, after which we rode to
Banias. Of course, there are loads of things to see all the way--caves
or temples, or what not; but, then, all those can be got in books. The
sources are supposed to be here, at Banias, and are made much of; and
all visitors go to the fountain of Jordan, the cave of Pan, the temple
of Herod and Augustus, with the three niches. The water trickles from
beneath under the stones, separating into eight or nine streams, but
they are not the real source.

We had a large escort to-day. Ali Beg Ahmadi and his cavalry, Shaykh
Ahmad, and many others, came to escort us, and we had a delicious
gallop over the plain of Ghyam, which is part of the Ard el Húleh,
through which runs the Jordan, and another portion of the same is
called the Abbs. We came to Arab tents, and drank milk with the Bedawi;
we found many of them down with fever, and stopped to doctor them with
Warburg's drops. We had to ride all day, and at last through marshy,
rushy places under a burning sun, without a breath of air.

[Sidenote: _We camp at the Waters of Merom._]

This valley of the Jordan, if drained and planted, would be immensely
rich, but it teemed now with luxurious rankness, fever, and death. We
pitched our tents under a large tree, divided from the lake by papyrus
swamps; a most unwholesome spot, where we were punished by every sort
of insect and crawling thing in creation; and we all got headache and
sore throat at once.

The Bahret el Huleh, or the Waters of Merom in Josh. xi. 5-7, anciently
called Lake Semachonitis, is a small blue triangular lake, the first
and highest of the three basins of the Jordan. We had all our escort
with us; we had scarcely any food; there was none for the horses.
We had to turn them all loose to forage for themselves, except the
stallions, and they had to be led. It was a hideous expanse of fœtid
mire and putrefying papyrus. We had a frightful night, a stifling
heat, a very blizzard of wind, rain, thunder, and lightning, and we
were camped under the only tree in the plain. It was black dark; the
ground was bad-smelling black mud; we passed the dark hours in holding
our tent-pole against the wind, and digging trenches outside to let
the water off. There were no dry clothes to be had, and the various
vermin would not let one rest. We were like that for three days; so we
piled up the trunks and sat at the top of them, and read "Lothair," by
Disraeli, which we had brought with us. The description of the great
houses of England read so funnily sitting in this black mud in the
centre of desolation, surrounded by feverish swamps.

In spite of the difficulties of moving in such weather, Richard and I
were agreed that if we stayed there any longer, we should all perhaps
get in such a state as not to be able to move at all; so we saddled our
horses, and ordering our followers and escort to strike tents, pack,
load, and follow, we mounted and waded our horses through the water,
scrambled over stones and slippery rocks, and in and out mud and slush
for two hours, often sinking deep, till we reached the mountain roots
and began to ascend.

After some hours' climbing we arrived at the seventy-two tents of the
Shaykh Hadi Abd Allah; he instantly gave us hospitality, barley for our
horses and food for ourselves. They were all yellow and sickly, and,
even at this height, dying like sheep of fever from the miasma arising
out of the plain that we had been in for three days. They had lost
many children, and double sorrow when sons. One boy was dying as we
entered. Our tents came up to us late that day with all our belongings.
Our animals and people were fed. We stayed with the tribe long enough
to doctor them all round, and to leave remedies and directions; and I
baptized the incurables and the dying children.

Then came down the Amir Hasan el Fá'ur of the Benú Fadl, or Fazli
tribe. He heard of our being in the neighbourhood, and took us off to
his camp on the summit of a mountain called Jebel Haush, a day's ride
away, where we found his three hundred tents. The whole tribe turned
out to meet us, mounted and couching their lances, and jeríded the
whole way back. The reception tent was fifty feet long, and each divan
was twenty-five feet long. The retainers cleared a space for our camp,
corn was brought, horses picketed; an excellent dinner on a large scale
in the big tent was cooked, lambs and kids roasted whole, stuffed with
pistachios and rice, bowls of _leban_, unleavened bread, honey, and
camels'-milk butter, bowls of clear sparkling water. I love to think
now of those dark, fierce men, in their gaudy flowing costumes, lying
about in different attitudes, the moon lighting up the scene; the lurid
glare of the fire on their faces, the divans and pipes, _narghílehs_
and coffee, their wild and mournful songs, their war-dances, their
story-telling; and on that particular night, and on all these sort of
nights, my husband would recite to them one or another tale out of the
"Arabian Nights"--those tales which he has now translated literally for
the London world; and I have seen the gravest and most reverend Shaykhs
rolling on the ground and screaming with delight, in spite of their
Oriental gravity, and they seemed as if they could never let my husband
go again.

[Sidenote: _Richard is stung by a Scorpion._]

I can remember that night, when he and I went to our tent and lay
down on our respective rugs, he called me over, for he was stung by a
scorpion, but when I struck a match there was nothing but a speck of
blood, as though from a black ant; so we lay down again, and he called
out, "Quick, quick! I _know_ it is a scorpion." I ran over and struck
another light, and plunged my hand into the shirt by the throat, and
the scorpion caught my finger. I drew it out and shook it off, and
killed it; but it did not sting me, being, I supposed, exhausted. I
rubbed some strong smelling-salts into the wounds, and, seeing he was
pale, ran off to the provision-basket and got a bottle of _raki_, and
made him drink it, to keep the poison from the heart, and he woke in
the morning quite well.

I now discovered that though they were treating us with this splendid
hospitality, that behind the scenes they were also dying in their tents
of fever, although they were in the purest air; so here we again stayed
to doctor, and nurse, and baptize, and leave directions and remedies.

We then went on to most of the romantic and hospitable Druze villages
which cling to the southern and eastern folds of Hermon--Mejdel Esh
Shems to Birket er Ram, or Lake Phiala,[5] a little round lake which
we found interesting enough to come back to afterwards. Mejdel is on
a declivity of a mountain defile--their favourite position--a Druze
stronghold, very fighting and turbulent, where we were received and
treated like relations. Then we got to Beyt-Jenn, where we had a mixed
Druze and Christian place. We came in for a very interesting Druze
wedding at Arneh, at the foot of Hermon, just above which rise the
sources of the Awaj, which waters El Kunayterah. We then went to a
Druze village called Rimeh, to look for a stone with an inscription,
which we found in a stable, and then to the Bukkásim, which is the
Druze frontier. Here our Druze cavalcade took an affecting leave of us.
As we rode away I could see them for three-quarters of an hour standing
on a high rock to watch us out of sight, one or two of them with their
faces buried in their mares' necks.


THE WULD ALI.


Our escort of free-lances one day, as we were riding to some of
our usual environs, soon perceived that we were making for the
desert, towards the direction where the dreaded Mohammed Dúkhi was
known to camp, and they began the well-known dodges of making their
horses curvet and prance and wheel in circles as if they had become
unmanageable, and every round became so much larger that they gradually
dropped out of sight. Presently some cast a shoe, or another had broken
a girth, and stopped to rectify it. The fact is, Richard had been
determined to make friends with the Wuld Ali tribe, of which Mohammed
Dúkhi is the Chief, and rules five thousand lances. At last we found
ourselves alone, so we rode on all that day, slept by our horses at
night in a ruined _khan_, and got in sight of the Wuld Ali encampment
late next day. Richard said to me, "Now mind, when they see us two
horsemen, they will come galloping across the sand in a body with their
lances couched; if we were to turn and run, they would spear us; but if
we sit our horses, facing them like statues on parade, just as the Life
Guards sit in their sentry-boxes at the Horse Guards at home, they will
take us in with great applause, and our horses will stand it, because
they are used to desert manners."

I said "All right," as I always did when he gave me an order, and I
was glad he put me up to it, for, sure enough, when they saw our two
dusky figures galloping from a distance across the sand towards them,
the whole tribe charged with their lances couched, and we reined in and
stood stock still, facing the charge; but as soon as they got within
a few yards, they seemed by instinct to recognize the man they were
charging. They lowered their lances, opened their ranks to enclose us,
and with one cry of "Ak-hu Sebbah!" (Brother of the Lion), jumped off
their horses, kissed our hands, galloped in with us jeriding, and held
our stirrups to alight. I need not say that we were treated with all
the true hospitality of real Bedawi life, and we remained several days
with them. My husband's object was to make peace between the Wuld Ali
and the Mezrabs. We visited the lakes which are near them, and they
were all dried up except a bit of water in the sand about the size of
a small duck-pond. "What, then," said Richard, "becomes of the Bárada
and the Awaj, the so-called ancient Abana and Pharphar?" They have been
partly drawn off, and partly evaporated before reaching their basements
at 'Utaybah and Hijánah, where we then were.

The Arabic of Damascus, _especially_ the Christian Arabic, Richard
found so grating to the ears after the pure speech of the Bedawi--and
that of the Nejd and El Hejaz.

Richard writes an account of a trip--


 [Sidenote: _Explorations of Unknown Tracts._]

 "A little later on Charley Drake and I again started to revisit the
 Tulúl el Safá,[6] and our first eight days was over the old ground.
 This trip added considerably to our scanty geographical knowledge of
 these regions off the tracks. In one week we collected some hundred
 and twenty inscriptions, and three lengthy copies of Greek hexameters
 and pentameters from the Burj, a mortuary tower at Shakkah, a ruin
 long since identified as the Saccæa of Ptolemy. We went to the top
 of Tell Shayhán, whose height is 3750 feet, which showed us that the
 Lejá, the Argob of the Hebrews and the western Trachon of the Greeks
 and Romans, is the gift of Tell Shayhán.[7] It is a lava bed, a stone
 torrent poured out by the lateral crater over the ruddy yellow clay
 and the limestone floor of the Haurán valley, high raised by the ruins
 of repeated eruptions, broken up by the action of blow-holes, and
 cracked and crevassed by contraction when cooling, by earthquakes, and
 the weathering of ages. 'The features are remarkable. It is composed
 of black basalt, which must have issued from the pores of the earth
 in a liquid state, and flowed out until the plain was almost covered.
 Before cooling its surface was agitated by some powerful agency,
 and it was afterwards shattered and rent by internal convulsions
 and vibrations' (Porter). Two whole days were spent at Kanawát, the
 ancient Canatha, a city of Og.

 "There are now hundreds of Druzes, and we may remark for the first
 time 'the beauty of Bashan,' the well-wooded and watered country. We
 then went along the Jebel Kulayb and visited the noble remains of
 Sí'a, where we met with three Palmyrene inscriptions, showing that
 the Palmyra of Ptolemy extended to the south-west far beyond the
 limits assigned to it. We then got to Sahwat el Balát, where lives my
 influential friend, Shaykh Ali el Hináwí, a Druze Akkál of the highest
 rank; and here they gathered to meet me and palaver. We crossed the
 immense rough and rugged lava beds which gloom the land. Jebel el
 Kulayb was bright with vetch, red poppy, yellow poppy, mistletoe with
 ruddy berries, hawthorn boughs, and the vivid green of the maple and
 the sumach, the dark foliage of the ilex oak scrub, and the wild
 white honeysuckle. There was cultivation; the busy Druze peasantry
 at work, the women in white and blue. The aneroid showed 5785 feet,
 the hygrometer stood at 0°, the air was colder than on the heights of
 Hermon in June, and the western horizon was obscured by the thickest
 of wool packs. Here we made two important observations. The apparently
 confused scatter of volcanic cratered hill and hillock fell into an
 organized trend of 356° to 176°, or nearly north-south. The same will
 be noticed in the Safá, and in its out-layers the Tulúl el Safá, which
 lie hard upon a meridian; thus the third or easternmost great range,
 separating the Mediterranean from the Euphrates desert, does not run
 parallel with its neighbours, the Anti-Libanus and Libanus, which are
 disposed, roughly speaking, north-east 38°, and south-west 218°.

 "The second point of importance is that El Kulayb is not the apex
 of the Jebel Durúz Haurán, though it appears to be so. To the east
 appeared a broken range, whose several heights, beginning from the
 north, were named to us. Tell Ijaynah, bearing 38°, back by the Umm
 Haurán hill, bearing 94°; the Tell of Akriba (Wetz Stein), bearing
 112° 30'; Tell Ruban, bearing 119°; and Tell Jafnah, bearing 127°
 30'. We believed that Tell Ijaynah was 6080 English feet high, and
 we thought that Jebel Durúz must be greatly changed since it was
 described by travellers and tourists.

 "Here the land, until the last hundred and fifty years, was wholly
 in the hands of the Bedawi, especially of the Wuld Ali, and the nine
 hill tribes already named. At last the Druzes, whom poverty and
 oppression drove away from their original home, the Wady Taym and the
 slopes of Libanus and Hermon, settled here. In Rashíd Pasha's reign
 seventeen mountain villages have been repeopled, and in 1886 some
 eight hundred families fled to this safe retreat; nor can we wonder at
 the exodus, because of half the settlements of the Jaydur district,
 the ancient Ituræa, eleven out of twenty-four have been within twelve
 months ruined by the usurer and the tax-gatherer, and at one time a
 hundred and twenty Druze families went in one flight from their native
 mountains to the Haurán.

 "They found here a cool, healthy, but harsh climate, a sufficiency
 of water, ready-made houses, ruins of cut stone, land awaiting
 cultivation, pasture for their flocks and herds, and, above all
 things, a rude independence under the patriarchal rule of their own
 chiefs. In short, the only peaceful, prosperous districts of Syria are
 those where home rule exists, and there is scarcely any interference
 by the authorities. It is a short-sighted and miserable management
 which drives an industrious peasantry from its hearths and homes to
 distant settlements where defence is more easy than offence.

 "This system keeps the population of the whole province to a million
 and a half, which in the days of Strabo and Josephus supported its
 ten millions and more. The European politician is not sorry to see
 the brave and sturdy Druze thrown out as a line of forts to keep the
 Arab wolf from the doors of the Damascene, but the antiquary sighs
 for the statues and architectural ornaments broken up, the inscribed
 stones used for building rude domiciles, the most valuable remnants
 of antiquity white-washed as lintels, or plastered over in the
 unclean interiors. The next generation of travellers will see no more
 'mansions of Bashan.'

 "At Shakkah (Saccæa) there are still extensive ruins and fine
 specimens of Hauránic architecture, especially the house of Shaykh
 Hasan Brahím with its coped windows and its sunken court Here we were
 received by the Druze Chief, Kabalán el Kala'áni, who behaved very
 badly to us, and when we tried to go, refused to let us unless we paid
 him forty napoleons for ten horsemen. We laughed in his face, told him
 to stop us if he dared, and sent for our horses. However, as we were
 going into a fighting country, I sent back all the people who would
 have been in the way.

 "The Druzes had been quarrelling amongst themselves; fifteen men had
 been killed, and many wounded. We had to doctor three; one had a
 shoulder-blade pierced clean through. We were joined _nolens volens_
 by ten free-lances, and escorted as far as Bir Kasam, their particular
 boundary. Finally, it appears that our visit to the 'Aláh district,
 lying east of Hamáh, has brought to light the existence of an
 architecture which, though identical with that of the Haurán, cannot
 in any way be connected with that of Og. Although only separated by
 seventy miles from the southern basaltic region, the northern has
 also its true Bashan architecture, its cyclopean walls, its private
 houses, low, massive, and simple in style, with stone roofs and doors,
 and huge gates, conspicuous for simplicity, massiveness, and rude
 strength. Moab has the same, only limestone is used instead of basalt.

 "Dumá Ruzaymah is occupied by three great houses, and the Junaynah
 hamlet is the last inhabited village of this side towards the desert.
 We now got to the Wady Jahjah, thence to El Harrah, 'the Hot or Burnt
 Land,' and to the Krá'a, which we crossed in fifty-five minutes, and
 got into or entered the Naká, _and were surprised to see a messenger
 mounted on a dromedary, going at a great pace, and evidently shunning
 us_. We had descended 3780 feet; the passage occupied two hours.

 "We then ascended into the Hazir, and from the top we had our first
 fair view of the Safá,[8] a volcanic block, with its seven main
 summits. They stood conspicuously out of the Harrah, or 'Hot Country.'
 In the far distance glittered the sunlit horizon of the Euphrates
 Desert, a mysterious tract, never yet crossed by European foot. We
 eventually arrived at the stony, black Wa'ar, a distorted and devilish
 land, and we then got to a waterless part, where our horses were
 already thirsty, and into the Ghadir, where we had been promised
 water, and it was bone dry. After long riding, we came to a ruined
 village, El Hubbayríyyah, where we found yellow water forming a green
 slime. It was again the _kattas_ which led me to the water, as in
 Somali-land. Here we spent an enjoyable fifty minutes at the water,
 refreshing ourselves and beasts; it lies 3290 feet above sea-level. We
 presently fell into the Saut on return; it was good travelling, and we
 saw old footmarks of sheep, goats, and shod horses.

 "The only sign, as we turned out of the Saut and swept down from the
 Lohf, that human foot had ever trod this inhospitable wild, was here
 and there a goat-fold, with a place for the shepherd on a commanding
 spot, or more probably a Bedawin sentinel or scout (you often see
 a solitary tribesman perched on a hilltop). The road was simply a
 goat-track, over the domes of cast-iron ovens, in endless succession.
 It was a truly maniac ride. _At the Rajm el Shalshal we again saw
 traces of our friend on the dromedary._ That day at 4.20 p.m. we were
 surprised by our advanced party springing suddenly from the mares, and
 hearing the welcome words, 'Umm Nirán!' (the mother of fire). Late as
 it was, we rejoiced, because a night march over such a country would
 have been awful. The cave is as dry as the land of Scinde, and in the
 summer sunshine the hand could not rest upon the heated surface, but
 after rain there is a drainage from the fronting basin into the cave.
 We crawled into it and entered a second tunnel, and after two hundred
 feet we came to the water, a ditch-like channel, four feet wide. The
 line then bent to the right from north-north-east to the north-east.
 Here, by plunging our heads below water and raising them further on,
 we found an oval-shaped chamber, still traversed by the water. We
 could not, however, reach the end, as shortly the rock ceiling and the
 water met. The supply was sweet, the atmosphere close and damp, the
 roof an arid fiery waste of blackest lava. The basalt ceiling of the
 cave sweated and dripped, which could not have been caused only by
 simple evaporation. The water began by a few inches till it reached
 mid-thigh. The length was a total of three hundred and forty feet; the
 altitude was 2745 feet.

 "A water scorpion was the only living thing in the cave. This curious
 tunnel reservoir is evidently natural. There are legends about a
 clansman going in with black hair, and coming out after the third day
 with white hair, and one of our lads declared he had taken an hour to
 reach the water; but we, on all fours, took three minutes. We set out
 again next day for the great red cinder-heap, known as Umm el Ma'azah,
 where we halted for observation, and then fell into the trodden way
 which leads from the Ghutah section of the Damascus plain to the
 Rubbah valley.

 "We had long and weary desert rides, seeing everything to the Bir
 Kasam. Bedawi never commit the imprudence of lingering near the well
 after they have watered their beasts, because that is the way to draw
 a _ghazú_, or raid, down upon you.

 [Sidenote: _I prevent Rashíd Pasha's Intentions taking effect._]

 "Now I have every reason to be thankful that I did not bring my wife
 on this journey, as she was not very well. In this country fever and
 dysentery seize upon you with short notice, and pass away again, and
 she, though in no danger, was not in a state for hard riding at the
 time. At Bir Kásam, a Druze greybeard, on a _rahwán_, rode up to the
 well, and took the opportunity of making me a sign: pretending to
 question him, as to the name of a mountain on the horizon, I led him
 away, and he cautiously pulled out of his pocket a medicine bottle,
 which he handed to me, from my wife. I then knew there was something
 up, and I thanked him, giving him some money, and asked him if he had
 anything to say. He said, 'If I may advise you, get rid of all your
 party. They want to go to Damascus or Dhumayr; announce that you are
 going to neither, and they will probably forsake you, as this is not
 a safe spot. I shall ride on, till out of sight, and then turn round
 and ride back to Damascus, by slow degrees, sleeping and eating on the
 road. You and your friend ride into Jebel Dákwah; but first read the
 directions about the medicine.'

 "I uncorked the bottle, saw my wife's warning in writing, and
 carefully put them in my pocket not to leave a 'spoor.' I then paid
 him still more handsomely, and told him to go back to my wife, and
 tell her it was 'all right,' and not to fear. As evening fell, they
 asked us what our intentions were. We said we were not going either
 to Damascus or Dhumayr, and, as our messenger had prophesied, they
 all disappeared in the night, to our great relief. As soon as the
 last man had disappeared, we went into the Dákwah Mountain (hid our
 horses in a cave), from the cone of which you command a view of the
 whole country, and after a few hours we saw a hundred horsemen and two
 hundred dromedary riders beating the country, looking for some one in
 the plains. At last they turned in another direction, towards some
 distant villages, and when we were consoled by not seeing a living
 thing, we descended from our perch, galloped twenty miles to Dhumayr,
 where we were well received by faithful Druzes, whose Chief was Rashíd
 el Bóstají. We were just in time. The Governor-General had mustered
 his bravos; they missed us at Umm Nirán, at the Bir Kasam, and again
 upon the _direct_ road to Dhumayr, having been put out by our _détour_
 to Dákwah. They were just a few hours too late everywhere; so, to
 revenge themselves, they plundered, in the sight of six hundred
 Turkish soldiers, the village of Suwáydah, belonging to my dragoman
 Azar, whose life they threatened, and also Abbadáh and Haraán el
 Awáníd. So we rode into Damascus, escaping by peculiar good fortune a
 hundred horsemen and two hundred dromedary riders, sent on purpose to
 murder _me_. I was never more flattered in my life, than to think that
 it would take three hundred men to kill _me_. The felon act, however,
 failed."


RASHÍD PASHA'S INTRIGUE WITH THE DRUZES--MY ACCOUNT FROM
DAMASCUS.

"I wish each man's forehead were a magic lantern of his inner self."


[Sidenote: _Rashíd's Intrigue about the Druzes._]

About this time the Druzes wrote and asked Richard to come to the
Haurán. He wished to copy Greek inscriptions and explore volcanoes.
He was not aware that the _Wali_ had a political move in the Haurán,
which he did not wish him to see. Mr. Eldridge knew it, and encouraged
him to go, as his leave would be short. Richard knew that if he went
to one man's house, he must go to everybody, therefore he asked them
all to meet him at the house of the principal Shaykh. When the _Wali_
was told by Richard that he was going, his face fell, but he suddenly
changed, and said, "Go soon, or there will be no water." Mr. Eldridge,
who never left Beyrout, and had at that time never seen Damascus, had
talked a great deal about going there; so Richard wrote and asked him
to go with him, but to that there was no answer. It was providential
that I was weak with fever and dysentery, and could not ride, so that
I was left at home. As soon as he was gone the _Wali_ wrote to me,
and accused my husband "of having made a political meeting with the
Druze Chiefs in the Haurán, thereby doing great harm to the Turkish
Government." Knowing that Richard had done nothing of the kind, I told
him so, but I saw there was a new intrigue on. The _Wali_ had only let
my husband go in order to be able to accuse him of meddling, and by Mr.
Eldridge's not answering I suspected he knew it too. An old Druze from
the Haurán came to our house, said he had seen my husband, and began to
praise him. I said, "Why, what is he doing?" He replied, "Máshálláh! we
never saw a Consul like him. He can do in one day what the _Wali-Pasha_
could not do in five years. We had a quarrel with the Bedawi, and we
carried off all their goats and sheep, and the Government was going to
attack us. Our Chiefs, when they saw the Consul (Allah be praised!),
told him the difficulty, and asked him what we ought to do. He told us
we ought to give back the goats and sheep to the Bedawi, and to make
up our quarrel, and submit to the Government, for that the war will
do us great harm. The Shaykhs have consented, and now we shall be at
peace. Máshálláh! there is nobody like him!" I now began to wonder if
the _Wali_ had intended a little campaign against the Druzes, and if
my husband had spoilt it by counselling submission. If he had intended
to reduce the Druzes of the Eastern Mountains, and if a campaign took
place in Jebel Durúz Haurán, the inhabitants would have been joined by
the fighting men of the Lebanon, Anti-Lebanon, and Hermon. The country
is eminently fitted for defence, and the Druzes, though badly armed,
are brave, and animated by the memories of past victories. In short,
the same disgraceful defeat of the Turkish Government would have taken
place as that which occurred in 1874, and which caused the _Wali_,
Mustafa Beg, and nine high officials to be dismissed.

The _Wali_ then employed somebody--who I need not name--to inform him
what day my husband was coming back. On being questioned about it, my
suspicions were aroused; I immediately gave the wrong date (it was
God's own blessing that I had for once been unable to go with him). I
got the faithful old Druze to start at once, with a pretended bottle
of medicine. I wrote, in a cipher that my husband and I composed and
understood together, the whole history of the case, and I tied it
round the cork of the bottle, covering it with leather and a bit of
oil-skin, and sent my messenger straight out to meet him. It was just
in time. He noticed with his keen desert instincts the fresh spoor of
one solitary dromedary; the rider was bound like them from Shakkah
to the north-east (where the Bedawi encamped), not for exploration,
but with a message. He divined the ill-omened foot-prints which he
saw twice in different localities, and so soon as the medicine bottle
reached him, with what Ouida would call "a quiet low laugh under his
moustache," he altered his course, and from a concealed shelter in the
rocks was able to watch the progress of a hundred horsemen and two
hundred _Redifs_--dromedary riders, two in each saddle--beating the
country and looking for some one. Now, these were not _real_ Bedawi,
but the jackals who call themselves Bedawi, who surround the Cities,
and are to be hired like bravos for any dirty work. They went off on a
false scent, and he arrived home all right. Now, the day of his arrival
I had been obliged, more or less officially, to attend a ceremony,
where the _Wali_ and Authorities and the Consuls would be present with
their wives. I was determined to go, and to put on a perfectly calm
exterior, though I felt very heart-sick, and a well-known Greek in the
_Wali's_ pay said to me, with a meaning, unpleasant smile, "I fancy
there will be important news for you in a short while." I felt very
faint inside, but I said coolly, "Oh, will there? Well, I suppose I
shall get it when it comes." Almost immediately afterwards, Richard's
Afghan walked in, and saluting said, "The Consul has returned and wants
you." The faces of the _Wali_ and his Greek were a study. I saluted
them all, went out, jumped on my horse, and rode back. Had the _Redifs_
fallen in with Richard, the verdict would have been, "Fallen a prey to
his wild and wandering habits in the desert." The _Wali_ then forged
a letter from Richard to the Druzes, and forwarded it through Mr.
Eldridge to the Foreign Office. Here it is:--


 REAL COPY (TRANSLATED) TO THE SHAYKHS OF THE RENOWNED DRUZE
 MOUNTAIN.


 "After the usual compliments we want to inform you that this time the
 wish to visit you has moved us, and to take the direction of your
 country.

 "For which reason we will leave Damascus on the Wednesday, and sleep
 at Hijaneh; the second day at Lahtah, and the third at Kanawát.

 "We therefore hope that you will meet us in the above-mentioned place,
 that we may see you."

 This is a simple general _return visit_ to the visits of the Druzes,
 not to waste time in going to each man's house, nor to make jealousies
 by singling out some and neglecting others.


 FALSE COPY (TRANSLATED) AND SENT TO ENGLAND.


 "Traduction d'une lettre addressée par le Consul Britannique, en date
 du 22 Mai, 1871 (3 Jui), aux Cheikhs Druzes Haurán.

 "'Après les compliments d'usage, _je m'empresse_ de vous informer
 que, animé du désir _de m'entretenir avec vous_, je quitterai Damas
 mercredi _pour vous rejoindre_, et que j'arriverai ce jour même à
 Hedjan, et le lendemain à Lahita, et le troisième à Finvate. Je
 nourris l'espoir que vous ne manquerez pas _tous_ de venir me
 recontrer, au dit village de Finvate, _afin de prendre part à cette
 entrevue_."

 This _adds_ all the words that are dashed, to give it a semblance of a
 secret political meaning.

Richard and I and Charley Drake made another pleasant journey exploring
the Anti-Libanus. Everybody thinks, even professional geographers, if
you speak of the Anti-Libanus, that you are going over trodden ground,
filling up details upon the broad outlines traced by other people; but
it is very far from being the case. Now the best maps only show a long
conventional caterpillar, flanked by acidulated drops, and seamed with
a cobweb of drainage. They never name a valley north-east of Zebedáni,
nor a summit, except Jebel el Halímah, which is not its name. The
northern half of the Anti-Lebanon is arid and barren, the southern is
very fertile, and it is far superior to the Lebanon. Weird, savage,
like parts of Moab, the colouring is richer, forms more picturesque,
contrasts of shape and hue are sharper, and the growth is more like
thin forest. "That ravines of singular wildness and grandeur furrow
the whole mountain side, looking in many places like huge rents," is
true of Anti-Lebanon, but not of Lebanon. The views are superior; it is
richer and more remarkable.

Some of our followers will not forget some of our day's work, for we
ascend successively every height, taking angles, laying down altitudes,
and building up _kakús_ to serve for a theodolite survey. Charley Drake
mapped and sketched whilst we wrote.

The Convent of Nabi Baruh is ruinous in the extreme, but it gave us the
idea of being the most ancient which we had seen throughout Syria and
Palestine. The reception in these wild places is always the same, if
they are not Christians, who--why, it is impossible to say--generally
receive one badly, except of course the Maronites in their stronghold,
and more especially the splendid Christians of Jezzín, Sadád, and
B'sherri, who are marked exceptions to the generality of Christians,
and who are equal, if not better than the rest.

[Sidenote: _The Manner in which we are received in Villages._]

All the Chiefs and notables meet the stranger at a distance beyond the
houses. As the two parties meet, he reins in his horse and touches
hands, snatching away his with a jerk if they attempt to kiss it,
reproachfully ejaculating "Astaghfir 'Ullah!" (I beg pardon of Allah,
_i.e._ God forbid that such a thing should happen). If you permit it
they kiss your hand, and ridicule you in their minds as a fool, who
delights in such homage as a priest, whose right it is. Guided by the
Shaykhs, each in a strict precedence as at a London dinner-party, he
rides leisurely, not hastening the pace, lest he cause his host to run;
he dismounts at the door, and the Chiefs and notables rush to hold his
horse, his stirrup, and his back under the shoulders. He must be sure
to ride into the courtyard, no matter how broken be the gate threshold,
nor how slippery the pavement, or up the steps, or they will suspect
him of not knowing how to ride. He is led to the _salamlik_, but he
will not enter till the women who have been sprinkling the floor have
made themselves scarce. He sits down, doubling his legs a little if he
cannot cross them, whilst the others form a semicircle upon humbler
rugs before him. Each salaams, and is salaamed to, as he takes his
place, squatting ceremoniously on his shins, till his visitor says,
"Khuz ráhatak" (Take your ease), suggesting a more pleasant posture.
If he fails to do this they will watch an opportunity to change seat,
but if disposed to be impertinent they will stretch out their shanks
and require a reproof. Water pipes, sherbet, lemonade, and coffee are
brought, after which the Shaykh will retire and beg you to repose.

A breakfast is served about noon of cheese, soured milk, grape syrup,
raw green onions, boiled rice, wheaten scones, and eggs fried in
clarified butter. It is vulgar for the stranger to produce his own
wine and cold meat from the saddle-bags. At sunset meat is served. A
whole kid is a prime sign of honour. During meals one of the family
stands up, holding a metal pot full of drinking water. Pipes and coffee
conclude. The correct thing is to compel the Shaykh and the Chiefs to
eat with you; the followers and retainers will eat afterwards, the
trays being removed to another part. At night there will be a _samrah_,
or palaver, in which the state of the country in general, and the
village in particular, is discussed, grievances are quoted, the usurer
and creditor complained of, the Government and Governor abused. Local
legends are told, and the traveller can gain any amount of information
if he can speak the language. They press him to stay next day, and his
excuses are received with a respectful and regretful unwillingness.

Before leaving next morning he will find out privately what he has cost
them, he will find out that his animals have been well fed, and he
will manage to slip it and something more into the hands of one of the
women or children. Before the departure the women of the family will
offer excuses for their poor fare, saying, "La tawák-hizná" (Don't be
offended with us), and he will hasten with many "Astaghfir 'Ullahs"
to express his supreme satisfaction. He mounts as ceremoniously as he
dismounted, preceded by his escort, but every now and then he reins in,
dismissing them--"Arja'ú ya Masháikh" (Return, O Shaykhs). They persist
in walking to the last house, and often much farther; they again try
to kiss his hand, which he pulls away as before, and the visit ends.
The visited then retire and debate what has caused the visit, and what
will be the best way to utilize it.

We divided and visited every section of the northernmost line of
Anti-Libanus from the Halímat el Kabú, 8257 feet above sea-level. We
enjoyed an extensive and picturesque view far superior to anything
seen in the Libanus, especially southwards. From here we might write a
chapter on what we could see. The weather being clear, we could even
see the long-balled chine of the Cedar Block of the Libanus, and its
large spots of snow, which glowed like amethysts in evening light.
We could see the apex of the Libanus, which falls into the Jurd of
Tripoli. We could see the Jebel el Huleh, which defines the haunts of
the mysterious Nusayri; the glance falls upon the Orontes Lake, upon
the rich cultivation of Hums and Hamáh, one of the gardens of Syria
upon the ridge of Salámiyyah, that outpost of ancient Tadmor, and
upon the unknown Steppe el Huleh, and the Bedawi-haunted tracts which
sweep up to the Jebel el Abyaz, whilst the castle of Aleppo bounds the
septentrional horizon. The end of this day was a remarkable one. "It
was the only occasion," said Richard, "during my travels in Syria and
Palestine that I felt thoroughly tired. My _rahwán_, though a Kurd nag,
trembled with weakness, and my wife jogged along sobbing in her saddle,
and if it had not been for the advice of Charley Drake we should have
spent the night on the mountain-side; but we did arrive. Habíb had
built a glowing fire, beds were spread, tea was brewed, and presently a
whole roast kid appeared, and restored us all in the best of humours;
and our horses, after plenty to eat and drink, and being well rubbed
down, lay down. We had had fifteen hours very hard work, not counting
the before and after the march."

We next determined to prospect the third part of the east-west section
of Anti-Libanus, including the Ba'albak crest, and then to ride up
the Cœle-Syrian valley so as to fill in the bearings of the western
wady mouths. We had forage for our beasts, water the whole way, and
we were excited by the account of inscriptions and ruins. The Wady el
Biyáras was splendid in scenery, and though our road was horrible, we
congratulated each other in not missing it, and we descended into the
Wady Atnayn.

[Sidenote: _Remarks on the Journey._]

It is very curious to observe the goats and sheep; they don't mix much,
though in the same flock. The goats prefer difficult and venturesome
places, the sheep browse in the lower lands. The goat is curious and
impudent--he goes out of the way to stare and sneeze at you; the sheep
is staid and respectable, like the "good young man." Here Richard did
nothing but quote a piece of poetry which amused him intensely--

    "In Teneriffe, for a time brief,
      I wandered all around,
    Where shady bowers and lively flowers
      Spontaneously abound.

    "Where posies rare perfume the air
      In festoons o'er your head,
    Brave sheep and cows in pastures browse
      Without remorse or dread."[9]

[Sidenote: _Kurdish Dogs._]

Some of the goatherds are rather bullying. The Kurdish dog is shaggy,
with cropped ears, large head, brindle coat, rough hair, bushy tail, as
big as a St. Bernard, and looks like a bear; but if he is a soldier's
dog, he is always civil. I took one from a Bedawi tent as a pup; he
was christened "Kasrawán," which soon became "Cuss." From his earliest
puppyhood he played watchman, and led our horses by the halter. As
he grew up he would hardly allow a native to pass along the road at
night. He wrangled with and made love to our English bull-terriers, he
appeared to be sorely oppressed with the seriousness of life, and could
never get fighting enough. A Fellah threw him some meat with a needle
in it, a favourite style of revenge of one who has been once bitten,
and does not care to be bitten again; we were obliged to put him out of
his misery, and he was honourably buried in the garden of Bludán.

We carried out all our prospected journey, gathering information,
inscriptions, and ruins everywhere, till we reached Yabrud, where the
Shaykhs gave us a picnic, to show us the Arz el Jauzah.

There is a temple known as Kasr Namrúd; the water flows through a
conduit of masonry, and is said to pass into a large underground
cistern below, round the ample stone troughs and scattered fragments
of columns. All through Syria Nimrod represents the Devil, and 'Antar
the Julius Cæsar of Western Europe. The picnic, under the shade of
this venerable building, passed off happily enough. The _kabábs_ of
kid, secured instantly after sudden death, were excellent; the sour
milk and the goat's cheese were perfection; and the Zahlah wine had
only one fault--there was only half a bottle, and we could have drank
a demijohn. We were very much struck by the similarity of plan which
connects the heathen temple with the Christian church. It was late in
the afternoon when we shook hands with our good host. It is pleasant to
think upon happy partings--we never saw them again.

On our way home we passed ruins, arched caves, and sarcophagi, whilst
a wall displays a large rude crucifix. We were received later at
Talfíta with all honours by the Shaykh el Balad Mahfúz, whose pauper
homes had been destroyed and the rest threatened by the villainous
usurers under British protection, and next day we rode into Damascus.
During this excursion, we had seen in a range of mountains, supposed
to be impracticable, four temples, of which three had been hitherto
unvisited; we had prepared for the map of Syria the names of five
great mountains; we had traced out the principal gorges, all before
absolutely unknown to geography; we had determined the disputed
altitudes of the Anti-Libanus, and we proved that it is much more
worthy of inspection than the much-vaunted Libanus.


ANOTHER TRIP, DESCRIBED BY CHARLEY DRAKE.[10]


 [Sidenote: _Excursions to Unknown Tracts._]

 "It is curious to see even what discrepancies there are in the heights
 of the Lebanon, which have been visited by scientific men. It shows
 that it must have been guess-work. There is one height which the
 goatherds know by the name of Tizmarún; but the aneroids, uncorrected
 for temperature, gave a reading of barely nine thousand feet, and this
 is the highest, though not generally acknowledged so.

 "We wonder whether England will ever look upon Syria as anything else
 than a land for tourists to amuse themselves in; whether she will
 ever see that a _pied à terre_ there, would secure her not only an
 uninterrupted passage to India, but wealth incalculable in mineral and
 agricultural produce; that both may yet be drawn from this fertile
 land, whose soil needs no manure, and whose mountains teem with ores.

 "The prettiest scenery we had seen in the Lebanon was at the head
 of a large _wady_, called El Nakrah; wild deep gorges, overhung by
 fantastic rocks, and in some places thickly wooded, are alternated by
 open grassy Alps, contrasting well with the deep rich purple of the
 basalt, and the yellow sandstone which was never far from it. When we
 got to the head of the Wady Mimnah overlooking the entrance to Hamath,
 the comparatively level tract that stretches from Tripoli to Hums,
 and divides the Lebanon from the Jebel Nusayri, we got to Akkar, to
 Kala'at el Husn and to Hums, crossing the river Orontes. When we were
 in the 'Aláh, all the Arabs agreed that it contained three hundred and
 sixty-five ruins, and that if a man travelled for a year, he might
 never sleep twice in the same village; and we quite believed it. The
 number of Bedawi who infest this region, the want of water, the loose
 basaltic soil, so tiring to horses, and want of reliable information,
 is, doubtless, the reason why this district has never been explored.

 "The Pasha of Hamáh worried us with a large escort, which meant
 piastres. The troop would have made the fortune of any theatre as a
 gang of bandits in a burlesque. There were horses of all sizes and
 colours--some had bridles, some had none--half-starved beasts, not
 able to keep up with ours; pistols that would not go off, swords that
 would not come out of the scabbards; but one of them, a short-bodied,
 long-legged fellow, was mounted, without stirrups, on a year-old colt,
 his only arm a lance sixteen feet long. He looked like a monkey, armed
 with a broomstick, riding a small dog. On the road we found several
 ruined, deserted, fortified camps. The Circassians are come into this
 part of the country, and have taken a village from the Nusayri, and
 ousted the rightful owners, and we think there will be mischief later
 on. We reached the edge of the plain, in which stands Salamíyyeh,
 whose chief, Amir Ismail, is a patriarchal old gentleman. Holo Pasha
 sent us a large escort without our asking him; but when we explained
 to them our intention of striking across the desert to Shakún, they
 declined to go, which delighted us. Going along, we found the Haddidín
 Arabs encamped all along the desert.

 "It is a curious thing to say, but there are sheep and goats where
 there is apparently nothing to eat, yet they are always fat. The soil
 is rich, but very tiring to horses, because it gives way beneath
 their weight, letting them sink in to the hock. At Shakún we found a
 quarantine for travellers from Baghdad. We were now on the ordinary
 travelling road from Hamáh to Aleppo. In these deserts the Haddidín
 go to the wells, which are a great depth, a hundred to a hundred
 and fifty feet. A horse is attached to the end of a rope, and trots
 away, bringing the leathern bucket to the surface. If the well be not
 very deep, they sometimes harness two women in it. El Háthir is in a
 marsh which has been dry for two years, and abounds in a large and
 troublesome horse-fly, whose bite is so severe that the horses were
 streaming with blood.

 "We passed through a salt-pan which becomes a lake in the winter
 months, and is a source of considerable revenue to the Government.
 Soldiers are placed here to prevent contraband trade in salt.

 "The refraction induces mirage. It seems impossible that one is not
 looking upon a pellucid and unruffled lake, in which both the houses
 of Jabúl and the outlines of an insular Tell are clearly reflected by
 the mirage.

 "Akrabeh must have been a place of importance from the extent of
 ground over which the ruins are spread. The resemblance borne by the
 mounds on which the castles are built in Hums, Hamáh, and Aleppo is
 very striking; they are quite identical, Aleppo being the largest.
 At Hamáh particularly we find monuments of greatest possible value.
 History is silent about the construction of these three sister
 castles, but we thought that the five blocks of basalt at Hamáh,
 covered with hieroglyphics in excellent preservation, may be the
 opening page of a new chapter in history."

Richard took copies and Charley Drake took squeezes of them.

At Aleppo, in the south wall of the Jam'ia el Kahan, is a block of
basalt with an inscription similar to those of Hamáh. Though much
defaced, Charley Drake made out nineteen characters identical with
the above-mentioned, and a doorstep bore the same. Charley Drake
thought that the key to these characters must be looked for in _beth_
(house), _kaf_ (hand), _gimel_ (camel), _ain_ (eye), etc., of the
Semitic alphabet. Hands, flowers, and teeth, and other unmistakable
signs occur. If Richard was right, the well-known Moabite Stone would
be modern in comparison, and we shall see these remarkable monuments
deposited in the Louvre or the St. Petersburg Museum; and, as Charley
Drake said, "there will be the usual gnashing and weeping of teeth
after it is too late." But for my own part, in 1892, I begin to doubt
that England is sufficiently interested in anything, except money, to
have the energy to gnash its teeth at all.

 "The ironwork of the gates of the castle of Aleppo is very good. The
 upper gate bears the name of Melek el Dhaher and the date 645 A.H.
 Having been officially informed that the mosques of Aleppo might not
 be visited by any Christian, we thought that something interesting
 might be found; but we managed to see them, and we did not find much,
 and the Shaykhs were only anxious to give all the information they
 could. We crossed the Nahr el Kowwáyyik, which does not run thirty
 miles to the south of Aleppo, as said in maps, but loses itself at a
 distance of two and a half hours from the City. On our road a row was
 going on between the Kurdish shepherds and the Fellahín of this place.
 The shepherds bring sheep down from Mesopotamia and Diarbekr by easy
 stages, and sell them at Aleppo and Damascus. The Fellahín envy and
 dislike these itinerant pastors. We rode seven and a half miles from
 Aleppo, arriving at Serákib.

 "If you listen, the Fellahín are always talking about money, and
 prices, and transactions. The Bedawi only delights in listening to or
 telling stories of travelling and adventure, or smokes his pipe in
 placid enjoyment, while another of them sings an endless romance to
 the stirring tones of a one-stringed fiddle. We rode on to Mo'arrat
 el No'aman, where we visited some very interesting ruins in Jebel
 el Zowi. We then went to Jirjinnáz, as we found we could make it a
 head-quarter, and visit all the ruined cities within reach and then
 move on to Temányeh. The natural features and ruins of the 'Aláh are
 nearly all alike--a rolling plateau varying from thirteen hundred feet
 at the north-eastern, to sixteen hundred feet at the south-western
 above sea-level.

 "From Damascus to Aleppo, one only meets with a few favoured villages
 whose supply of water is just sufficient to irrigate a patch of land
 and a few trees. The first ruin in the 'Aláh was Abu Mekkeh, and it
 was exactly like the uninhabited cities of the Haurán and the Lej.
 The ruins of Surr 'Aman are a mere collection of rude shelters
 piled up with old materials. The ruins of Tarútín el Tujjar are the
 most important in the 'Aláh. The village of Harráken was repeopled
 by Fellahín four years ago. Happily they have not the organ of
 destructiveness, as have their brethren in Palestine, and what was
 broken was accidental, and not wilful damage, like in the Haurán. At
 Burj el Abiadh ruins of considerable extent surround the white tower
 after which it is named. At Kufayr we found a ruined tower two stories
 high. The tower and ruins at El Fárajeh are of the usual type, but
 more solid. Nearly all the ruins bear crosses, Greek or Latin. At El
 Ikhwayn there is good water, but at Temányeh the villagers have to
 go a mile distant, to a hill with a well at the top. We then went
 to Atshán, passing the mounds and pillars which mark the site of
 S'kayk el Rubyíet. We next visited El Ma'an, which has the largest
 guard-house in the 'Aláh, built by Justinian. Of the ruins of Duwaylíb
 little has been left; the stones have been carried off for building
 purposes. We got water for our thirsty horses at the shallow well of
 Arúneh, beside which and around were encamped the Bedawi Mowáyleh. We
 rode through the ruins of Kefr-Ráa, and then descended into the valley
 of Orontes to Hamáh.

 "There is a pyramidal-roofed tomb at El Barah. The roofs of these
 curious sepulchral monuments are built of massive stones, open
 inside up to the apex. One rock-hewn cave contains six loculi, five
 and a quarter feet long, by three and a quarter feet deep, and two
 and a quarter feet wide, with semicircular arches above them. On
 one of the rounded pillars we remarked that two crosses had been
 obliterated. A round-about road took us to Kefr Omar, where we saw
 a ruined monumental column built with circular stones upon a square
 base. We then went to Hass, where there was every kind of style of
 tomb--a square tower supporting a pyramidal roof, and all kinds of
 other shapes. The number of ruined villages in this district is
 surprising. During the day's ride you could count from six to eight
 with not a mile between them. Near Mo'arrat el No'aman is a castle
 similar to that near Salamíyyeh. At Danah there are very extensive
 ruins, and one building called the 'Church' resembles that near Hass.
 The stones used in these buildings are commonly six feet long, by two
 wide, and two deep. Here the Shaykh told us that twenty years ago a
 tomb had been opened, and a small gold image, a sword, a dagger, and
 some glass and pottery vessels had been found. There were one or two
 tombs in imitation of rock-hewn sepulchres. We felt certain that the
 ruined cities of Jebel el Zowi would amply repay any one with time
 and opportunity to make excavations. We then went to examine the
 Hums Lake, whose position, considering the rapid fall of the Orontes
 Valley, had always been a puzzle.

 "We eventually came to a dam of masonry five hundred yards in length,
 and twenty feet high in the centre, built across the northern end
 of the lake. A small square tower stands at the west of it, and the
 water leaks through it in several places, but the dam looks as if it
 would last many centuries. The lake is now four or five feet lower
 than in winter, yet the surface of the water is about twelve feet
 higher than the river at the base of the dam, and many feet higher
 than the housetops of Saddi. Were the barrage ever to give way the
 destruction to life and property down the valley of the Orontes would
 be terrible. The ruins of Wajh el Haja afforded little of interest.
 We passed through many villages till we came to Tell Nebi Mand, a
 conspicuous mound. The native Moslems think that this prophet was
 related to the patriarch Joseph, but the Shaykh assured Richard that
 the tomb was that of Benjamin. The place marks the site of the ancient
 Laodicea and Libanum. At the south-east end of the lake is a large
 building standing at the water's edge, called Kasr Sitt Belkis ('Queen
 Belkis' Castle'), and near (_i.e._ about two miles distance) is an old
 entrenched camp some four hundred yards square, called Tell S'finet
 Núh, or 'the Mound of Noah's Ark.' It was probably a Roman post of
 observation to guard the entrance of the Buká'a. From Tell Nebi Mand
 we rode back to Damascus."


"FAIS CE QUE DOIS, ADVIENNE QUE POURRA."


    "Caused by the moon's veering orb, what tumult and strife I see!
    Wherever I view the earth, iniquity rife I see.
    Daughters of turbulent mind, awaking their mother's ire,
    And sons who of froward mood wish ill of their sire, I see.
    Sherbets of sugar and rose the world to the fool supplies;
    But nought save his heart's blood the food of the wise I see.
    Galled by the pack-saddle's weight, the Arab's proud steed grows old;
    Yet always the ass's neck encircled with gold I see.
                      Master, go forth and do good;
                        The counsel of Háfiz prize;
                      Far better than treasured pearl
                        This counsel so wise--
                                          I see."
                ----_Ode composed when Persia was invaded by Taimur._

Unofficially speaking of official things, we had rather a lively time,
in an unpleasant sense, during these summer months. I always say "we,"
because I enter so much into my husband's pursuits, and am so very
proud of being allowed to help him, that I sometimes forget that I am
only as the bellows-blower to the organist. However, I do not think
that anybody will owe me a grudge for it.


No. 1.


[Sidenote: _Troubles from a Self-appointed Zealot._]

The first shadow upon our happy life was in 1870-71. An amateur
missionary, residing at Beyrout, came up to Damascus, visited the
prisons, and distributed tracts to the Mohammedans. It was the
intention of the Governor to collect these prints, and to make a
bonfire of them in the market-place. Damascus was in a bad temper for
such proselytizing. It was an excitable year, and it was necessary to
put a stop to proceedings which, though well meant, could not fail to
endanger the safety of the Christian population. The tract-distributor
was a kind, humane, sincere, and charitable man, and we were both
very sorry that he had to be cautioned. He had an enthusiasm in his
religious views which made him dangerous outside a Christian town. At
Beyrout he was well known, but at Damascus he was not, and the people
would have resented his standing on bales in the street haranguing the
Turks against Mohammed. I believe this gentleman would have gloried in
martyrdom; but some of us, not so good as he is, did not aspire to it.
His _entourage_, also, was not so humble or so kind as himself.

Richard was obliged to give the caution, to do his duty to his large
district, thereby incurring at Beyrout most un-Christian hatreds,
unscrupulously gratified. Richard, with the high, chivalrous sense of
honour which guided all his actions, redoubled his unceasing endeavours
to promote the interest and business of these persons, amidst the
hailstorm of petty spites and insults--which justice and greatness
of mind on his part they themselves were obliged _eventually_ to
acknowledge, however reluctantly. We were decidedly destined to stumble
upon unfortunate circumstances. Since that, a gentleman told off to
convert the Jews in one of Richard's jurisdictions, insisted on getting
a ladder and a hammer, and demolishing a large statue of St. Joseph in
a public place of a Catholic country, because he said it was "a graven
image." Why are the English so careless in their choice? and why have
other foreign Consuls no _désagrémens_ on this head?

Richard writes--


No. 2.


 "The Druzes applied early in 1870 for an English school. They
 are our allies, and we were on friendly terms with them. As two
 missionaries wished to travel amongst them, I gave them the necessary
 introductions. They were cordially received and hospitably entertained
 by the Shaykhs, but on their road home they were treacherously
 followed by two _mauvais sujets_ and attacked; they were thrown off
 their horses, their lives were threatened, and their property was
 plundered.

 "Such a breach of hospitality and violation of good faith required
 prompt notice: firstly, to secure safety to future travellers; and,
 secondly, to maintain the good feelings which have ever subsisted
 between the Druzes and the English. To pass over such an act of
 treachery would be courting their contempt. I at once demanded that
 the offenders might be punished by the Druze chiefs themselves, and
 twenty napoleons, the worth of the stolen goods, were claimed by me
 for the missionaries. The Druzes went down to Beyrout to try to pit
 Consulate-General against Consulate, and refused to pay the claim. I
 then applied for their punishment to the Turkish authorities, knowing
 that the Druzes would at once accede to my first demand--a proceeding
 approved of by her Majesty's Ambassador at Constantinople. After three
 months the Shaykh el Akkál, head religious chief, brought down the
 offenders, who were recognized by the missionaries. They confessed
 their guilt, and the Shaykh, who was staying as a guest in our house,
 assured me [Richard] that I was perfectly right in acting as I had
 done, and that every Druze was heartily ashamed of the conduct of
 these two men."


No. 3.



 [Sidenote: _Usurers very troublesome._]

 "In June, 1870, I prepared a despatch for our Ambassador at
 Constantinople, on the system of defrauding the poor and of 'running'
 villages by the Damascus Jewish money-lenders.

 "I will now try to explain how these matters stood.

 "In former days, when not a few Europeans were open to certain
 arrangements which made them take the highest interest in the business
 transactions of their clients, a radically bad system, happily now
 almost extinct, was introduced into Syria. The European subject, or
 _protégé_, instead of engaging in honest commerce, was thus encouraged
 to seek inordinate and usurious profits by sales of the Government
 and by loans to the villagers. In such cases he, of course, relied
 entirely upon the protection of a foreign Power, on account of the
 sums to be expended in feeing native functionaries before repayment
 could be expected. Thus the Consuls became, as it were, _huissiers_,
 or bailiffs, whose principal duties were to collect the bad debts of
 those who had foreign passports.

 "Damascus contained a total of forty-eight adult males protected by
 H.B.M.'s Consulate, and of these there were a triumvirate of Shylocks.
 Most of them are Jews who were admitted to, or whose fathers acquired,
 a foreign nationality, given with the benevolent object of saving them
 from Moslem cruelty and oppression in days gone by. These _protégés_
 have extended what was granted for the preservation of their lives,
 liberties, and property, to transactions which rest entirely for
 success upon British protection. The case of No. 1, whom we will call
 Judas, is a fair example. He has few dealings in the city, the licit
 field of action. But since the death of his highly respectable father,
 in 1854, he had been allowing bills signed by the ignorant peasantry
 of the province to accumulate at simple and compound interest, till
 the liabilities of the villagers have become greater than the value
 of the whole village. A----, for instance, on the eastern skirt of
 Mount Hermon, owed him 106,000 piastres, which were originally
 42,000. He claims 5000 purses from the B---- family, upon a total
 debt of 242,000½ piastres, in 1857. We have not yet passed through a
 single settlement where his debtors did not complain loudly of his
 proceedings; and to A--- may be added C----, ----, and D---- el X----,
 a stronghold of the Druzes. Some villages have been partly depopulated
 by his vexations, and the injury done to the Druzes by thus driving
 them from the Anti-Lebanon to the Haurán, may presently be severely
 visited upon the Ottoman authorities.

 "The British _protégé_ is compelled every year, in his quality of
 _shúbasi_ (farmer of revenue), to summon the village Shaykhs and
 peasantry, to imprison them, and to leave them lying in jail till
 he can squeeze from them as much as possible, and to injure them by
 quartering _hawali_, or policemen, who plunder whatever they can.
 He long occupied the whole attention, though it had other and more
 important duties, of the Village Commission (_Kumision Mahasibat el
 Kura_), established in A.H. 1280 (1863). For about a year a special
 commission (_Kumision Makhsus_) had at that time, 1870, been sitting
 on his case, whose intricacies, complicated by his unwillingness to
 settle anything, wearied out all the members. At different times he
 quarrelled with every person in the Court--from the _defterdar_, who
 is its President, to the Consular Dragomans, who composed it. Even
 felony was freely imputed to him by various persons. He was accused
 of bribing the Government _khatibs_ (secretaries) to introduce into
 documents sentences of doubtful import, upon which he can found claims
 for increased and exorbitant interest, of adding lines to receipts
 and other instruments after they have been signed, and of using false
 seals, made at home by his own servants. One of the latter publicly
 denounced him, but was, as usual, paid to keep silence. He is reported
 again and again to have refused, in order that the peasants might
 remain upon his books, the ready moneys offered to him for the final
 settlement of village liabilities. His good management had baffled all
 efforts at detection, whilst every one was morally certain that the
 charges were founded on fact. He corrupts, or attempts to corrupt, all
 those with whom he has dealings.

 "I wanted to inform them that British protection extends to preserving
 their persons and property from all injustice and violence, but that
 it would not assist them to recover debts from the Ottoman Government,
 or from the villages of the province, and that it would not abet them
 in imprisoning or in distraining the latter. To such general rule,
 of course, exceptions would be admissible, at the discretion of the
 officer in charge of H.B.M.'s Consulate; in cases, for instance, when
 just and honest claims might be rejected, or their payment unduly
 delayed. The sole inconvenience which would arise to such creditors
 from their altered positions would be the necessity of feeing the
 Serai more heavily; and even they openly communicated with the local
 authorities, reserving the Consulate as a forlorn hope. The change
 might possibly have directed their attention to a more legitimate
 commercial career. Such a measure would have been exceedingly popular
 throughout the country, and would have relieved us from the suspicion
 of interested motives--a suspicion which must exist where honesty
 and honour, in an English understanding of these words, are almost
 unknown; and from the odium which attaches to the official instruments
 of oppression. Finally, the corruption of Damascus rendered me the
 more jealous of the good name of the Consulate, and the more desirous
 of personal immunity from certain reports which, at different times,
 have been spread about _others_ in office. I therefore posted on the
 door of H.M.'s Consulate, Damascus, the following notice:--

 "'Her Britannic Majesty's Consul hereby warns British subjects and
 _protégés_ that he will not assist them to recover debts from the
 Government or from the people of Syria, unless the debts are such as
 between British subjects could be recovered through H.M.'s Consular
 Courts. Before purchasing the claims, public or private, of an Ottoman
 subject--and especially where Government paper is in question--the
 _protégé_ should, if official interference be likely to be required,
 at once report the whole transaction to this Consulate. British
 subjects and protected persons are hereby duly warned that protection
 extends to life, liberty, and property, in cases where these are
 threatened by violence or by injustice; but that it will not interfere
 in speculations which, if undertaken by Syrian subjects of the Porte,
 could not be expected to prove remunerative. British subjects and
 protected persons must not expect the official interference of the
 Consulate in cases where they prefer (as of late has often happened
 at Damascus) to urge their claims upon the local authorities without
 referring to this Consulate, and altogether ignoring the jurisdiction
 of H.B.M.'s Consul. Finally, H.B.M.'s Consul feels himself bound to
 protest strongly against the system adopted by British subjects and
 protected persons at Damascus, who habitually induce the Ottoman
 authorities to imprison peasants and pauper debtors, either for simple
 debt, or upon charges which have not been previously produced for
 examination at this Consulate. The prisons will be visited once a
 week. An official application will be made for the delivery of all
 such persons.

 "'(Signed) R. F. BURTON,

 "'H.B.M.'s Consul, Damascus.

 "'Damascus, June 20th, 1870.'"

[Sidenote: _A Jehád threatened._]

I have already related how, on August 26th, Richard received a letter
from the Rev. W. Wright, and likewise one from the Chief Consular
Dragoman, Mr. Nasif Meshaka, which induced him to ride at once to
Damascus (from Bludán, the summer quarter); how he found that half the
Christians had fled, and everything was ripe for a new massacre; how he
sought the authorities, and informed them of their danger; induced them
to have night patrols, to put guards in the streets, to prevent Jews
or Christians leaving their houses, and to take all measures needful
to convince the conspirators that they would not find every one
sleeping as they did in 1860. The _Wali_ and all the Chief responsible
Authorities were absent. The excitement subsided under the measures
recommended by him, and in three days all was quiet, and the Christians
returned to their homes.

I affirm that, living in safety upon the sea-coast, no man can be a
judge of the other side of the Lebanon, nor, if he does not know some
Eastern language, can he be a judge of Orientals and their proceedings.
Certain Jewish usurers had been accused of exciting these massacres,
because their lives were perfectly safe, and they profited of the
horrors to buy up property at a nominal price. It was brought to
Richard's notice that two Jewish boys, servants to British-protected
subjects, were giving the well-understood signal by drawing crosses on
the walls. Its meaning to him was clear. He promptly investigated it,
and took away the British protection of the masters temporarily, merely
reproving the boys, who had acted under orders. He did not take upon
himself to punish them. Certain ill-advised Israelitish money-lenders
fancied it was a good opportunity to overthrow him, and with him his
plan of seeing fair proceedings on the part of the British _protégés_;
so they reported to Sir Moses Montefiore and Sir Francis Goldsmid that
he had tortured the boys. His proceedings were once, more proved just.
The correspondence on the subject was marvellously interesting, but
being official I cannot use it.

 [Sidenote: _Jews._]

 "The Jews," he writes, "from all times held a certain position in
 Syria, on account of their being the financiers of the country; and
 even in pre-Egyptian days Haim Farhi was able to degrade and ruin
 Abdullah Pasha, of St. Jean d'Acre. In the time of Ibrahim Pasha,
 about forty-four years ago,[11] when the first Consuls went there,
 a few were taken under British protection, and this increased their
 influence. Then came the well-known history of the murder of Padre
 Tomaso. After this had blown over, all the richest people of the
 community tried to become British-protected subjects, or _protégés_
 of some foreign Consulate. In the time of Mr. Consul (Richard) Wood,
 (1840), they were humble enough. In the massacre of 1860 they enriched
 themselves greatly, and men possessing £3000 rose suddenly to £30,000.
 Then they had at their backs in England Sir Moses Montefiore, Sir F.
 Goldsmid, and the Rothschilds[12] and others, who doubtless do not
 know the true state of the Jewish usurers in this part of the world.
 The British Consul became the Jews' bailiff, and when we went to Syria
 we found them rough-riding all the land. I speak only of the few
 money-lenders. When I arrived in 1869, Shylock No. 1 came to me, and
 patting me patronizingly on the back, told me he had three hundred
 cases for me, relative to collecting £60,000 of debts. I replied, 'I
 think, sir, you had better hire and pay a Consul for yourself alone;
 I was not sent here as a bailiff, to tap the peasant on the shoulder
 in such cases as yours.' He then threatened me with the British
 Government. I replied, 'It is by far the best thing you can do; I have
 no power to alter a plain line of duty.' Shylock then tried my wife's
 influence, but she replied that she was never allowed to interfere in
 business matters. Then Sir Francis Goldsmid, to our great surprise,
 wrote to Head-quarters--a rather unusual measure--as follows: 'I hear
 that the lady to whom Captain Burton is married is believed to be a
 bigoted Roman Catholic, and to be likely to influence him against the
 Jews.' In spite of 'woman's rights' she was not allowed the privilege
 of answering Sir Francis Goldsmid officially; but I hope to convince
 him, even after years, that he was misinformed."

I think that religion certainly is, and ought to be, the first
and highest sentiment of our hearts, and I consider it my highest
prerogative to be a staunch and loyal Catholic. But I also claim to
be free from prejudice, and to be untrammelled in my sentiments about
other religions. Our great Master and His Apostles showed no bigotry,
and it is to them that I look for my rule of life, not to the clique I
was born in. Many amongst us Old Catholics, who live amongst our own
people, and are educated men and women, go forth into the world and are
quite unbiased against other faiths; we take to our hearts friends,
without inquiring into their religion or politics. And if sometimes we
sigh because they are not of our way of thinking, it is not from any
bigotry or party feeling; it is because we love them, and we wish that
we could give them some of our happiness and security. I appeal to my
enemies--if I have any--to say whether I have any prejudice against
race or creed.[13] At all events, I have an honest admiration and
respect for the Jewish religion. They were the chosen people of God.
They are more akin to us than any other faith.

Jesus Christ was a Jew, the Apostles were Jews. He came not to
destroy the Law, but to change the prescriptions necessary for the
times. The Great Reformer was the connecting link between us. He made
Christianity, or Judaism, for the multitude, a Syro-Arabian creed. He
parted the creation into two divisions--those who accepted the new
school, and those who clung to the old. We are of the former, and the
Jews of the latter fold. It would be madness to despise those who once
ruled the ancient world, and who will rule again--do we not see signs
of their return to power every day? It would be more than folly not
to honour the old tribes of the chosen people of God. In Syria only
the Jews, Druzes, and Bedawi can boast of their origin. In the Syrian
world we know, only the Jews and Catholics can boast of antiquity of
religion. An Eastern Jew cannot but be proud of his religion and his
descent. As I turn over my old Damascus journal, my heart warms to
think that some of our dearest native friends at Damascus were of the
Jewish religion. We were on good terms with them all, and received
sincere hospitality from them. At Trieste, again, the enlightened and
hospitable Hebrews were our best friends. It is the Jews who lead
society here, the charities and the fashion; they are the life of the
town. When I call to mind how many Jews I know, and like, and have
exchanged hospitality with, here and in the East, I do not know how to
speak strongly enough on the subject.

But now let us turn to the dark side of the picture. Even those who
are the proudest of their Semitic origin speak contemptuously of their
usurers. And, let me ask, do we pet and admire our own money-lenders?
Let a Damascus Jew once become a usurer, back him up with political
influence, and see what he will become. He forgets race and creed; that
touching, dignified, graceful humility changes into fawning servility,
or to brutal insolence and cruelty, where he is not afraid. He thirsts
only for money. The villanies practised by the usurers, especially the
Shylocks in Damascus, excite every right-minded person to indignation;
and if I had no other esteem for my husband, I should owe it to him
for the brave manner in which he made a stand against these wrongs at
every risk. He knew that no other Consul had ever dared--nor would ever
dare--to oppose it; but he said simply, "I must do right; I cannot sit
still and see what I see, and not speak the truth. I must protect the
poor, and save the British good name, _advienne que pourra_, though
perhaps in so doing I shall fall myself." And he did--but not for this.

He is not what is _called_ a religious man, but he acts like one; and
if he did nothing to win respect and admiration, that alone should
give people an insight into his character, whilst I, like Job's wife,
incessantly said, "Leave all this alone, as your predecessor did, as
your Consul-General does, and as your successor will do, and keep your
place, and look forward to a better." If the usurers had been Catholics
instead of Jews, I should like them to have lost their "protection,"
to have been banished from Damascus, and _excommunicated_ as long as
they plied their trade. More I cannot say. Nay, I prefer the Jew to
the Christian usurer. The former will take my flesh and blood, but the
Christian will want my bones too.

Richard writes--

 "One man alone had ruined and sucked dry forty-one villages. He used
 to go to a distressed village and offer them money, keep all the
 papers, and allow them nothing to show; adding interest and compound
 interest, which the poor wretches could not understand. Then he gave
 them no receipts for money received, so as to be paid over and over
 again. The uneducated peasants had nothing to show against the clever
 Jew at the Diwán, till body and soul, wives and children, village,
 flocks, and land, became his property and slaves for the sake of the
 small sum originally borrowed. These men, who a few years ago were not
 worth much, are now rolling in wealth. We found villages in ruins,
 and houses empty, because the men were cast into jail, the children
 starving, and women weeping at our feet; because these things were
 done in the name of England, by the powerful arm of the British
 Consulate."

[Sidenote: _Usurers try to remove Richard._]

My husband once actually found an old man of ninety, who had endured
all the horrors of the Damascus jail during the whole of a biting
winter, for owing one of these men a napoleon (sixteen shillings). He
set him free, and ever after visited the prisons once a week, to see
whether the British-protected subjects had immured pauper Christians
and Moslems on their own responsibility. One of the usurers told him
to beware, for that he knew a Royal Highness of England, and that
he could have any Consular officer recalled at his pleasure; and my
husband replied that he and his clique could know very little of
English Royalty if they thought that it would protect such traffic as
theirs. The result of this was that they put their heads together, and
certain letters were sent to the Chief Rabbi of London, Sir Francis
Goldsmid, and Sir Moses Montefiore. They sent telegrams and petitions,
purporting to be from "all the Jews in Damascus." We believe, however,
that "all the Jews in Damascus" knew nothing whatever about the step.
Richard said, "They are mostly a body of respectable men--hard-working,
inoffensive, and of commercial integrity, with a fair sprinkling of
pious, charitable, and innocent people." These despatches, backed by
letters from the influential persons who received them, were duly
forwarded to the Foreign Office. The correspondence was sent in
full to Richard to answer, which he did at great length, and to the
satisfaction of his Chiefs, who found that he could not have acted
otherwise.

Richard wrote: "I am ready to defend their lives, liberty, and
property, but I _will not_ assist them in ruining villages, and
in imprisoning destitute debtors upon trumped-up charges. I would
willingly deserve the praise of every section of the Jewish community
of Damascus, but in certain cases it is incompatible with my sense of
justice and my conscience." They bragged so much in the bazars about
getting Richard recalled, that a number of sympathizing letters were
showered upon us.

I quote the following _verbatim_:--

 [Sidenote: _Letters of Indignation and Sympathy._]

 DEAR MRS. BURTON,

 "We desire to express to you the great satisfaction which Captain
 Burton's presence as British Consul in Damascus has given us, both
 in our individual capacities and in our character of missionaries to
 Syria.

 "Since his arrival here we have had every opportunity of judging of
 Captain Burton's official conduct, and we beg to express our approval
 of it.

 "The first public act that came under our notice was the removing
 of dishonest officials, and the replacing them by honest ones. This
 proceeding gave unmixed pleasure to every one to whom the credit of
 the English name was a matter of concern. His subsequent conduct
 has restored the _prestige_ of the English Consulate, and we no
 longer hear it said that English officials, removed from the checks
 of English public opinion, are as corrupt in Turkey as the Turks
 themselves. As missionaries we frankly admit that we had been led to
 view Captain Burton's appointment with alarm; but we now congratulate
 ourselves on having abstained, either directly or indirectly,
 endeavouring to oppose his coming.

 "Carefully following our own habitual policy of asking no consular
 interference between the Turkish Government and its subjects, we stand
 upon our right as Englishmen to preach and teach so long as we violate
 no law of the land, and we claim for our converts the liberty of
 conscience secured to them by treaty. In the maintenance of this one
 right we have been firmly upheld by Captain Burton.

 "A few months ago, when our schools were illegally and arbitrarily
 closed by the Turkish officials, he came to our aid, and the injustice
 was at once put a stop to. His visit to the several village schools
 under our charge proved to the native mind the Consul's interest in
 the moral education of the country, which it is the object of those
 schools to promote, and impressed upon the minds of local magistrates
 the propriety of letting them alone.

 "Within the last few days we had occasion to apply to Captain Burton
 regarding our cemetery, which had been broken open, and it was an
 agreeable surprise to us when, after two days, a police-officer came
 to assure us that the damage had been repaid by the Pasha's orders,
 and search was being made for the depredator.

 "Above all, in view of any possible massacre of Christians in this
 city--the all but inevitable consequence of a war between Turkey and
 any Christian Power--we regard as an element of safety the presence
 among us of a firm, strong man like Captain Burton, as representing
 the English interests.

 "When, not long ago, a panic seized the city, and a massacre seemed
 imminent, Captain Burton immediately came down from his summer
 quarters, and by his presence largely contributed to restore
 tranquillity. All the other important Consuls fled from Damascus, and
 thus increased the panic.

 "We earnestly hope that Captain Burton will not suffer himself to be
 annoyed by the enmity he is sure to provoke for all who wish to make
 the English name a cover for wrongs and injustice, or think that a
 British subject or _protégé_ should be supported, whatever be the
 nature of his case.

 "With kindest respects, we are, dear Mrs. Burton, yours very truly,

 "(Signed) JAMES ORR SCOTT, M.A., Irish Presbyterian Mission.

 "WM. WRIGHT, B.A., Missionary of the Irish Presbyterian
 Church.

 "P.S.--By-the-by, on one occasion one of the most important Jews of
 Damascus, when conversing with me [Wm. Wright] and the Rev. John
 Crawford, American missionary, said that Captain Burton was unfit for
 the British Consulate in Damascus; and the reason he gave was that,
 being an upright man, he transacted his business by fair means instead
 of by foul.

 "Damascus, November 28th, 1870."

       *       *       *       *       *

 "MY DEAR ISABEL,

 "I was calling at a native house yesterday, where I found assembled
 some leading people of Damascus. The conversation turned upon Captain
 Burton and the present British Consulate. One word led to another; and
 I heard, to my surprise and consternation, that men famed for their
 _various pecuniary_ transactions are boasting about everywhere 'that,
 upon _their_ representations, _the Consul is to be recalled_,' and
 all Damascus is grieved and indignant at them. For my part I cannot,
 will not, believe that her Majesty's Government would set aside a man
 of Captain Burton's standing, and well-known justice and capacity
 in public affairs, for the sake of these Jews, who are desolating
 the villages and ruining those who have the misfortune to fall into
 their clutches. He is also so thoroughly adapted for this Babel of
 tongues, nations, and religions, and is so rapidly raising our English
 Consulate from the low estimation in which it had fallen in the eyes
 of all men, to the position it ought to and would occupy under the
 rule of an incorruptible, firm, and impartial character like Captain
 Burton's.

 "At the risk of vexing you, I must tell you what I now hear commonly
 reported in the bazar, for several merchants and others have asked
 me if it was true. [Here follows the history of the complaints.] Our
 present Consul is too much a friend to the oppressed, and examines
 too much everything _himself_, to suit their money transactions. The
 Consulate for an age has not been so respectable as now; and should
 you really go, I should think any future Consul would shrink to do
 his duty, for fear of his conduct being misrepresented at home. You
 must write me a line to tell me the truth, if you may do so without
 indiscretion; and people are wanting to write to the Foreign Office
 and the _Times_, so provoked are they at the lies and duplicity. The
 day I was with you and you refused to see Judas and the other Jew, who
 seemed to dodge you about like a house cat, and looking so ill at ease
 and in a fright, did you then suspect or know anything about all this?

 "With regard to the Arab tribes, they too have an admiration for
 Captain Burton's dauntless character and straightforward dealing, so
 different from others. You know that Shaykh Mohammed el Dhúky and
 Farés el Mézyad openly say so in the desert.

 "I had intended to scribble but two lines, and I have been led on till
 my note has become a long letter. So, good-bye; and I truly hope all
 these machinations will end in the discomfiture of their inventors.

 "Your affectionate cousin,

 "JANE DIGBY EL MEZRAB.

 "Damascus, November 28th, 1870."

       *       *       *       *       *

 "MONSIEUR LE CONSUL,

 "C'est avec le plus plaisir nous venons vous exprimer notre
 satisfaction et les sentiments de notre amour envers votre amiable
 personne, ayant toujours devant les yeux les belles qualités et les
 grands mérites dont vous êtes orné.

 "Il y a plus d'un an que nous avons eu l'honneur de vous connaître,
 et nous sommes en même de pouvoir apprécier votre bonne disposition
 pour le soutien de la cause chrétienne sans distinction de religion;
 et, par conséquent, nous sommes extrêmement reconnaissants au bienfait
 philanthropique de Gouvernement de S.M. Britannique, qui a daigné
 nous envoyer à Damas un représentant si digne et si mérité comme vous
 l'êtes, Monsieur le Consul.

 "C'est avec regret que nous avons appris que des gens malicieux de
 Damas se sont plaints contre vous pour des causes qui vous sont
 très-honorables.

 "Nous venons vous exprimer notre indignation pour leur conduite
 inexplicable at méprisable en vous témoignant notre reconnaissance
 pour le grand zèle et l'activité incessante que vous déployez toujours
 pour le bien et pour le repos de tous les Chrétiens en général.

 "Nous espérons que vous continuerez pour l'avenir comme pour le passé
 à nous accorder les mêmes bienfaits.

 "C'est avec ce même espoir que nous vous prions, Monsieur le Consul,
 d'agréer nos sentiments de haute considération.

 "(Signé) EROTEOS, Patriarche Grec d'Antioche.

 "A M. le Captaine Burton, Consul de S. M. Britannique à Damas.

 "Damas, le 15 Décembre, 1870."

       *       *       *       *       *

 "MONSIEUR LE CONSUL,

 "Nous avons entendu avec beaucoup d'inquiet que certains gens
 malicieux à Damas se sont plaignés de vous pour des causes qui vous
 sont très-honorables.

 "Nous désirons vous exprimer combien leur conduite est méprisable et
 inexcusable à nos yeux.

 "Nous vous avons connu maintenant plus qu'un an; nous vous avons
 trouvé toujours prêt à assister la cause chrétienne, sans égard pour
 les differences de la religion et à nous appuyer quand nous aurions
 été peut-être traités durement.

 "Dans les circumstances actuelles de cette année nous aurions beaucoup
 d'inquiétude s'il y avait une chance même que vous nous quittiez. Nous
 espérons que vos bons offices seront continués pour nous dans l'avenir
 comme dans le passé. Nous vous prions de vous servir de notre regard
 pour vous comme Consul et ami aussi publiquement que possible.

 "Daignez agréer, etc., etc.

 "(Signé) L'EVÊQUE MACARIOS, Le Vicaire du Patriarcat à Damas.
 (L.S.)

 "GREGOIR JACOB, Archev. Syrien Catholique de Damas. (L.S.)

 "Le Vicaire du Patriarcat Maronite à Damas. (L.S.)

 "Le Vicaire du Patriarcat Armenian Catholique à Damas. (L.S.).

 "A Monsieur R. F. Burton, Consul de S. M. Britannique à Damas.

 "Damas, le 13 Décembre, 1870."

[Sidenote: _Jews._]

To conclude: the effect of their conduct in Damascus will fall
upon their own heads, and upon their children. Do not purposely
misunderstand me, O Israel! Remember, I do not speak of you
disparagingly as a nation, or as a faith. As such I love and admire
you; but I pick out your usurers from among you, as the goats from
the sheep. You are ancient in birth and religion; you are sometimes
handsome, always clever, and in many things you far outstrip us
Christians in the race of life. Your sins and your faults are, and
have been, equally remarkable from all time. Many of you, in Damascus
especially, are as foolish and stiff-necked as in the days of old. When
the time comes, and it will come, the trampled worm will turn. The
Moslem will rise not really against the Christian--he will only be the
excuse--but against you. Your quarter will be the one to be burnt down;
your people to be exterminated, and all your innocent tribe will suffer
for the few guilty.

A Druze of the Haurán once said to me, "I have the greatest temptation
to burn down A----'s house. I should be sent to Istambul in chains, but
what of that? I should free my village and my people." I begged of him
not to think of such a crime. A sinister smile passed over his face,
and he muttered low in his beard, "No, not yet! not yet! Not till the
next time. And then not much of the Yahúd will be left when we have
done with them." I quote this as a specimen of the ill-feeling bred
over the interior of Syria by their over-greed of gain. And I only
hope that the powerful Israelite Committees and Societies of London
and Paris will--and they can if they will--curb the cupidity of their
countrymen in Syria.

[Sidenote: _Omar Bey's Fine Mare--Horse-breeding._]

We were present at a very grand review, where a splendid mare,
ridden by Omar Bey, was the centre of attraction, and the newspapers
afterwards noticed her in the following manner:--


Cutting from the _Boomerang_.


 "Lady Burton mentions a very fine mare which Omar Bey, a Turkish
 brigadier-general at Damascus, bought from some Arabs after a free
 fight in the desert. She was so handsome that at a grand review, the
 only one held while Sir Richard Burton was Consul at Damascus, neither
 Lady Burton nor her husband could look at anything else. Omar Bey
 was subsequently ordered to leave the district, and sold the mare
 for £80, being all she would fetch at the time. It does seem a pity
 that, in a great horse-breeding country like Australia, there are not
 men to be found patriotic enough to secure specimens of these famous
 breeds of antiquity. We have plenty of breeders willing and anxious
 to secure and continue the breed of the English thoroughbred, but
 although we are possessed of some of the finest areas in the world
 for horse-breeding, and in a climate analogous in many respects to
 Mesopotamia, the original home of the horse, we have unfortunately
 no one among all those who have amassed wealth who will, either for
 pleasure or profit, take in hand the formation of a pure Arabian stud.
 There can be no question that in this country, where feed is not a
 matter of consideration, the Arabian would grow to a very much larger
 size."

[Sidenote: _The Holy Land._]

We at last determined to thoroughly do Palestine and the Holy Land,
and we went down in an awfully rough sea, in a very tiny and dirty
little Egyptian steamer, as far as Jaffa. There were great doubts as to
whether we could land, but at last boats were put out, and we got in
on the top of a truly alarming surf, shooting through a narrow hole in
the rocks just wide enough to admit the boat. The plain of Sharon was
looking beautiful--meadows of grass land, wild flowers, cultivation,
and orange groves all along our forty mile-ride.

I shall not say much about this pilgrimage, because it is too well
known, except that we remained long enough to see and learn everything
by heart about every place where our Saviour and His followers ever
were in Syria, not only with the Bible and "Tancred," but learning all
the legends, and the folklore handed from father to son. I have given a
very long account of this in my "Inner Life of Syria" (2 vols., 1875),
so that I don't want to repeat it again.

With Richard it was a constant matter for thought whether the sites and
the tombs were the correct ones; and the sword of Godfrey de Bouillon
and the Crusaders' arms, also those of the Knight Templars, were
always of immense interest to him. We visited all the Patriarchs, and
principally Monseigneur Valerga, a man of brilliant education, with
the _savoir faire_ of the diplomat or courtier, blended with religion.
We went through all the ceremonies of _all the numerous religions_
during the Holy Week, the Mohammedan as well as the fourteen Christian
sects, and Jewish, of which not the least touching thing is the wailing
of the Jews outside the wall of the Temple on Fridays, and the Greek
fire on Holy Saturday. A Jewish friend took us in for the Passover. We
visited all the country of St. John, Bethlehem, Hebron, where Abraham,
Sarah, Isaac, Jacob, Rebecca, and Leah are buried; to Mar Saba, where
is the Convent of Penitent Monks, in a most wonderful ravine. From
there we got down to the Dead Sea, and swam in it, and saw fish. It
receives daily seven million tons of water, and has no outlet; but
its evaporation forms the desert of salt, called the Ghor, all round
its southern shore, which fact Richard compares with Tanganyika. From
there we went into Moab; we visited Moses' Tomb on the return journey.
At Bethábara we bathed, and brought home bottles of the water of the
Jordan; thence we went to Jericho, but we took care to visit every
spot where tradition and folklore says our Saviour touched at, _off
the tracks_ besides. We encamped on the supposed sites of Sodom and
Gomorrah, and so on to Bethel, and Hai, the most ancient site in
Palestine, the camping-ground of Abraham, where he and Lot parted
and divided their flocks; and we gradually made our way to Nablus,
which is the boundary between the Damascus and Jerusalem Consular
jurisdictions. We ascended Mount Ebal and Mount Gerízim, and stayed
with the Samaritans, who then numbered a hundred and thirty-five. We
then went to Samaria, and through the plain of Esdraelon; and we camped
at ancient Engannin, where Christ cured the ten lepers. From thence to
Scythopolis into the Ghor, and to as many sites of the towns of the
Decapolis as we could realize. We went to Naim, and Endor, and Tabor,
and Nazareth--at Nazareth we were stoned (a little political manœuvre);
thence to Cana. About Nazareth Richard wrote in his private journal--

 "I rode down the country by the vile Kunayterah road to Tiberias,
 where the Jews protected by our Government were complaining that the
 _Wali_ had taken from them and had sold to the Greek Bishop Nifon, at
 Nazareth, a cemetery and synagogue, which for the last four hundred
 years had belonged to their faith, and to visit a few men who held
 British passports, which ought to have been annually changed, but had
 through carelessness not been renewed since 1850. For these acts, I
 was destined to the same honour as my Master, namely, being stoned out
 of Nazareth; and because I did good to the Jews, they also betrayed me
 to the Authorities, and asked for my recall."

We went up the Mountain of Precipitation to Hattín, and ascended to
Tiberias, the second and the middle sea which feeds the Jordan, and we
visited the site of the eight towns so much frequented by our Saviour.
From thence we went to Sáfed, which is a very fanatical Jewish Holy
City, from which we could see the Jaulán and the Haurán stretching
right away into the Arabian desert of the ancient kingdom of Báshan;
and from here we again made our way to the plain of Huleh, which we
remember of old, and the Waters of Merom, where we camped before under
difficulties, and so nearly got a bad fever. This time it was black
from a recent prairie fire. The best amusement on these occasions is
to laugh at one another's miserable, unrecognizable faces, all swollen
with bites and stings, like the face one sees in a spoon. After a lot
of other places, we got back to Birket er Ram or Lake Phiala, which I
remember saying a while ago we determined to revisit. Richard found
something that excited his attention about it, so we emptied the water
out of all our goat-skins, blew them up with air, strapped them to
our camp-table, made a raft, and used the tent-poles for oars. It is
supposed to have no bottom, is six hundred yards broad, and about nine
hundred wide. We sounded with the lead, and the deepest part proved to
be seventeen feet and a half. It has a weed bottom and leeches below,
no shells; but the air began to whistle out of the skins, and Richard
and Charley Drake only just got back in time to save themselves a swim.

Whilst at Jerusalem and its environs Richard did two very graceful
things. He saw a monk conducting a party of Catholics, who wanted to
say prayers in the Sepulchre itself at three o'clock on Good Friday.
It was invaded by the usual class of tourists. The monk shrunk back
with his people, and the particular time for these prayers was slipping
away. Richard stepped forward, and, touching his cap, said, "What is
the matter, Father?" He said, "The Sepulchre is full of tourists, who
are not Catholics. We have no right to turn them out, and we don't
like to push in and begin our devotions." Richard said, "Leave that to
me." He went in and explained to them, and they came out. Richard then
passed the monk and his party in, and he stood guard himself outside
the whole time they performed their devotion, and would not let any one
pass. These little acts used to win him the heart of everybody.

Another day we were riding in rather a desert place about a mile from a
small village; we met a solitary priest and his acolyte. I was about to
ride up to speak to him, when he gave me the sign--I mean the sign the
priest gives you when he is secretly carrying the Blessed Sacrament. I
told it to Richard, who ordered his men to draw up in two lines for the
priest to pass through and salute. He jumped down from his own horse,
and offered it to the priest, asking to accompany him. The priest
declined it, but he blessed him as he passed. I always thought of this
afterwards in Austria, when I saw the large picture in the Palace at
Innsbrück, of Rudolph the Second of Hapsburg doing the same thing.

At Jerusalem we explored the Mágharat el Kotn; these are enormous
quarries, also called the Royal Caverns. The entrance looks like a
hole in the wall outside the town, not far from the Gate of Damascus.
Creeping in, you find yourself in endless caves and galleries
unexplored. We used to use magnesium fusees, and take plenty of ropes
to have a clue.

[1] "We were living at the foot of the eastern spur of the
Anti-Libanus, upon whose south-eastern slopes lies the large northern
suburb of Damascus, El Salahíyyah ('of the Saints'), facetiously
changed on account of its Kurdish population into El Talahíyyah ('of
the Sinners'). Our friend Bedr Beg was its Chief."--R. F. B.

[2] If any one wants dragomans, let them give preference above all to
Melhem Wardi, of Beyrout, and consult his brother Antun.

[3] This was written at the time when the report of Lady Ellenborough's
death was generally believed to be true.

[4] Ah, what a beautiful life it would have been!--I. B.

[5] The cave near Affka forms the Orontes, the Jura sends forth the
Bárada of Damascus, and Lake Phiala Josephus makes the highest water of
the Jordan.

[6] I was not well, and was left at home.--I. B.

[7] This answers something to the Karst above Trieste.

[8] "This is a term used at Damascus to the northern offsets; these are
the southern."

[9] Lines by a West African poet.

[10] Most of these descriptive scientific journeys are more for
geographers and antiquaries.

[11] Now sixty-four years in 1893.

[12] Now, in 1893, the Sassoons, the Oppenheims, and Bischofheims.

[13] Although a staunch Catholic, I was an ardent disciple of Mr.
Disraeli--I do not mean Mr. Disraeli as Prime Minister of England, but
the author of "Tancred." I read the book as a young girl in my father's
house, and it inspired me with all the ideas, and the yearning for
a wild Oriental life, which I have since been able to carry out. I
passed two years of my early life, when emerging from the school-room,
in my father's garden, and the beautiful woods around us, alone with
"Tancred." My family were pained and anxious about me--thought me odd;
wished I would play the piano, do worsted work, write notes, read the
circulating library--in short, what is generally called improving one's
mind; and I was pained because I could not. My uncle used to pat my
head, and "hope for better things." I did not know it then, I do now:
I was working out the problem of my future life, my after mission. It
lived in my saddle-pocket throughout my Eastern life. I almost know
it by heart, so that when I came to Bethany, to the Lebanon, and to
Mukhtár--when I found myself in a Bedawi camp, or amongst the Maronite
and Druze strongholds, or in the society of Fakredeens--nothing
surprised me. I felt as if I had lived that life for years. I felt that
I went to the tomb of my Redeemer in the proper spirit, and I found
what I sought. The presence of God was actually felt, though invisible.
The author possesses by descent a knowledge that we Northerners lack (a
high privilege reserved to his Semitic blood).--I. B.




CHAPTER XXI.

RELIGION.

    "Men don't believe in a devil now, as their fathers used to do;
    They've forced the door of the broadest creed to let his Majesty through.
    There isn't a print of his cloven foot, or a fiery dart from his bow,
    To be found in earth or air to-day, for the world has voted it so.

    "But who is mixing the fatal draught that palsies heart and brain,
    And loads the bier of each passing year with ten hundred thousand slain?
    Who blights the bloom of the land to-day with the fiery breath of hell?
    If the devil isn't, and never was, won't somebody rise and tell?

    "Who dogs the steps of the toiling saint, and digs the pits for his feet?
    Who sows the tares on the fields of time, wherever God sows His wheat?
    The devil is voted not to be, and of course the thing is true;
    But who is doing the kind of work that the devil alone should do?

    "We are told that he does not go about as a roaring lion now;
    But whom shall we hold responsible for the everlasting row
    To be heard in home, in Church and State, to the earth's remotest bound,
    If the devil, by a unanimous vote, is nowhere to be found?

    "Won't somebody step to the front forthwith, and make his bow and show
    How the frauds and crimes of a single day spring up? We want to know.
    The devil was fairly voted out, and of course the devil's gone;
    But simple people would like to know who carries his business on."
           ----ALFRED J. HOUGH, _in the Jamestown (N.Y.) Journal_.


It must not be supposed that Richard was the least insincere, because
he tried religions all round. He wanted to get at the highest, the
nearest to God, the nearest to other worlds, and in that respect he
was like Cardinal Newman. He always spoke the truth, and if he changed
every other day, he would have said so. Every time he was disappointed
with a religion he fell back on mysticism. It was the soul wandering
through space, like the dove out of the ark, and seeking a place
whereupon to rest. In each religion he found something good, and much
that disappointed him; then he took the good out of that religion,
and went away. He was sincere with the Mohammedans, and found more
in that religion than in _most_. He hoped much from spiritualism,
and studied it well; but he could make nothing of it as a religion.
It never seemed to bring him any nearer; but he believed in it as in
the light of a future frontier of science. _His_ Agnosticism, which
in his case is a misapplied word, was of a much higher cast; it was
the mysticism of the East. It was the tired soul or brain that said,
"Oh, my God, I have studied all things, and I am still no nearer the
point of closer connection with Thee, whom my soul longs for and aims
at. I know nothing; I can touch nothing. Faith is a gift from Thee;
give it to me!" He became impressed with one fact here in Syria, as
he had done at Baroda in his youth, and that is that Catholicism is
the highest order of Spiritualism, having no connection with jugglery,
or table-turning, or spirit-rapping; that we cannot call it up at our
pleasure, nor pay for it; but that, when something _does_ happen, it
is absolutely _real_, only we are not allowed to speak of it, except
amongst ourselves, and then with bated breath. Richard, however,
had opportunity enough of seeing all this for himself in Syria, in
Damascus, where some very extraordinary things were going on, that
were, without a doubt, genuine.

    "Demand of lilies wherefore they are white,
    Extort her crimson secret from the rose."
            ----WILLIAM WATSON.

    "Brave as a lion, gentle as a maid,
    He never evil word to any said;
    Never for self, but always strong for right,
    He was a very perfect gentle knight."

[Sidenote: _Shádilis--Sufis becoming Catholics._]

During the time we were at Damascus, there was a "mystery" going on
in the lower quarter, called the Maydán--the tail of Damascus, which
runs out towards the desert--amongst a certain sect of the Mohammedans,
called the Shádilis, or Sházlis. They used to assemble at nights
together at the house of one of them for Moslem prayer and reading and
discussion, when they became conscious of a presence amongst them that
was not theirs. They used to hear things and see things which they did
not understand, and this went on for two or three months before they
came to an understanding. I let my husband tell the story in his own
words, and you will all understand later on how it found its way into
my "Inner Life of Syria."

Fray Emanuel Förner, who figures largely in this history, was a
friend Richard used to study with. He confided his troubles relative
to these people to us. He asked us whether, as Richard had more
influence with the Moslems than any one else, he could be induced to
protect them. Richard felt that it was going beyond the boundary of
his Consular prerogative to interfere in a matter which concerned the
national religion; he therefore answered him that his position obliged
him to abstain from interfering in so interesting a matter, although
he could do so in cases where the _Protestant_ schools or missions
formally claimed protection against the violation of the treaties and
concessions of the Hatti-Sheríf. He added that the Spanish Consul was
the proper person for him to apply to, being _his_ Consul, and that it
was his duty likewise to restrict me from any active part which might
compromise the Consulate.

But this interested him enormously. He thought he saw his way in it to
the highest kind of religion, and he followed it up _unofficially_.
Disguised as a Sházli, and unknown to any mortal except me, he used to
mix with them, and pass much of his time in the Maydán of Damascus with
them; and _he saw what he saw_; and when, as in reading this account
you will see, Fray Förner was the guide who was pointed out to them by
that spiritual Presence, Richard stuck to him, and with him used to
study the Sházlis and their history. This gave him an enormous interest
in Damascus, but it was his ruin; and the curious Spiritualism, _if you
like to term it so_, that was developing there was almost like a "new
advent," and though he did not then _mean_ it, he ended by sacrificing
his worldly career entirely to it.

It was not for a whole year after the event of my disagreement with
the Shaykh's son at Zebedáni (which missionaries of the British Syrian
schools have since reported as the cause of my husband's recall, after
which the same Shaykh had become one of my most faithful followers, but
which had nothing to do with my husband's misfortunes), that twelve
of the most favoured of these Sházlis had been seized, transported in
chains, and partially martyred. Fray Förner died curiously, and Richard
came and told me all this, with a great deal more than I had known, or
than _has_, or _ever will be_ published, about the Sházlis, and he was
filled with remorse that he had not taken up their case and protected
them.

He had written up their case. He said, "If I should write to Lord
Granville, and tell him that there are at least twenty-five thousand of
secret Christians longing for baptism, and if I were to say, as I know
I can, that I can arrange it with the Moslems to _give them to me_, and
not to touch them because they are _mine_; supposing I were to buy a
tract of land and give it to them, and build a village, and that I took
no taxes from them in repayment, they could settle there unmolested,
and supposing that I should request the Patriarch Valerga of Jerusalem
to come and baptize them, would _you_ be afraid to stand godmother for
them with _me_ on guard?" and I replied that "I would be only too proud
to do it." It was then settled that these letters should be written and
sent.

Lord Granville communicated with the Patriarch Valerga, who at once
sent _openly_ and _clumsily_ to the Turkish _Authorities_ at Damascus
to know the truth, thereby _starting an evil_; and, _even so_, four
hundred were found who were willing for martyrdom, but the Patriarch
was evidently in _no_ hurry for martyrdom. The affair, instead of being
confided to Richard, was hopelessly mismanaged, and his recall followed
within the month; and Richard said, "This is suffering persecution
for justice' sake; _no more of this, till I am clear of a just and
enlightened Government_." It broke his career, it shattered his life,
it embittered him on religion; he got neither Teheran, nor Marocco,
nor Constantinople. I may be wrong, but I have always imagined that
he thought that Christ would stand by him, and see him through his
troubles, but he did not like to speak of it. Richard never asked a
single word at the Foreign Office--he was too proud; and he let me do
it in a Blue Book of our own. My friends in the Foreign Office, of
whom I had about thirteen, gave me _each_ a _different_ reason for
the recall; but when I got an audience with Lord Granville, I got the
true one. Syria and Christianity lost one of England's greatest men,
who was ruined, and her descent in prosperity and happiness commenced;
and I never heard that the Government, or the Foreign Office, or the
Service, or the British name in the East, was any better for it. I
humbly venture to think the contrary. He wrote himself the history of
the "Revival of Christianity in Syria."

When I brought out my "Inner Life of Syria," Richard brought me the
following account, blushing like a schoolboy, and asked me if I would
insert it in my own name--if I would mind, as I could not be godmother
to the Sházlis, being godmother to _it_.


 "THE CHRISTIAN REVIVAL IN SYRIA.


 "'Men are four. He who knows not, and knows not he knows not, he
 is a fool--shun him; he who knows not, and knows he knows not, he
 is simple--teach him; he who knows, and knows not he knows, he is
 asleep--wake him; he who knows, and knows he knows, he is wise--follow
 him.'--_Arab Proverb_.

 "'What I tell you in darkness, that speak ye in light: and what
 ye hear in the ear, that preach ye upon the housetops. And fear
 not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul;
 but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in
 hell.'--MATT. x. 27, 28.

 "'Have pity on me, have pity on me, at least you my friends, because
 the hand of the Lord hath touched me.'--JOB xix. 21.


 "Christianity was born and grew in Syria. She gave the light of the
 Gospel to the world. The grace of God has returned to Syria. Shall she
 struggle single-handed with Moslem cruelty and oppression, unaided by
 the Christian Powers who owe to her the Light of Faith?

 "The heading of these pages will not a little surprise many, but
 not all of my readers, who will be divided into two classes--those
 familiar with old prophecies, and those who are not. The first
 will expect, the others will not expect, to hear that Christianity
 has revived spontaneously, unaided by Missionaries, Catechists, or
 Consuls, in this fanatical Moslem land, especially in Damascus, the
 'Gate of the Holy City,' the ancient capital of the Caliphs, where,
 even at present, Christian representatives of Great Powers are not
 allowed to fly their flags. But the movement has taken place; it
 grows every year; its consequences are difficult to see, impossible
 to calculate. The conversion of the Mohammedans has begun at last,
 without England's sending out, as is her custom, shiploads of Bibles,
 or spending one fraction upon it; and in this great work, so glorious
 to Christianity, England, if old traditions are about to be verified,
 is to have a large share. She must now decide whether the Revival of
 Christianity, in the land which gave it birth, shall spread its goodly
 growth far and wide, or whether it shall be cut down by the hand of
 the destroyer.

 "The first step in this movement, taken as far back as 1868, was
 heralded by signs and tokens and graces, which partake of the miracle
 and of the revelation. And here, at the beginning, I may remind my
 readers, especially Protestant readers, that the Lord has a mighty
 arm--'_brachium Domini non est abbreviatum_'--and that in this same
 City of Damascus, the terrible persecutor, Saul of Tarsus, became
 St. Paul, not by reading, nor by conversations with Christians,
 but by the direct interposition of Jesus Christ. The visions and
 revelations which I am about to record rest upon the same solid basis
 as Christianity itself--that is to say, upon the unanimous testimony
 borne to them by sincere and devout men, who have no purpose to serve,
 and who have risked their all in this world without any possible
 object but to testify to mankind the truths revealed to them. We need
 not delay to consider whether the graces and tokens which have been
 vouchsafed are natural, preternatural, or supernatural; objective or
 subjective. Suffice it for us that they have been submitted to crucial
 tests, and that even this philosophic and incredulous age cannot deny
 that they have taken place.

 "About four years ago a small body of Moslems who inhabit the Maydán,
 or southern suburb of Damascus, had been initiated into the Shádili
 Order of Moslems by one Abd el Karim Matar, of Darayya, whose touching
 end will presently be recounted. This man, a mere peasant, left
 his wife, his family, and his relations in his native village, in
 order to become Shaykh of the Dervishes, and he hired a house in the
 Sukhkháneh quarter of the Maydán. It is bisected by the long street
 through which the annual Hajj Caravan passes out _en route_ to Mecca,
 and its inhabitants, with those of the Shaghur quarter, are held to be
 the most bigoted and fanatical of their kind. Through the influence of
 the Shádilis, however, not a Christian life was lost in their quarter
 during the dreadful massacre of 1860; many, indeed, were hidden by the
 people in their houses, and were sent privily away without the walls
 after the three days of bloodshed had passed. Our Lord, who promises
 to remember even the cup of cold water given in His name, did not, as
 will presently appear, forget these acts of mercy to the terrified
 Christians.

 "I am going to assume that all my readers are not perfectly _au
 courant_ of the many subdivisions of the influential and widespread
 religion--El Islam.

 "The Order of Shádili Dervishes was founded by Abd el Husayn Shádili,
 who died at Mecca in A.H. 656 (A.D. 1258). They are not, therefore,
 one of the twelve originally instituted, and for that reason they are
 rarely noticed by writers upon Eastern Spiritualism (for instance,
 'The Dervishes,' by John P. Brown. London: Trübner, 1868). They
 obtained fame, however, by introducing to the world coffee, so called
 from the Abyssinian province of Kafa. The use of coffee in Yemen,
 its origin and first introduction into that country, are due to the
 learned Ali Shádili Abu Omar, one of the disciples of the learned
 doctor Nasr Ood Deen, who is regarded as one of the Chiefs, and whose
 worth attests the high degree of spirituality to which they had
 attained ('First Footsteps in East Africa,' p. 78. London: 1856).

 "The Shádili are Sufis or Mystics, esoterics from El Islam, who have
 attempted to spiritualize its material portions. This order, like all
 others, admits of two main divisions, the Sharai or orthodox, and the
 Ghayr-Sharai, who have greatly departed from the doctrines of El Islam.

 "The vital tenets of the heterodox are--

 "1. God alone exists. He is in all things and all things are in
 Him--evidently mere pantheism.

 "2. All things visible and invisible are an emanation from Him, and
 are not really distinct from Him--this is the Eastern origin of the
 classical European '_divinæ particula auræ_.'

 "3. Heaven and hell and all the dogmas of positive faiths are
 allegories, whose esoteric meaning is known only to the Sufi.

 "4. Religions are a matter of indifference; that, however, is the best
 which serves as a means of reaching true knowledge, such as El Islam,
 whose philosophy is Tasawwuf (Sufi-ism).

 "5. There is no real distinction between good and evil, for all things
 are one, and God fixes the will of man, whose actions therefore are
 not free.

 "6. The soul existed before the body, and is confined in it as a bird
 in a cage. Death therefore is desirable to the Sufi, whose spirit
 returns to the Deity whence it emanated. Evidently the 'Anupadishesha
 Nirvana' of the Hindu, absolute individual annihilation.

 "7. The principal duty of the Sufi is meditation on the unity which
 advances him progressively to spiritual perfection, and which enables
 him to 'die in God.'

 "8. Without 'Fayz Ullah' (Grace of God) this spiritual unity cannot be
 attained; but God favours those who fervently desire such unification.

 "The general belief in these tenets has given the Shádili Order a
 doubtful name amongst the multitude, who consider it to profess, like
 the 'Babis' of Persia, opinions of a subversive and anti-Islamitic
 nature. The orthodox portion, however, is not blamed, and at Damascus
 one of its members is a conscientiously religious Moslem, the Sayyid
 Abd el Kadir of Algerian fame, whose name is still so well known in
 Europe, and who is beloved and respected by all. The Syrian Shádilis
 are distinguished by white robes and white skull-caps and turbans, of
 which they allow the inner flap to protrude a little from the folds
 behind the ears.

 "Abd el Karim Matar and his Shádili acolytes used to meet for private
 worship at his house in the Maydán suburb, and they spent nights and
 days in praying for enlightenment before the throne of Grace. Their
 numbers varied from sixty to seventy, and even more. Presently, after
 persevering in this new path, some of them began to be agitated
 by doubts and disbelief; the religion did not satisfy them, they
 anxiously sought for a better. They became uncertain, disquieted,
 undetermined, yet unable, for fear of being betrayed, to declare even
 one to another the thought which tormented them. Two years had been
 spent in this anxious, unhappy state, each thinking himself the only
 one thus subject to the tortures of conscience.

 "At length they were assured by a vision that it was the religion of
 Christ which they were seeking. Yet such was their dread of treachery
 that none could trust his secret with his neighbour till they had
 sounded one another, and had found that the same idea was uppermost
 in every mind. Presently about forty of them, headed by Abd el Karim
 Matar, met for their usual night-prayers; after prolonged devotional
 acts, all fell asleep, and our Lord was pleased to appear to all of
 them separately. They awoke simultaneously, and one, taking courage,
 recounted his vision to the others, when each responded, 'I also saw
 Him!' Christ had so consoled, comforted, and exhorted them to follow
 His faith, and they were so filled with a joy they had never known,
 that they were hardly dissuaded from running about the streets to
 proclaim that Christ is God; but they were admonished that they would
 only be slaughtered, and rob the City of all hope of entering the same
 fold.

 "They wanted a guide, director, and friend who could assist their
 tottering steps in the new way which they were now treading, and they
 heartily prayed that God would be pleased mercifully to provide them
 with the object of their desire. One night, after again meeting,
 as before, for acts of devotion, sleep overcame them, and they saw
 themselves in a Christian church, where an old man with a long white
 beard, dressed in a coarse brown serge garment, and holding a lighted
 taper, glided before them, and smiling benignantly never ceased to
 cry, 'Let those who want the truth follow me.'

 "On awaking each told his dream to the other, and they agreed to
 occupy themselves in seeking the person who had appeared to them.
 They searched in vain through the City and its environs for a
 period of three months, during which they continued to pray. One
 day it so happened that one of the new converts, H--- K----, now
 at J----, entered by chance the monastery of the R.R. Fathers of
 the Terra Santa, near Bab Tuma, the north-eastern gate of Damascus.
 This is an establishment of Spanish Franciscans, who enjoy French
 protection by virtue of a Papal Bull and of immemorial usage. What
 was his astonishment to see in the Superior, Fray Emanuel Förner, the
 personage who had appeared to him in his dream. This saintly man,
 Latin Curé and Franciscan of the Terra Santa, approached and asked the
 Moslem what he was seeking. The Neophyte replied by simply telling
 his tale and that of his comrades, and then ran speedily to inform
 the others, who flocked next day to the monastery. The poor padre was
 greatly perplexed. He reflected that visions do not happen every day.
 He feared some political intrigue, of which Damascus is a focus; he
 doubted their sincerity, and he dreaded to endanger the City, and to
 cause for the sake of the forty another massacre like that of 1860.
 On the other hand, he still more dreaded to lose forty sincere souls
 by refusing to them baptism. However, concealing his agitation, he
 received them with touching kindness; he gave them books which taught
 them all the Christian doctrine, and he instructed them how to meet in
 prayer for mutual comfort and support. Lastly, he distributed to each
 a crucifix, the symbol of their new faith. This event took place in
 the early spring of 1870. Fray Emanuel remained for about four months
 in this state of dilemma, praying to know the will of God, and he
 was admonished as to what he should do. Having performed his task on
 earth, he fell asleep quietly one day about three months afterwards.
 Some said the death was caused by climate, but many of his most
 intimate friends, living a few hours from the convent, did not hear
 of it till late in November, 1870, and then they had cause to suspect
 treachery.

 "The converts, now numbering some two hundred and fifty, held regular
 prayer-meetings in one another's houses, and these could not fail to
 attract the notice of the neighbouring Moslems. Later still a crucifix
 or two was seen, and suspicions ripened into certainties. The local
 authorities were at once informed of what had happened. The Ulemá, or
 learned men, who in El Islam represent the Christian priesthood, were
 in consternation. They held several sessions at the house of Shakyh
 Dabyan, a noted fanatic living in the Maydán suburb. At length a
 general meeting took place in the town-house of the Algerine Amir Abd
 el Kadir, who has ever been held one of the 'Defenders of the Faith'
 at Damascus.

 "The assembly consisted of the following Ulemá:--

 "1. Shaykh Riza Effendi el Ghazzi.

 "2. Abdullah el Hálabi.

 "3. Shaykh el Tantáwi.

 "4. Shaykh el Kháni.

 "5. Shaykh Abdu Razzak (el Baytar) and his brother.

 "6. Shaykh Mohammed el Baytar.

 "7. Shaykh Salím Samára.

 "8. Shaykh Abd el Gháni el Maydáni.

 "9. Shaykh Ali ibn Sa'ati.

 "10. Said Effendi Ustuwáneh (the Naib el Kazi, or assistant judge in
 the Criminal Court of the Department at Damascus), and other intimates
 of the Amir.

 "Riza Effendi, now dead, was a determined persecutor of the Nazarene,
 and Abdullah el Hálabi, also deceased, had pronounced in 1860 the
 Fatwa or religious decree for the massacre of the Christian Community,
 and had been temporarily banished instead of being hanged as high
 as Haman. These specimens will suffice. Still let us be just to
 the President of this assembly, Abd el Kadir. He was carrying out
 a religious duty in sitting in judgment upon renegades from his
 faith, and he was acting in accordance with his conscience; but
 during the massacre of 1860 he not only extended his protection to
 the Christians, but he slept across his own threshold on a mat, lest
 any terrified and supplicating wretch might be turned adrift by his
 Algerine followers.

 "The assembly, after a long discussion, pronounced the sentence of
 death upon the converts. The only exceptions were the Amir Abd el
 Kadir and the Shaykh Abd el Gháni el Maydáni, who declared 'that a
 live man is always better than a dead man.' The Shaykhs Tantáwi and El
 Kháni declared 'that to kill such perverts was an act more acceptable
 to Allah than the Friday prayer.'

 "If there be one idea more strongly fixed than any other in Moslem
 brain it is this--the renegade from El Islam shall surely die. His
 death must be compassed by any means, fair or foul: perjury and
 assassination are good deeds when devoted to such an end. The Firman
 of February 12th, 1856, guaranteed, it is true, life and liberty
 to _all_ converts; it was, in fact, a perfect system of religious
 toleration on paper. But it was never intended to be carried out, and
 the local Turkish authorities throughout the Empire have, doubtless
 acting under superior instruction, ignored it as much as possible.

 "The usual practice in the Turkish dominions when a convert is to be
 convicted, opens with a preliminary imprisonment, either on pretence
 of 'counselling' him, or upon some false charge. The criminal tribunal
 then meets; witnesses are suborned; the defence is not listened to;
 a _mázbatah_, or sentence, is drawn out, and the victim is either
 drafted off with the Nizam (regular troops), or sent to the galleys,
 or transported to some distant spot. The assembly, however, not daring
 to carry out the sentence of death, determined that the perverts must
 be exiled, and that their houses and their goods must be destroyed
 or confiscated. A secret _Majlis_ was convened without the knowledge
 of the Christian members of the tribunal, and this illegal junto
 despatched, during the night, a squadron of cavalry and a regiment of
 infantry, supported by a strong force of police, to occupy the streets
 of the Maydán. Some fifty Shádilis were known to have met for prayer
 at the house of one Abu Abbas. At four o'clock Turkish time (10 p.m.)
 they rose to return home. Many of them passed amongst the soldiery
 without being alarmed, and whilst so doing fourteen were separately
 arrested and carried to the _karakuns_ (guard-houses) known as El
 Ka'ah, and the Sinnaníyyeh. Here they were searched by the soldiery
 and made to give up their crucifixes. They were then transferred,
 some to the so-called great prison in the Serai, or Government house,
 others to the _karakun_ jail in the Government square, and others to
 the debtors' jail, then at the Maristán, or Mad-house, now transferred
 to Sidr Amud, near Bab el Baríd.

 "I hasten to record the names of the fourteen chosen for the honour
 of martyrdom. All were sincere and inoffensive men, whose only crime
 was that of being Christians and martyrs; the rulers, however, had
 resolved upon crushing a movement which, unless arrested by violence,
 would spread far and wide throughout the land.

 "1. Abu Abbas (the man in whose house the prayer-meeting was held).

 "2. Sáid Isháni.

 "3. Abu Abduh Bustati.

 "4. Abd el Ghani Nassás and his son.

 "5. Mohammed Nassás.

 "6. Ghanaym Dabbás.

 "7. Salih el Zoh.

 "8. Abdullah Mubayyad.

 "9. Ramazan el Sahhár.

 "10. Salih Kachkul.

 "11. Mohammad Nammúreh.

 "12. Bekr Audaj.

 "13. Mohammad el Dib.

 "14. Marjan min el Kisweh.

 [Sidenote: _They are tried and condemned._]

 "After some days they were brought to the great secret _Majlis_
 (tribunal), at which presided in person his Excellency the _Wali_,
 or Governor-General, of Syria, Mohammed Rashíd Pasha. This officer,
 a _protégé_ of the late Aali Pasha, Grand Vizier at Constantinople,
 has been allowed to rule the province of Syria for the unusual term
 of more than five years, and the violence and rapacity displayed by
 him and his creatures have doubtless added an impulse to the Revival
 of Christianity--it was evil working for good. With a smattering
 of Parisian education, utterly without religion, but determined to
 crush conversion because it would add to that European influence
 which he has ever laboured to oppose, Rashíd Pasha never conceals his
 conviction that treaties and firmans upon such a subject as Moslem
 conversion are so much waste paper, and he threatens all who change
 their faith with death, either by law or by secret murder--a threat
 which, as the cold cruelty of his nature suggests, is not spoken in
 vain. And he uses persecution with the more readiness as it tends to
 conciliate the pious of his own creed, who are greatly scandalized by
 his openly neglecting the duties of his religion, such as prayer and
 fasting, and by other practices which may not be mentioned here.

 "The Governor-General opened the sessions by thus addressing the
 accused--

 "Are you Shádili?

 "Answer: We once were, we now are not.

 "Gov.-Gen.: Why do you meet in secret, and what is done at those
 meetings?

 "Answer: We read, we converse, we pray, and we pass our time like
 other Damascus people.

 "Gov.-Gen.: Why do you visit the Convent of the Faranj (Franks or
 Europeans)?

 "Abu Abbas: Is it not written in our law that when a Moslem passes
 before a Christian church or convent, and finds himself hurried by the
 hour for prayer, he is permitted to enter and even pray there?

 "Gov.-Gen.: You are Giaours (infidels)!

 "Abu Abbas (addressing one of the Ulemá): What says our law of one who
 calls a faithful man Giaour?

 "Answer: That he is himself a Giaour.

 "The Governor-General was confounded by this decision, which is
 strictly correct. He remanded the fourteen to their respective
 prisons. Here they spent three months awaiting in vain the efforts
 of some intercessor. But they had been secretly tried, or their
 number might have attracted public attention; the affair was kept in
 darkness, and even two years afterwards not a few of the Europeans
 resident at Damascus had ever heard of it. The report reached the
 Consular corps in a very modified form--persecution had been made to
 assume the semblance of political punishment. The Russian Consul, M.
 Macceef, succeeded in procuring their temporary release, but this
 active and intelligent officer was unable to do more. The British
 Consul could hardly enter into a matter which was not brought
 officially before his notice. The Consul of France and the Spanish
 Vice-Consul took scant notice of the Shádili movement, perhaps being
 unwilling to engage in open warfare with the Governor-General,
 possibly deeming the matter one of the usual tricks to escape
 recruitment or to obtain a foreign passport. The Neophytes, however,
 found an advocate in Fray Emanuel Förner, before mentioned. This
 venerable man addressed (March 29, 1870) a touching appeal to the
 General of his Order, and his letter appeared in the _Correspondance
 de Rome_ (June 11, 1870). The Franco-Prussian War, however, absorbed
 all thoughts in Europe, and the publication fell still-born from the
 Press.

 "Fray Emanuel relates in his letter that one day, when visiting the
 Neophytes before their imprisonment--he modestly passes over the
 important part which he had taken in receiving them--he asked them if
 they could answer for their constancy. The reply was: 'We believe not
 simply through your teachings of the Word, and through our reading the
 religious books which you gave us, but because the Lord Jesus Christ
 has vouchsafed to visit us and to enlighten us Himself, whilst the
 Blessed Virgin has done likewise!' adding, 'How could we without such
 a miracle have so easily become Christians?' The good priest would
 not express his doubts, for fear of 'offending one of these little
 ones.' He felt an ardent desire to inquire into the visions and the
 revelations to which they alluded. But he did not neglect to take
 the necessary precautions. Assembling his brethren, and presiding
 himself, he began with the unfortunate Salih, and he examined and
 cross-questioned the converts separately. He found them unanimous in
 declaring that on the first night when they witnessed an apparition,
 they had prayed for many hours, and that slumber had overcome them,
 when the Saviour Jesus Christ appeared to them one by one. Being
 dazzled by the light, they were very much afraid; but one of them,
 taking courage, said, 'Lord, may I speak?' He answered, 'Speak.' They
 asked, 'Who art Thou, Lord?' The apparition replied, 'I am the Truth
 Whom thou seekest. I am Jesus Christ, the Son of God.' Awakening
 agitated and frightened, they looked one at the other, and one took
 courage and spoke, the rest responding simply, 'I also saw Him.'
 Christ had once more so consoled, comforted, and exhorted them to
 follow His path, and they were filled with such ineffable joy, love,
 faith, and gratitude, that, but for His admonishing them (as He used
 to admonish the disciples), they could hardly restrain themselves from
 rushing into the streets and from openly preaching the Gospel to the
 Infidel City. On another occasion the Blessed Virgin stood before them
 with the Child Jesus in her arms, and, pointing to Him, said three
 times in a clear and distinct voice, 'My Son Jesus Christ, Whom you
 see, is the Truth.' There are many other wonderful revelations whose
 truth I can vouch for, but I feel a delicacy of thrusting them before
 unbelievers. Indeed, I have kept back half of what I know, and I am
 only giving the necessary matter.

 [Sidenote: _And persecuted._]

 "Of the fourteen Christian converts remanded to prison, two were
 suffered to escape. The relations of Mohammad Dib and Marjan bribed
 the authorities and succeeded in proving an alibi. Abd el Karim Matar,
 the Chief of the Shádilis, who had been placed in confinement under
 the suspicion of being a Christian, fell ill, and his relations, by
 giving bribes and by offering bail, carried him off to his native
 village, Darayya. There, as he was now bedridden, the family gathered
 around him, crying, 'Istash'had!' That is to say, 'Renew the faith
 (by bearing witness to Allah and his prophet Mohammad).' The invalid
 refused, turning his face towards the wall whilst his cruel relations
 struck and maltreated him. The cry was incessantly repeated and so was
 the refusal. At last such violence was used that the unfortunate Abd
 el Karim expired, the protomartyr of the Revival.

 "On the night of Ramazan 1, A.H. 1286 (December, A.D. 1869), the
 'twelve' (a curious coincidence that it was the number of the first
 Apostles in this very land) who remained in prison were secretly
 sent ironed, _viâ_ Beyrout, to the dungeons of Chanak Kalessi (the
 Dardanelles fortress). Thence they were shipped off in a craft so
 cranky and dangerous that they were wrecked twice, at Rhodes and at
 Malta. At last they were landed at Tripoli in Barbary, and they were
 finally exiled to the distant interior settlement of Murzuk. Their
 wives and children, then numbering sixty-two, and now fifty-three,
 were left at Damascus to starve in the streets, but for the assistance
 of their fellow-converts and of the Terra Santa Convent. It is a
 touching fact that if one of these poor converts has anything, he
 will quickly go and sell it, and use the profit in common, that all
 the brethren may have a little to eat. The Porte is inexorable; even
 H.I.M. of Austria was, it is reported, unable to procure the return of
 the exiles. Yet probably the 'Commander of the Faithful,' Sultan Abdul
 Aziz, will ere long expect Austria, as well as England and the rest of
 Western Europe, to fight his battles.

 "I call upon the world that worships Christ to punish this high-handed
 violation of treaty, this wicked banishment of innocent men. Catholic
 and Protestant are in this case both equally interested. The question
 at once concerns not only the twelve unfortunate exiles and their
 starving families. It involves the grand principle of religious
 toleration, which interests even the atheist and the infidel
 throughout the Turkish Empire, throughout the Eastern world.

 "Upon the answer depends whether Christianity shall be allowed free
 growth and absolute development. Let England demand of the Porte the
 removal of this Governor-General. Deliver us from this modern Herod!
 Let Abdul Aziz call off his dog from worrying the followers of Christ
 for the sake of the bones thrown to him by Aali Pasha, his Grand
 Vizier. Send us an honest man, unlike Rashíd Pasha, who will not dare
 to rend asunder the most solemn ties that can bind nations, who will
 have the courage to do his duty.

 "Amongst the Shádili converts was a private soldier of the Nizam or
 Regulars, aged twenty-three, and bearing the highest character. About
 five months after the movement commenced, the soldier Ahmed el Sahhár
 being in barracks retired to a corner for prayer and meditation, when
 suddenly our Saviour stood before him, and said, 'Dost thou believe
 in Jesus Christ, the Son of God? I am He.' The youth at once replied,
 like the man blind from his birth, 'Lord, I believe.' Jesus said to
 him, 'Thou shalt not always be a soldier; thou shalt return free to
 thy home;' upon which Ahmed inquired, 'How can I set myself free?'
 Jesus again said, 'I will deliver thee,' and with these words the
 beatific vision disappeared.

 "The young soldier had fallen into a state of ecstasy. Presently he
 arose and passed through the barracks, exclaiming, 'Jesus Christ is my
 God! Jesus Christ is my God!' His comrades were scandalized. A crowd
 rushed up; some covered his mouth with their hands; others filled it
 with dirt, and all dealt out freely blows and blasphemies. At last it
 was decided that Ahmed had become possessed of a devil, and, whilst he
 preserved perfect tranquillity, heavy chains were bound upon his neck,
 his arms, and his legs. At that moment Jesus Christ again appeared to
 him, and said, 'Break that chain!' He said, 'How can I break it, it
 being of iron?' and again the voice spoke louder, 'Break that chain!'
 He tore it asunder as though it had v been of wax. A heavier chain was
 brought, and the same miracle happened once more. This was reported to
 the officers, and by them to their Bey or commandant; the latter sent
 for the private, and, after heaping reproaches, abuse, and threats
 upon him, ordered him to be imprisoned without food or water, and to
 be carefully fettered. Still for a third and a fourth time the bonds
 fell off, and supernatural graces and strength were renewed to the
 prisoner, who made no attempt to move or to escape from his gaolers.

 "The soldiers fled in fear, and the commandant no longer dared to
 molest the convert. The case was represented to Constantinople,
 and orders were sent that Ahmed must appear at the capital. He was
 despatched accordingly under an escort, and with his wrists in a block
 of wood acting as handcuffs. Reaching Diurat, a village three hours
 from Damascus, he saw at night the door of his room fly open, and the
 Blessed Virgin entering, broke with her own hands the block of wood
 and his other bonds. By her orders he walked back alone to Damascus
 and reported himself to his regiment. It was determined this time to
 forward him with a party of soldiers, but without chains or 'wood.'

 "Arrived at Constantinople, the accused was brought before a
 court-martial; a medical man was consulted as to his sanity, and the
 prisoner was not a little surprised to find himself set at liberty,
 and free to go where he pleased. Thus the promise of Jesus Christ was
 fulfilled. The neophyte took the name of 'Isa,' which is Jesus, and
 returned to Damascus, where his history became generally known. The
 Turks pointed him out as the 'soldier who broke four chains.' Some
 term him the 'Majnún,' the madman, though there is nothing about him
 to indicate the slightest insanity; but most of the people held him in
 the highest respect, calling him Shaykh Ahmed, and thus raising him to
 the rank of 'Santon,' or saintly man.

 "The terrible example of the Shádili families has not arrested the
 movement--persecution never does. The blood of the martyrs is still
 the seed of the Church. But the converts now conduct their proceedings
 with more secrecy. They abstain from public gatherings, although
 they occasionally visit Fray Dominic d'Avila, Padre Guardiano,
 or Superior of the Terra Santa. The society has now assumed a
 socialistic character, with private meetings for prayers, and with
 the other precautions of a secret order. The number of converts
 has greatly increased. At the end of 1869 the males in the City of
 Damascus amounted to 500; in 1870 it had risen to 4100; and in 1871
 it represents 4900, of whom some 700 have been secretly baptized.
 Moreover, I have been assured by the converts with whom I associate
 and converse frequently, some of them being men highly connected
 and better educated than their persecutors, that a small tribe of
 freebooters living in and about the Druze mountain (Jebel Druze
 Haurán), having been troubled and threatened by the local Government,
 has split into two parties--Moslem and Christian, the latter known by
 crosses hoisted upon their tent roofs. The converts described to me
 the Bukâa (Cœlesyria) as a field in which the gospel has lately borne
 fruit, and this was unexpectedly confirmed. The peasantry of B----, a
 little village on the eastern slope of the Lebanon, and near Shtora,
 the central station of the French road, lately became the property of
 a certain M. A---- T----. He owned two-thirds of the village, but by
 working the authorities he managed to get into his hands the whole of
 the houses and fields, the crops and cattle--in fact, all the village
 property. The wretches, after being nearly starved for months, lately
 came up to Damascus, and begged to be received as Christians. In early
 July it was whispered that the Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem, Mgr.
 Valerga, is expected to meet, at his summer residence in Beyrout,
 Mgr. Franchi, the Papal Envoy; that both these prelates will visit
 Damascus, and that then these poor souls will ask for baptism.

 [Sidenote: _The Protestant Converts._]

 "Protestantism has also had its triumphs. About ten months ago a
 certain Hanifi Moslem, named Abd el Razzak, having some misgivings
 about his faith, left his native city Baghdad in order to visit
 the Bab or head of the Babi sect, who lies in the galleys of S.
 Jean d'Acre--what a place for such a purpose! The interview not
 being satisfactory, he travelled to Damascus, where he came under
 Protestant influence. Thence he was removed to Shtora on the French
 road, and finally to Suk el Gharb in the Maronite mountains. There
 he was enabled to study, and he was publicly baptized under the name
 of Abdallah. The Turkish authorities had no power over him; but the
 second case did not end so well.

 "A certain Hajj Hassan, a coachman in the service of a Christian
 family at Beyrout, M. Joachim Najjar, began about 1869 to attend the
 Protestant service, and for two months before his incarceration he
 professed himself a Christian, although he had not been baptized. He
 is described by all who know him as a simple and sincere man, gifted
 with great strength of will. He was waylaid, beaten, and finally cast
 with exceeding harshness into prison at Beyrout by the Governor,
 Rauf Pasha, who replied to all representations that he was unable to
 release him; he acted, in fact, under superior authority. The convert
 was not allowed to see his family, and on Thursday, June 29, he was
 sent in charge of a policeman to the Capital: this, too, despite the
 remonstrances of the Consuls-General for the United States and Prussia.

 "The superintendent of the British Syrian school, where the convert
 has a child, took the precaution of despatching to head-quarters one
 of the employés, the Rev. Mr. Waldmeier, so that energetic action
 began even before the arrival of Hajj Hassan. Rashíd Pasha commenced
 by treating with contempt her Majesty's Consul's strong appeals to
 his justice; he openly ignored the Treaty, blaming me for not having
 quoted the actual article, and he declined to permit the interference
 of strangers in the case of a subject of H.I.M. the Sultan. He
 maintained that he had a right to send for the Neophyte in order that
 the latter might be 'counselled;' and for that purpose he placed
 him under arrest in the house of the most bigoted Moslem in Syria,
 the chief of police, Mir Alai (Colonel) Mustafa Bey. He complained
 strongly of the conduct of Protestant missionaries in Syria, accusing
 them of secretly proselytizing, though he admitted in the same
 sentence that the convert Hassan had openly attended a Christian
 church for some time. On the next day he ungraciously refused my
 request that the Presbyterian missionaries (Rev. Messrs. Wright,
 Crawford, and Scott) might be allowed access to the Neophyte. About
 midday on Friday, June 30, Rashíd Pasha sent for Hajj Hassan, who had
 been duly disciplined by the police, and locking the door, he began
 to ask whether the convert was not in fear of being strangled--words
 which, in his mouth, had a peculiar significancy. He then proceeded to
 offer a price for apostasy, which rose to thirty thousand piastres.
 This was stoutly refused by the Neophyte, who was returned to arrest.
 Presently the Governor-General heard that I had telegraphed for
 permission to proceed to Constantinople to represent to my Ambassador
 the state of things in Syria within my district, and Hajj Hassan was
 ordered to return under the charge of a policeman to Beyrout. The new
 Christian, however, was warned that he must quit that port together
 with his family within twenty days, under pain of being sent to
 Constantinople handcuffed, or, as the native phrase is, 'in wood.'

 "The case of Hajj Hassan came to a lame and impotent conclusion. He
 had been delivered out of the Moslem stronghold, Damascus, to the
 safe side of the Lebanon. The Protestant Christians of Beyrout, with
 their schools, missions, and Consuls-General to back them up, should
 have kept him at Beyrout, and Rashíd Pasha should have been compelled
 either to eat his own words or to carry out his threat. In the latter
 case the convert should have been accompanied to Constantinople by a
 delegate from the Missions, and the Sublime Porte should have been
 compelled to decide whether she would or would not abide by her
 Treaties and Firmans. The plea that exile was necessary to defend the
 convert from his own co-religionists, that banishment was for his own
 benefit, is simply absurd. Either the Porte can or she cannot protect
 her Christian converts. In the latter case they must be protected for
 her. Never probably has there been so good an opportunity for testing
 Turkey's profession of liberalism, and the Turks are too feeble and
 too cunning to let another present itself.

 "In their first fright the Beyrout European Christians withdrew their
 protection from Hajj Hassan. On the diligence arriving at the 'Pines,'
 a forest about an hour before reaching Beyrout from Damascus, the
 convert was ordered to dismount, and his wife and five children (one
 at the breast) were turned adrift from the house which had protected
 them for some days, at nine o'clock at night, to wander whither they
 could. Hajj Hassan was subsequently removed from Beyrout to Abeigh,
 an Anglo-American (U.S.) Mission station in the Lebanon, probably by
 the exertions of Dr. Thomson, author of 'The Land and the Book,' who
 distinguishes himself in Beyrout by daring to have an opinion and to
 express it, though unfortunately he stood alone and unsupported. On
 July 20th, Hajj Hassan was to be shipped off by night to Alexandria,
 where he was expected to 'find good employ.' Suddenly his passport was
 refused by the local authorities, and he was hidden in the house of
 a Consular Dragoman. The Porte had sent a secret despatch, ordering
 him to be transported to Crete, Cyprus, or one of the islands in
 the Archipelago, where his fate may easily be divined. At length a
 telegram arrived from Constantinople, and the result was that, after
 a fortnight's detention by sickness, Hajj Hassan was sent off by the
 French mail of Friday, August 11th. Verily, the Beyroutines are a
 feeble folk. They allowed themselves to be shamefully defeated by
 Rashíd Pasha when he was grossly in the wrong.

 "When the depositions of Hajj Hassan were taken at the Consulate,
 Damascus, he declared that a Moslem friend of his, named Hammud ibn
 Osman Bey, originally from Latakia (Laodicea), but domiciled at
 Beyrout, had suddenly disappeared, and had not been heard of for
 twelve days. Presently it became known that Hammud, about two years
 ago, when in the employ of Mr. Grierson, then Vice-Consul of Latakia,
 was drawn for the Army, but had not been called upon to serve. He was
 in the habit of hearing the missionaries preach, and on more than one
 occasion he declared that he would profess Christianity--a course from
 which his friends dissuaded him.

 "Hammud determined, in the beginning of 1871, to visit Beyrout, and
 Mr. Grierson gave him letters of introduction to the missionaries and
 to the superintendent of the British Syrian schools, requesting that
 he might be taken into the service of some European family. Here he
 again openly committed himself by declaring that he was a Christian.
 His former master, knowing that the eyes of the police were upon him,
 made immediate arrangements for his leaving by the steamer to Latakia,
 where he had been recruited, giving him at the same time a note for
 the colonel commanding the regiment. Hammud, however, on the evening
 before his journey, imprudently walked out in the direction of the
 barracks: he was seized and put in irons--probably to be 'counselled.'

 "Mr. Grierson, when informed of this arrest, at once addressed Toufan
 Bey. This officer is a Pole commanding one of the regiments of the
 'Cossacks of the Sultan,' the other being quartered at Adrianople.
 Visiting the Military Pasha of Beyrout, he begged that as Hammud's
 passage had been taken for Latakia, where his name had been drawn, the
 convert might be allowed to proceed there. The two officers sent for
 the man and gave the required directions respecting him. But Hammud
 was already in the enemies' hands; and the normal charge of desertion
 was of course trumped up against him. He was sent with a number of
 other conscripts to the capital, with tied hands, and carrying the
 rations of his fellow-soldiers; and presently a report was spread that
 he had been put to death.

 "Hajj Hassan on returning to Beyrout informed Mr. Johnson,
 Consul-General for the United States, that during his arrest at
 Damascus the soldiers had threatened to 'serve him as they had served
 Hammudeh.' He went at once to Rauf Pasha, who replied that the man
 had been arrested and sent to head-quarters because he had been
 conscripted two years before at Latakia and had deserted. This was
 directly opposed to the statement made by Mr. Grierson, namely, that
 the man had never been called upon to serve. Mr. Johnson could do no
 more, as Hammud had made himself amenable to the law of the land,
 and he seems not to have taken any steps to decide whether it was a
 _bonâ-fide_ desertion. He inquired, however, what the punishment would
 be, and was told that it would depend upon circumstances.

 "Several people at Beyrout wrote to me at Damascus, begging of me to
 institute a search for the missing man. Shortly afterwards letters
 were despatched from Beyrout, stating that Hammud had been found in
 the barracks alive and well, and contented with his condition as a
 soldier. What process he has been through to effect such a wonderful
 change we are not informed, nor where he has been hidden during its
 operation. The 'counselling' has probably compelled the convert by
 brute force to conceal his convictions.

 [Sidenote: _The Shádilis._]

 "Another story in the mouths of men is that a young man, the son of
 a _kázi_ or judge, had lately suffered martyrdom at Damascus for the
 crime of becoming a Christian. This may possibly be a certain Said el
 Hamawi, who disappeared three or four years ago. Said was a man of
 education, and a Shaykh, who acted _khatíb_ (or scribe and chaplain)
 to one of the regiments. He was convicted of having professed
 Christianity, and was sent for confinement to the Capital. When let
 out of prison he repeated his offence, and he has never been heard of
 since.

 "On the morning of the Saturday (July 1) which witnessed the unjust
 sentence of exile pronounced upon Hajj Hassan, a certain Arif Effendi
 ibn Abd el Ghani el Nablusi was found hanging in a retired room of
 the Great Amáwi Mosque at Damascus, where he had been imprisoned. No
 inquest was held upon the body, which may or may not have shown signs
 of violence; it was hastily buried. Some three years before this time,
 Arif Effendi, a man of high family, and of excellent education, had
 become a Greek Christian at Athens, under the name of Eustathius.
 Presently he reappeared in Syria as a convert, a criminal whom every
 good--that is to say, bigoted--Moslem deems worthy of instant and
 violent death. He came to the Capital, and he introduced himself
 as a Christian to the Irish-American Presbyterian missionaries; to
 Monseigneur Yakub, the Syrian Catholic Bishop, and to others; nor
 did he conceal from them his personal fears. He expected momentary
 destruction, and presently he found it, being accused, truthfully or
 not I am unable to say, of stealing fourteen silver lamp-chains, and
 a silver padlock. The wildest rumours flew about the City. The few
 declared that the man had hanged himself. The Nablusi family asserted
 that, repenting his apostasy, he had allowed himself to be hanged,
 and the vulgar were taught to think that he was hanged by order of
 Sayyidna Yahya, our Lord John (the Baptist), whose head is supposed
 to be buried in the Great Mosque. It was currently reported that the
 renegade had been sent to the Algerine Amir, the Sayyid Abd el Kadir,
 who, finding him guilty of theft, had ordered him to receive forty
 stripes and to be arrested in the Mosque, at the same time positively
 refusing to sanction his execution as his accusers demanded. This
 proceeding, though irregular, is not contrary to Moslem law; the Ulemá
 claim and are allowed such jurisdiction in matters concerning the
 Mosque.

 "I, suspecting foul play, applied on the 3rd of July for information
 upon this subject to the _Wali_, who rudely refused to 'justify
 himself.' Eight days afterwards the Governor-General thought proper to
 lay the case before the Tribunal. The result may easily be imagined.
 That honourable body cast the blame of the illegal imprisonment
 upon the Amir Abd el Kadir, whom they hate because he saved so many
 Christian lives in 1860. They delivered a verdict that the convert
 had been found hanged by his own hand, they antedated a medical
 certificate that the body bore no marks of violence, and they asserted
 contrary to fact and truth that the deceased was decently washed and
 buried, whereas he was thrust into a hole like a dog.

 "And now I will answer the question prominent in every reader's mind:
 'These men are Turks; are we bound to protect them?'

 "I simply reply we are.

 [Sidenote: _Richard quotes Mr. Gladstone._]

 "It is obviously our national duty to take serious action in arresting
 such displays of Moslem fanaticism as those that have lately taken
 place in Syria. Mr. Gladstone cannot forget his own words: 'We would
 be sorry not to treat Turkey with the respect due to a Power which
 is responsible for the government of an extended territory, but
 with reference to many of her provinces and their general concerns,
 circumstances place her in such a position that we are entitled and,
 indeed, in many cases, bound to entertain questions affecting her
 internal relations to her people, such as it would be impertinent to
 entertain in respect to most foreign countries.... All that we can
 expect is that when she has contracted legal or moral engagements
 she should fulfil them, and that when she is under no engagements
 she should lend a willing ear to counsels which may be in themselves
 judicious, and which aim solely at the promotion of her interests....
 As regards the justice of the case, we must remember that as far as
 regards the stipulations of the Hatti-i-Humaioun, we are not only
 entitled to advise Turkey in her own interest, in her regard to
 humanity, in her sense of justice, in her desire to be a civilized
 European Power, to fulfil those engagements, but we are also entitled
 to say to her that the fulfilment of those stipulations is a matter
 of moral faith, an obligation to which she is absolutely bound, and
 the disregard of which will entail upon her disgrace in the eyes of
 Europe.... We are entitled to require from Turkey the execution of her
 literal engagements' (Debate on Crete and Servia. Mr. Gregory's motion
 for correspondence and Consular Reports on the Cretan Insurrection,
 etc., as reported in the _Evening Mail_ of Feb. 15-18, 1867).

 "These memorable words deserve quotation the more, as throughout the
 nearer East, especially among the Christian communities, England
 still suffers under the imputation of not allowing the interests
 of Christendom to weigh against her politics and her sympathy with
 the integrity of the Turkish Empire. Even if we care little for the
 propagation of Christianity, or for the regeneration of Asia, we are
 bound to see that treaties do not become waste paper.

 "The first step to be taken in North Syria, and to be taken without
 delay, would be to procure the recall and the pardon of the twelve
 unfortunates who were banished in 1870 to Tripoli of Barbary, and
 to Murzuk in Inner Africa. This will be a delicate proceeding;
 imprudently carried out, it will inevitably cost the lives of men
 whose only offence has been that of becoming Christians, and it will
 only serve to sink their families into still deeper misery. But there
 should be no difficulty of success. Our Consul-General at Tripoli
 could easily defend the lives if not the liberties of the Neophytes.
 Her Majesty's Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary at
 Constantinople should be directed firmly to demand that an officer of
 high rank be sent from Head-quarters, and that he should be made duly
 responsible for landing the exiles in safety at Beyrout. Thence they
 should be transferred to Damascus; their pretended offences should be
 submitted to a regular tribunal, whose action would be watched by me
 or my successor, and when publicly proved to be innocent these men
 should be restored to the bosoms of their families, whilst the police
 should be especially charged with their safety.

 "This step taken, the next will naturally be to urge the instant
 recall of the unjust _Wali_, or Governor-General, of Syria, Mohammed
 Rashíd Pasha, together with those members of the Secret Tribunal, more
 especially the Mufattish Effendi, Mahommad Izzat, who made themselves
 his instruments in carrying out illegal and tyrannical measures
 against a body of twelve innocent men. And when the head and front of
 the evil shall have been removed and the limbs formally impeached,
 a consummation devoutly to be desired, unless due prudence be
 exercised much evil may be the result. Rashíd Pasha has filled every
 important post with his familiars and creatures; he will doubtless
 leave directions after his departure for all manner of troubles to be
 excited, especially between Christians and Moslems, Greeks and Latins,
 in order to stifle the outcry which will rise from the length and
 breadth of the land. The remedy will be a High Commissioner, and a
 Firman from Constantinople couched in the strongest terms, and holding
 all Governors and Judges (_muftis_ and _kázis_) personally responsible
 for any disorderly proceedings. And should they not be able to keep
 the peace, should any threat of repeating the horrors of 1860 be
 heard, the nations of Europe must prepare to keep it for them.

 "Thus will the unhappy province--a land once flowing with milk and
 honey, now steeped to the lips in poverty and crime--recover from
 the misery and the semi-starvation under which it has groaned during
 the last five years. Thus also Christianity may again raise her
 head in her birthplace and in the land of her early increase. Thus
 shall England become to Syria, and through Syria to Western Asia,
 the blessing which Syria in the days of the early Church was to
 England, to Europe, and to the civilized world. Let her discharge her
 obligations before her God.

 "RICHARD FRANCIS BURTON."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Sidenote: _Letters approving his Conduct._]

I saw at the Mission in Damascus, and obtained leave to copy, the
following testimonial addressed to Richard, and his reply.--I. B.

 "Damascus, July 12, 1871.

 "To Captain Burton, H.B.M.'s Consul at Damascus.

 "Sir,--We beg to tender to you our heartiest thanks for your prompt
 decisive action in the case of Hassan the converted Moslem, and also
 to congratulate you on the result of your determination and firmness.

 "For some time past we had heard that a Moslem converted to
 Protestantism at Beyrout had become subject to considerable
 persecution. A convert more obscure than himself has been put out
 of the way and has not since been heard of, and Hassan had been
 subjected to a series of arrests and imprisonments, and had several
 times narrowly escaped assassination. The chief Consulates, however,
 had become publicly interested in him, so that his safety from
 legal execution seemed ensured; and as he was always accompanied by
 some one to protect him from assassins, he seemed for the time to
 be safe. But on the 29th of June we were surprised to find that he
 was being transported to Damascus, having been arrested and bound
 in chains. The English colony in Beyrout became alarmed, as they
 declared that none so transported to Damascus ever returned again.
 Two agents of the Mission were despatched from Beyrout, one preceding
 the prisoner to give us information as to what had taken place, and
 the other accompanying the prisoner to watch what became of him. On
 receiving intelligence of the convert's transportation to this City,
 the missionaries of the three Missions at Damascus resolved to lay
 the case before you, but on doing so found that you had with your
 usual energy already taken up the case, and categorically demanded
 the release of the prisoners. And though the authorities ignored the
 Firman granting civil and religious liberty to the people of this
 Empire, and denied your right to interfere on behalf of the prisoner,
 the unflinching stand you took by the concessions of the Hatti-Sheríf
 secured the release of the prisoner: you have thus vindicated the
 cause of humanity, for on the day on which the prisoner escaped
 through your intervention, the Moslem authorities strangled in the
 Great Mosque of Damascus a Moslem convert to Christianity. The man
 had made application to the Irish American Mission for protection,
 and declared that he lived in daily fear of strangulation. He was
 imprisoned in the Great Mosque, and strangled as they say by St. John
 the Baptist, and then carried away by one man and thrown into a hole
 like a dog.

 "This accident proves that your uncompromising firmness with
 the authorities was an act of pure mercy, and that the worst
 apprehensions of the Beyrout missionaries were not unfounded. But
 more important still, you have asserted the binding character of the
 spiritual privileges of the Christian subjects of the Porte, contained
 in the Firman of 1856, and which, according to Fuad Pasha's letters to
 Lord Stratford de Redcliffe, comprises 'absolutely all proselytes.'

 "We are sure, Sir, that your conduct in this affair will receive the
 unqualified approbation of the best public opinion in Christendom, and
 we have no doubt it will receive, as it merits, the warm approval of
 your own Government.

 "We who were near and anxious spectators of the proceedings in this
 affair cannot too warmly express our sense of the satisfaction with
 which we witnessed the fearless, firm, and efficient manner in which
 you conducted this important case until the convert was permitted to
 leave this city.

 "(Signed) E. B. FRANKEL, Missionary of the London Jews'
 Society.

 "JAMES ORR SCOTT, M.A., Missionary of the Irish Presbyterian
 Church.

 "FANNY JAMES, Lady Superintendent of the British Syrian
 Schools, Damascus.

 "WILLIAM WRIGHT, A.B., Missionary of the Irish Presbyterian
 Church, Damascus.

 "JOHN CRAWFORD, Missionary of the United Presbyterian Church
 of North America at Damascus.

 "ELLEN WILSON, Lady Superintendent of the British Syrian
 Schools, Zableh."

[Sidenote: _Richard's Answer and Remarks._]

Captain Burton's reply to the Rev. E. B. Frankel, Rev. J. Orr Scott,
Miss James, Rev. W. Wright, Rev. John Crawford, Miss Wilson.

 "Beludan, July 19, 1871.

 "I have the pleasure to return my warmest thanks for your letter this
 day received, in which you have formed so flattering an estimate
 of my services as H.M.'s Consul for Damascus. Nor must I forget to
 express my gratitude to you for the cordial support and approval of
 my proceedings connected with your Missions which you have always
 extended to me. This friendly feeling has greatly helped to lighten
 the difficulties of the task that lay before me in 1869. You all know,
 and none can better know, what was to be done when I assumed charge
 of this Consulate; you are acquainted with the several measures taken
 by me, honourably I hope to our national name, and you are familiar
 with the obstacles thrown in my way, and with the manner in which I
 met them. My task will encounter difficulties for some time. Still the
 prospect does not deter me. I shall continue to maintain the honest
 independence of H.M.'s Consulate, to defend our rights as foreigners
 in Syria, and to claim all our privileges to the letter of the law.
 Should I meet--and there is no fear of its being otherwise--the
 approval of my Chiefs, who know that an official life of twenty-nine
 years in the four quarters of the world is a title to some confidence,
 I feel assured that we may look forward to happier times at Damascus,
 when peace and security shall take the place of anxiety and depression.

 "Meanwhile I recommend to your prudent consideration the present state
 of affairs in Syria. A movement which I cannot but characterize as
 a Revival of Christianity, seems to have resulted from the peculiar
 action of the authorities, and from the spirit of inquiry awakened
 in the hearts of the people. It numbers its converts by thousands,
 including men of high rank, and it is progressing even amongst the
 soldiery.

 "I need hardly observe that it is the duty of one and all of us to
 labour in the grand cause of religious toleration, and to be watchful
 lest local and personal interpretations are allowed to misrepresent
 the absolute rights of all converts to life and liberty. And I trust
 that you will find me, at the end as in the beginning, always ready
 to serve your interests, to protect your Missions and Schools, and to
 lend my most energetic aid to your converts.

 "I am, with truth and regard, yours faithfully,

 "(Signed) RICHARD BURTON,

 "H.M.'s Consul, Damascus."

This was the time that Richard was nearest making a public declaration
of Catholicity, but it was his "recall." I cannot tell it better than
in his own words:--

 "I took the part, and espoused the cause of these forty martyrs, and
 wrote home offering to be security for them if the Latin Patriarch
 Valerga might be sent down to baptize them. I promised to stand guard,
 and my wife would be godmother to them all. I asked her if she were
 afraid, and she said, 'Afraid! No, indeed, only too proud.' Lord
 Granville wrote to inquire into the matter, and the reply was, 'that
 Valerga would not come, that the matter was very much exaggerated,
 that there were only four hundred.' I have copies of the letter now.
 Then my seven enemies clubbed together, and represented most falsely
 that my life was in danger, that I was very unpopular with the
 Moslems, which only meant the corrupt Rashíd Pasha."

Lord Granville, like many another easy-going, pleasant diplomat (to
please God knows who), ruined the life of the best man under his rule
with the stroke of his pen. That _did_ put the whole of Syria in a
blaze of revolt and indignation, and it required the utmost prudence
not to put a match to it. It is a pitiful tale, and was a revolting
sight to see seven jackals trying to rend an insulted and martyred lion.

One fine day a bombshell fell in the midst of our happy life. It was
not _only_ the insult of the whole thing, it was the ungentlemanly way
in which it was carried out from Beyrout. This was our position and the
way it was done:--

We were surrounded by hundreds who seemed to be dependent upon us; by
villages which, under our care, consular or maternal, seemed to be
thriving, prosperous, peaceful, and secure; by friends we had made
everywhere. Our lives, plans, and interests were arranged for years;
we were settled down and established as securely, we thought, as
any of you in your own houses at home. Our _entourage_ was a large
one--dragomans, _kawwáses_, servants; our stud, various pets, and
flowers; our home, and our "household gods;" our poor for thirty miles
around us. And so surrounded, our only wish was to stay, perhaps for
life, and do our duty both to God and our neighbour; and we were
succeeding, as I mean to prove. You, through whose evil working the
blow struck us on this day, examine your hearts, and ask yourselves why
you did this thing, because God, who protects those who serve Him, will
allow this cruel deed to follow you, and recoil upon you some day, when
you least expect it. It was useless to mislead the Authorities and the
public at home, by laying the blame upon the Moslems. Richard always
has been a very good friend to the Moslems, and the Moslems have always
liked him; but in this instance, local and individual weakness, spite
and jealousy, overthrew him.

The horses were saddled at the door, in the Anti-Lebanon, and we
were going for a ride, when a ragged messenger on foot stopped to
drink at the spring, and advanced towards me with a note. I saw it
was for Richard, and took it into the house for him. It was from the
Vice-Consul of Beyrout, informing him that, by the orders of his
Consul-General, he had arrived the previous day (15th of August), and
had taken charge of the Damascus Consulate. The Vice-Consul was in no
way to blame.[1]

Richard's journal says--

 "_August_ 16_th._--All ready to start--rode in.

 "_August_ 18_th._--Left Damascus for ever; started at three a.m. in
 the dark, with a big lantern; all my men crying; alone in _coupé_ of
 diligence, thanks to the pigs. Excitement of seeing all for the last
 time. All seemed sorry; a few groans. The sight of Bludán mountains in
 the distance at sunrise, where I have left my wife. _Ever again?_ Felt
 soft. Dismissal ignominious, at the age of fifty, without a month's
 notice, or wages, or character.

 "The Turkish Government has boasted that it would choose its own time,
 when Moslems may become Christians if they wish. The time has now
 come."

[Sidenote: _He leaves._]

Richard and Charley Tyrwhitt-Drake were in the saddle in five minutes,
and galloped into town without drawing rein. He would not let me
accompany him. A mounted messenger returned on the 19th with these few
written words, "Don't be frightened; I am recalled. Pay, pack, and
follow at convenience." I was not frightened, but I do not like to
remember what I thought or felt.

[Sidenote: _I take a Night Ride across Country._]

I could not rest on the night of the 19th; I thought I heard some
one call me three successive times. I jumped up in the middle of a
dark night, saddled my horse, and, though everybody said I was mad,
and wanted to put me to bed, I rode a journey of nine hours across
country, by the compass, as if I were riding for a doctor, over rocks
and through swamps, making for the diligence halfway house. Three or
four of my people were frightened, and followed me. At last I came in
sight of Shtora, the diligence-station. The half-hour had expired; the
travellers had eaten and taken their places, and it was just about to
start; but God was good to me. Just as the coachman was about to raise
his whip, he turned his head to the part of the country from whence I
was coming, hot, torn, and covered with dust and mud from head to foot;
but he knew me. I held up both my arms, as they do to stop a train. He
saw the signal, waited, and took me in, and told the ostler to lead my
dead-beat horse to the stables.[2]

I reached Beyrout twenty-four hours before the steamer sailed. When
Richard had once received his recall, he never looked behind him, nor
packed up anything, but went straight away. It is his rule to be ready
in ten minutes to go anywhere. He was now a private individual in
misfortune. I passed him in the diligence, walking alone in the town,
and looking so sad and serious. Not even a _kawwás_ was sent to attend
on him, to see him out with a show of honour and respect. It was a real
emblem of the sick lion. But _I_ was there (thank God) in my place, and
he was so surprised and glad when he saw me! I was well rewarded for my
hard ride, for when he saw me his whole face was illuminated, and he
said, "Thank you, _bon sang ne peut mentir_." We had twenty-four hours
to take counsel and comfort together.

Everybody called upon us, and everybody regretted. The French
Consul-General made us almost take up our abode with him for those
twenty-four hours--our own Consul-General cut us. At four o'clock I
went on board with my husband, and on return I found his faithful
servant Habíb, who had also followed him, and arrived just ten minutes
too late--only in time to see him steam out; he had flung himself down
on the quay in a passionate flood of tears.

Any Consul, in any part of the Eastern world, with one drop of
gentlemanly feeling, would have gone to meet his comrade in distress,
and sent a couple of _kawwáses_ to walk before and behind him. Mr.
Eldridge's action was as big a thing as if he had posted handbills all
over Beyrout to announce to the world that no notice was to be taken of
him. The disgrace was to himself, not to Richard.[3]

The only notice Richard took of _this_ tragedy in his life is one
sentence in his journal: "After all my service, ignominiously
dismissed, at fifty years of age"--and at whose instance, do you think?
(1) A Pasha so corrupt that his own Government was obliged to recall
him a month later, threaten him with chains, and throw him into a
fortress, and his brains were blown out a short while after by a man
he had oppressed. (2) His own Consul-General, whose memory is only
known to his once immediate acquaintances by the careful registering
of his barometers, and the amount of beer which helped that arduous
task, and who exactly suited the Foreign Office by confining himself
to so narrow a circle. He was fearfully jealous of his superior
subordinate, and asked for his removal through Mr. Kennedy, who was
not commissioned for that business. Mr. Eldridge said afterwards, "If
Burton had only have walked in _my_ way, he would have lived and died
here." Thirdly, an aggressive schoolmistress, who altered, or _allowed
to be altered_, some words in a letter he wrote her, changing "mining"
into "missionary," to be shown at Exeter Hall. Fourthly, fifthly, and
sixthly, three unscrupulous Jewish usurers. Seventhly, an elastic Greek
Bishop, who began a crusade against the Protestants of Nazareth, and
prevented them from cultivating their land, and who had snatched away a
synagogue and cemetery from British-protected Jews.

[Sidenote: _We were stoned at Nazareth._]

When we were in camp there, he caused his people, who were about a
hundred and fifty against six, to pick a quarrel with our people, and
they stoned us. "Stoning" in the East means a hailstorm the size of
melons, which positively seems to darken the air. As an old soldier
accustomed to fire, Richard stood perfectly calm, collected, and
self-contained, though the stones hit him right and left, and almost
broke his sword-arm; he never lost his temper, and never fired, but
was simply marking the ringleaders to take them. I ran out to give
him his two six-shot revolvers, but when I got within stones' reach,
he made a sign to me not to embarrass his movements; so I kept near
enough to drag him out if he were wounded, putting his revolvers in
my belt. When three of his servants were badly hurt, and one lay for
dead on the ground, he drew a pistol from a man's belt, and fired a
shot in the air. That was my signal. I flew round to the other camps,
and called all the English and Americans with their guns. When they
saw a reinforcement of ten armed English and Americans running down
upon them, the cowardly crew turned and fled. This was followed by a
_procès-verbal_ between Richard and the Bishop, which Richard won.

I was left to pack, pay, and follow; so I took the night diligence
back, and had, in spite of the August weather, a cold, hard seven hours
over the Lebanon, for I had brought nothing with me; my clothes were
dry and stiff, and I was very tired. On the road I passed our honorary
dragoman, Hanna Misk. I called out to him, but I had no official
position now, so he turned his head the other way, and passed me by. I
sent a peasant after him, but he shook his head and rode on. "There,"
I said, "goes the man who has lived with us, travelled with us, and
shared everything we had, and for whose rights concerning a village my
husband has always contended, because his claims were just." The law
of "Le Roi est mort, vive le Roi!" extends, I suppose, everywhere; but
probably the king's widow always feels it.[4] I wonder how old one has
to grow before learning the common rules of life, instead of allowing
every shock the world gives one to disturb one, as if one were newly
born? It is innate in cool natures, and never learnt by the others,
who take useless "headers" against the dead wall of circumstances,
until they grow old and cold and selfish. Disraeli told us that "no
affections and a great brain form the men that command the world; that
no affections and a little brain make petty villains;" but a great
brain and a great heart he has no description for. Here he stops short;
but I can tell him those are the men for whom there is no place. The
nineteenth century will have none of them.

Richard was a general favourite, but he was too powerful to suit the
Turkish _Wali_, or Governor-General, who for once found a man he could
not corrupt. To give some idea of _how_ incorruptible, he was once
offered £10,000 on the table, which the man in question brought with
him, to give an opinion which would have swayed a public transaction,
which would have been no very great harm, but yet it would not have
been quite "square" for such a man as Richard, and a promise of £10,000
when the thing was done--"for," said the man, "I can get plenty of
money when I like, and this will pay me well." My husband let him
finish, and then he said, "If you were a gentleman of my own standing,
and an Englishman, I would just pitch you out of the window; but as
you are not, you may pick up your £10,000 and you may walk down the
stairs. But don't come here again, because if the thing is right, I
shall do it without your paying me; and if it is not, there is not
enough money in the world to buy me." He then called me, and he told me
about it, and said, "This man's harem will be offering you diamonds;
mind you don't take them." "There is not the slightest chance," I said;
"I don't want them." Now, it is a perfect fact that, although I am a
woman, jewellery is no temptation to me; I therefore take no credit to
myself that I have refused enough to enable me to wear as many as any
woman in London; but when they brought me horses, it was quite another
sensation, and I had to screw up my courage hard--and bolt.

It is perfectly true that Richard is the only man not born a Moslem and
an Oriental who, having performed the Hajj to Mecca and Medinah, could
live with the Moslems in perfect friendship after. They considered
him a _personâ grata_--something more civilized than the common run
of Franks; they called him Haji Abdullah, and treated him as one of
themselves. During Richard's time in Syria he raised the English name,
which was going down rapidly, to its old prestige in the time of Sir
Richard Wood and Lord Strathnairn, and the old days of Lord Stratford
de Redcliffe. He explored all the unknown parts of Syria, Palestine,
Holy Land, Haurán, the 'Aláh and Nejd; he stood between the poor
peasantry and the usurers; he advanced and protected the just claims
of British subjects. When a massacre appeared imminent he kept the
peace. The fanatical persecution of the Christians was stopped; he
stood between them and his friends the Mohammedans; he said, "They are
mine, and you must not touch them;" he saved innumerable villages from
slavery. In fact, he was just the man whom Rashíd Pasha, the corrupt
Turkish Governor-General, could not stand; he was an avenging angel
in his way. His own Consul-General was jealous of him. The Beyrout
missionaries, or _rather_ the British Syrian schools missionaries--for
we were friends with several Beyrout missionaries, notably Dr. Thomson
and Dr. Bliss--poisoned Exeter Hall against him, although they got
more help from him than from any one, simply because neither he nor I
were, what I believe the technical term is, "practical Protestants."
The three foremost Jews set Sir Moses Montefiore and the illustrious
Jewish families of London against him, because he could not stand by
and see the poor plundered twice and thrice over, never getting a
receipt for their money, never being allowed a paper to show what they
had paid, till (when England is paying millions to suppress Slave-trade
in various parts of the world) she was unconsciously abetting it, and
aiding it, and protecting it, all over the Syrian villages, by the
power of complaisant Consuls. The Greek Bishop abetted our being stoned
at Nazareth, because he had advanced and protected the Protestant
missionaries' just claim in his jurisdiction. These seven hornets were
sufficient to kill and break the heart of St. Michael the archangel.
They say three hornets kill a man, and six will kill a horse.

[Sidenote: _General Information._[5]]

I am now going to suppose that _all_ my readers are not familiar
with Syria and its Cities, its native and foreign officials, or its
various Religions and Races. As a wanderer in that land, now free
and independent of all employments and Governments, an impartial
looker-on and a student of its politics, religions, and peculiar mode
of Government, I will diverge for a moment from my subject to explain a
few facts.

On arriving in Syria, one lands at Beyrout, a pretty town of no
very great importance to the world. It is the concentration of
all that Syria knows of comfort, luxury, and pleasure. Christian
and semi-civilized, it has its soldiers and policemen, its ships
and sailors under the windows, its semi-European mode of living
and manners, and its free communication with Europe by telegraphs
and regular mails. Steamers anchor in the open roadstead (there
is no harbour, pier, or landing-place, save a few broken unclean
steps leading to a small, dirty custom-house quay), an occasional
merchant-ship appears, and at times some wandering man-of-war. It is
ruled by a Governor subject to the _Wali_, who rules Syria, being in
fact Viceroy to the Sultan. This great official lives at Damascus,
and visits Beyrout for sea-bathing and to make holiday. It is also
the residence of the Consuls-General, who represent foreign Powers
and European influence, and are very great people in their way; and
also of a large European society of the middle classes. Beyrout is
backed by the high range of the Lebanon, which is inhabited by Druzes
and Maronites, and ruled by a separate Governor, Franco Pasha, an
able officer, independent of the _Wali_. After crossing the Lebanon
and descending into the plain of the Bukâa (Cœle-Syria) Civilization,
Christianity, and all free communication with the outer world, are left
behind; as are comforts, luxuries, and Society, whilst the traveller
is completely at the mercy of Beyrout as to how much or how little
he may receive of the necessary help such as man should give to his
fellow-man. For safety he is self-dependent on his own personal courage
and his knowledge of the East, and woe betide the hapless one who has
no friend at Beyrout, or whose Consul-General may be a little sick, or
selfish, or ill-tempered, or otherwise ill-disposed. He steps forth
into the solemnity of Orientalism, which increases upon him during
the sometimes dreary and barren seventy-two miles journey, and he
finds himself in the heart of Oriental life in the City of Damascus.
This Orientalism is the great charm of "the Pearl of the East." She
is still pure and innocent of anything like Europeanism. However much
the wanderer may dislike it at first, the life so grows upon him that,
after a time, to quit it would be a wrench. But this is what makes
the demi-semi-fashionable of Beyrout hate Damascus, with a spice of
fear, knowing nothing of her attractions; whilst she, on her side,
lazily despises the effeminate and, to her, luxurious and feeble
Beyroutine. Damascus, I have said, is the heart and capital of Syria,
the residence of the _Wali_ and his _entourage_, who rule Syria, who
fear the strong and who oppress the weak, who persecute Christians, who
starve the people, and who fill their own pockets. If his Excellency
died to-morrow the voice of Syria would go up to heaven in one loud cry
of execration, embodying the popular curse upon a departed tyrant's
soul, "May the Lord have no mercy upon your resting-place!" Here also
are the head-quarters of the Army and Police, the chief _Majlises_ or
Tribunals, which represent our Courts of Law; business institutions
and transactions have also their place in Damascus, and, being a "Holy
City," I need not say that it is the religious _chef lieu_.

Syria has always been cursed with races, tribes, and faiths enough
to split up the country, and to cause all manner of confusion. For
instance, the Moslem is the national religion. There are the Moslem
Sunnites, or orthodox of four schools, viz. the Hanifi, Shafí, Hanbeli,
Maliki; the Shí'ah heresy, locally called Metáwali (of these most
are Kurds); the Nusayri (also Shiites), but their faith is little
understood. The Nowar, or Gypsies, are self-styled Mohammedans. Besides
these there are Shádilis or Sházlis (Dervishes and Sufis), Persian
"Babis," Chaldean Yezidis, Ismailiyehs (Shí'ahs) from different parts
of the East, and Wáhhabis, who keep themselves in the background. The
Bedawi, who are as the sands of the desert they inhabit, are also
Moslems.

After the Moslems, but conforming with them, come the Druzes, who are
divided into Akkal and Juhhal; which simply means "the wise men" and
"the foolish (young) men," as the former lead a more rigid life than
the latter. Their belief is more or less a mystery; for policy's sake
they affect the national religion, and they will lean towards the faith
of whatever person they may happen to address.

The Jews are divided into Sephardim, Askenazim, Samaritan, and Karaite.

Then we come to the Christians, who number fourteen sects--Maronite
(Catholic), Greek Catholic, Greek Schismatic (styled "orthodox"),
Armenian Catholic, Armenian Schismatic (styled "orthodox"), Syrian
Catholic; Jacobite, which is Syrian "orthodox" or non-Catholic, Latin
Catholics (like the French, etc.), a few Protestants (from the missions
and schools of England, Chaldea, Prussia, and the United States, and
their converts), Copts, Abyssinians, Chaldean Catholic and Chaldean
Schismatics (styled "orthodox"). The Catholic rites have each a liturgy
different from the Latin Catholic Mass, and said in their own language;
they communicate under both kinds, but there is no heresy in their
belief. A French Catholic satisfies his obligations of hearing Mass on
Sunday with them, but of course he cannot receive their communion under
both forms.

Nineteen Europeans reside at Damascus. This is the residence of the
Consuls, whose districts extend to Baghdad on the east, and to Nablus
on the south, and who have all the real work to do. Some suppose that
they are subject to the Consulates-General at Beyrout, but this, though
the Turks desire it, is highly unadvisable, as Damascus work requires
prompt and decided action and no loss of time; moreover, any order
which might apply to Beyrout would be totally inapplicable at Damascus;
finally, in nine cases out of ten it would proceed from the advice of
a dragoman interested in the case, his superior not knowing Arabic, or
perhaps never having seen Damascus.

Upon the English Consul devolves the responsibility of the post for
Baghdad, and the protection of commerce, of travellers, and of some
half-dozen English residents. There are, besides the Consular corps,
four missions each with its school, three European religious houses
(Lazarists, Franciscans, and Sisters of Charity), an English engineer,
a French sanitary officer under his own Government, and, lastly, the
_employés_ of the French Road Company.

Whoever lives in Damascus must have good health and nerves, must be
charmed with Oriental life, and must not care for society, comforts, or
luxuries, but be totally occupied with some serious pursuit. Should he
be a Consul--an old soldier is best--he must be accustomed to command
a strong hand. The natives must be impressed by him, and know that,
if attacked, he can fight. He must be able to ride hard and to rough
it in mountain or desert, in order to attend to his own work, instead
of sending a dragoman or a _kawwás_, who probably would not really
go, or if he did might be bribed. He must have the honour and dignity
of England truly at heart, and he should be a gentleman to understand
fully what this means; not a man risen from the ranks, and liable to be
"bullied or bribed." He should speak Arabic, Persian, and Turkish, as
well as English, French, and Italian, so as not to take the hearsay of
his dragomans. He must be able to converse freely with Arabs, Turks,
Bedawi, Druzes, Kurds, Jews, Maronites, Afghans, and Persians, and
understand their religious prejudices. He must have his reliable men
everywhere, and know everything that goes on throughout the length
and breadth of the country. He should have a thorough knowledge of
Eastern character. He must keep a hospitable house. He should be cool,
firm, and incorruptible. He must not be afraid to do his duty, however
unpleasant and risky, and having done it, if his Chiefs do not back
him up, _i.e._ his Consul-General, his Ambassador, and the Secretary
of State for Foreign Affairs, the Turkish local authorities know he
has done his duty at his own risk; they admire and they fear the
individual, but they despise his Government whilst they fawn and cringe
to it. Thus the interests of England, and English pride, are trampled
in the dust. Such a man is Richard, and such a man is like a loadstone
to the natives. Were he in no authority the country would flock to
him and obey him of their own accord from his own personal influence
amongst them.

But this is exactly the man who does not suit the present _Wali_ and
his creatures, upon whose misrepresentations and falsehoods the Porte
has demanded his recall; it is no secret, for all Syria is ringing with
it, and the _Wali_ has it proclaimed in the bazars. I may add that
all Syria is looking on with anxiety and distress lest he _should_ be
removed. No other class of man could hold his own against the present
local Turkish authorities, and they would treat him like a kind of
upper servant. If the Porte knew its own interests, it would ask to
keep Richard, and discharge its own faithless _employé_. That troubles
will follow his removal, I may safely prophesy; and that his successor
will be insulted in the streets, and compelled by terror and sickness
to run away from his post, is very possible. That is what we may come
to. Let the name of England nevermore be mentioned--let her sons be
incorporated with the Turkish subjects, whilst Prussians and the French
keep their proper position and their national dignity.

_P. S.--A month later Mohammed Rashíd Pasha_ was _recalled, and Richard
was in England._

_This, then, was the moment to press for the immediate return of the
twelve unfortunates exiled to Murzuk, and to impress upon the Ottoman
Authorities, who, since the death of Russia's friend, Aali Pasha,
the Grand Vizier of pernicious fame, appear ready to reform a host
of abuses, that the friendship of England can be secured only by
scrupulous fidelity to treaties, especially to those which concern
religious toleration._


AN ACCOUNT OF RICHARD BURTON BY SALIH (NOM DE PLUME OF AN ENGLISH
MISSIONARY AT DAMASCUS).


 [Sidenote: _Salih's Description of Richard._]

 "Burton was sound at heart. The more I saw him alone the better I
 liked him. At Damascus he was truly 'a brave, strong man in a blatant
 land.' When you got down through the crusts, you found a fearless and
 honest friend.

 "But Burton was given to pantomime. He was always saying things to
 frighten old women of both sexes, and to make servant-maids stare.
 He took great delight in shocking goody people, and in effecting his
 purpose he gave free rein to his imagination. People who knew Burton
 partially, from meeting him at public dinners or in clubs, have
 generally a number of gruesome stories to retail about his cruelty and
 immorality. They often say truly that Burton told the horrible stories
 against himself. I have no doubt he did, just as he represented
 himself in the guise of a monster to my little boy. At the same time
 I am certain that Burton was incapable of either monstrous cruelty or
 gross immorality. I go farther, and I state it as my firm conviction
 that Burton was constitutionally and habitually both humane and moral.
 I knew Burton well, in sickness, in trouble, in disappointment, in his
 home, in the saddle, under fire, and in the presence of almost every
 condition of savage life, and I have noticed that acts of cruelty and
 immorality always drove him into a white heat of passion. A young
 English lady had been treated rudely at Damascus by a Persian, and
 when Burton failed in securing official redress, I was in dread for
 months that he would with his own hand kill the ruffian if he met him.
 The scoundrel, however, met his fate at other hands. Shielding the
 weak from cruelty and protecting the poor from oppression, constituted
 Captain Burton's chief work at Damascus.

 "Noticing the difference between Burton's real character and that for
 which he got credit in many quarters, I often asked him how certain
 specific stories had originated. It was interesting to learn how
 the legends had grown. Some of them had been told of old Castilian
 Hidalgos and 'British sea-dogs' before Burton's grandfather was born.
 Others were founded on facts, but they had received so many artistic
 touches at camp-fires and in mess-rooms that incidents innocent in
 themselves had grown to monstrous dimensions. From observation and
 much inquiry I have long come to the conclusion that the wild stories
 in circulation about Burton were bogeys, partly borrowed and partly
 invented--mere adaptations and travellers' yarns to shock and stun and
 create a little boisterous fun.

 "The impatience with which Burton treated my servant revealed a
 characteristic that had much to do with his career. 'Genius is
 patience,' said Sir Isaac Newton. If this definition be correct,
 Burton must have lacked genius. 'The Prime Minister's secret is
 patience,' said Pitt. If Pitt be right, Burton had no chance of
 ever finding his way to the Premiership, for he never learned the
 secret. I think Burton was not without genius. He was certainly a very
 clever man, but he could not put up with stupidity in others. I am
 afraid he sometimes delighted to stick pins in Government officials
 who mistook the region of the world in which he was located, or who
 failed to apprehend the facts communicated in his last despatch. I
 am afraid he never got sufficiently into diplomatic training as to
 overlook the weakness of his immediate superiors, and hence the higher
 rounds of the diplomatic ladder were not to be trodden by his feet.
 He was shuttle-cocked about from one pestiferous region to another
 till at last the Foreign Office, in a lucid moment, sent the Oriental
 enthusiast to Damascus.

 "Burton's quarrel with missionaries was also an open sore. I do not
 know the full merits of the original strife, but I believe it was a
 somewhat mixed affair. Certain benevolent gentlemen have always had a
 tendency to do proxy beneficence as cheaply as possible. In picking
 up missionaries they have sometimes been guided more by the price
 than the quality. Burton, it seems, came upon some of these job-lots,
 and found them jobbing, as was to be expected, and, with his usual
 impatience, 'went for them.' Then a great uproar ensued, in which the
 original cause was lost sight of, and Burton received the stamp of an
 anti-missionary Consul. The Consular dog had got a bad name, and that
 was enough for some.

 "When it became known that Burton was destined for Damascus, there
 was a kind of panic among the missionaries of Syria, and active steps
 were taken to prevent the appointment being carried out. The Damascus
 missionaries held aloof from the organized opposition. The moral
 character of some of Burton's immediate Christian predecessors had
 not been of a sort to reflect much credit on Christian missionaries,
 or even on British subjects; and from the missionary point of view it
 seemed that a moral Consul who made no religious professions might,
 on the whole, prove as satisfactory as an immoral one who read the
 service to English travellers on Sundays. Besides, it was known to be
 the constant aim of the Damascus missionaries to steer clear of all
 diplomatic interference, and to keep the Consular finger out of their
 pie. They gave Burton a cordial welcome as their Consul, but they
 also gave him clearly to understand that any action of his, friendly
 or unfriendly, bearing on their work, would be regarded by them as an
 impertinent and unfriendly act.

 "Burton appreciated their kindness, and frankly accepted their
 conditions, and missionaries and Consul maintained the most cordial
 relations, and it was understood that the whole missionary body at
 Damascus deeply regretted Burton's recall. One fact regarding this
 agreement may be noticed. The restless and energetic Burton maintained
 the compact in the spirit, but broke it in the letter. He visited all
 the mission schools in the most gracious manner, examined the children
 thoroughly, and afterwards made some valuable suggestions to the
 missionaries as to the perfecting of their educational organizations.
 He ever after spoke of the teachers and the schools with great
 cordiality and unstinted praise.

 "The other missionaries of Syria, with solitary exceptions, maintained
 their attitude of hostility to Burton, and never lost an opportunity
 of speaking against him, and some of them not only embellished old
 stories to his discredit, but invented new ones, _furor ministrat
 arma_, to prove his deep-seated hostility to the missionary cause.
 Many influential travellers pass yearly through Syria, deeply
 interested in the splendid educational and religious efforts that
 are being made to elevate that land. Everywhere they heard of the
 anti-Christian Consul, and the constant drip made a deep impression.
 Almost the only honest and praiseworthy efforts being made to lift
 the Holy Land out of the slough of Oriental degradation stood to the
 credit of the missionaries, and it was intolerable that their efforts
 should be thwarted by a British Consul.

 "Burton might, by patience and well-doing, have worn down and outlived
 the hostility of these missionaries, but he had the misfortune to come
 into sharp conflict with the Jews, and he had thus on his flank an
 active, persistent, and powerful enemy.

 "It would be interesting to narrate how a number of Russian and other
 Jews at Damascus became British subjects, but the by-paths and crooked
 ways would be too long and intricate for our space. Burton found
 himself the official head and protector of a colony of British Jews.
 Some of these were men of great wealth and affluence, and it was well
 known that the official virtue of helping them was seldom left to be
 its own reward.

 "Burton, though always posing as an Oriental, thought fit to hew
 Oriental prejudice against the grain. He might have seen his beautiful
 wife flashing in brilliants, roped in pearls, and riding the best
 blood Arab of the desert; but he threw away all these tokens of
 appreciation in obedience to an occidental prepossession in favour of
 common honesty.

 "Burton found that his Jews were living by usury. Some of them were
 known to charge as little as thirty per cent., but rates ran up to
 sixty, or more. 'His mouth is full of water[6] and he cannot bark' is
 a common Arab proverb, but Burton had nothing in his mouth, and he
 barked ferociously. His official duty was to urge the recognition of
 British claims, and insist on their being paid. That was the form that
 'law and order' took at Damascus. What did it matter if the people
 were starving! At the word of the Consul a band of Bashi-Bazouks
 would swoop down on the defaulting villagers, eat their food, lie in
 their beds, insult their wives and daughters, until the usurer was
 satisfied. Should the villagers be unable to pay, they were not only
 evicted, but driven like cattle to prison, there to rot till they had
 paid the uttermost farthing. Burton did not like the business. He
 grew fierce, declared in the strongest language at his command that
 he would not be 'Bumbailiff' in such transactions. I am inclined to
 think that in this case, as in most others, Burton's impatience led
 him into doing the right thing in the wrong way. He was indignant,
 his blood was up, and on being asked gently what was the use of a
 Consul at Damascus if he did not enforce British claims, he lost the
 composure befitting the diplomatic service.

 "The storm broke. The _Alliance Israelite_ took up the case of '_poor
 Israel_.' Noble, and humane, and generous Jews in England ranged
 themselves on the side of 'their persecuted brethren.' Some of them
 would have been more fierce than Burton had they known the truth.
 Correspondence followed, and the archives of the Foreign Office now
 contain Burton's splendid vindications, which may some day see the
 light."


 "THE RECALL OF CAPTAIN BURTON.


 [Sidenote: _Letters showing the State of Syria after his Recall._]

 "To the Editor of the _Civil Service Gazette_.

 "Sir,--I have just seen some letters from Damascus, from which I
 learnt a few facts that may interest you with reference to the recall
 of Captain Burton.

 "The Consulate was left in charge of Mr. Jago, who, however, was so
 alarmed at certain demonstrations of dissatisfaction on the part of
 the natives that he prudently took advantage of an opportune fever,
 and left the town and the Consulate to take care of itself. The
 English Government is, therefore, entirely unrepresented in Damascus.

 "The Kurds who inhabit the suburb of Damascus, called the Salahíyyeh,
 say that now Captain Burton has gone, there is no one who can protect
 them from the extortions of the Governor-General, and have notified
 their intention of leaving _en masse_. As they are about ten thousand
 fighting men, they will not improve the pacific aspect of the country
 when they are let loose over it, feeling that they have no protector
 but their sword.

 "The Mohammedans, whose 'fanatical aversion to Captain Burton' is the
 ostensible pretext for his recall, have been holding mass meetings,
 and even praying publicly in the mosques that God will send him back
 to them. Letters are flowing in every day from village sheikhs and
 Bedawin chiefs, asking that he may return to Damascus, as there is no
 one else to whom they can appeal for help or succour.

 "So strong is the feeling, that Mrs. Burton was obliged to slip away
 secretly, as the people wished to retain her as a hostage in order to
 make sure that Captain Burton would go back to them.

 "In addition to these facts, which I can vouch for, I can tell you
 that, from my own experience of the country, I feel sure that Captain
 Burton's absence will be a source of great inconvenience (to put it
 mildly) to intending travellers this next winter. If you have any
 friends who propose visiting Syria, you cannot do better than advise
 them not to do so, as there will assuredly be troubles before long.

 "I cannot pretend to enter into the real reasons for this blunder on
 the part of the Foreign Office (though they are not hard to guess),
 but of one thing I feel assured, and that is that the mistake would
 never have been made had Lord Stratford de Redcliffe been still at
 Constantinople.

 "I am, Sir, yours truly,

 "E. H. PALMER.

 "St. John's College, Cambridge."


 "THREATENED TROUBLES IN SYRIA.


 "To the Editor of the _Standard_.

 "Sir,--Forewarned will not be forearmed in this case, for the mischief
 is half done already by the actions of her Majesty's Government.

 "I came to Syria in February last with a special mission from the
 Palestine Exploration Fund. I have since been travelling over the
 length and breadth of the land, and this, with several years' previous
 acquaintance with the East, enables me to see more of the real state
 of the country than falls to the lot of the ordinary tourist.

 "In the early spring I found Syria in an abnormal state of excitement,
 arising from many causes. That excitement has gone on increasing,
 chiefly for five reasons: 1. The injustice and rapacity of the
 Governor-General (_Wali_), Mohammed Rashíd Pasha, who now misgoverns
 Syria. 2. The agitation kept up by Egypt, with whom Syria and its
 Governor sympathize only too strongly, and with whom they will act
 the moment opportunity offers. 3. The ruin of the peasantry, crushed
 by exorbitant taxes, starved by a bad season, and devoured by Jewish
 money-lenders. 4. The way in which the _Wali_ pits sect against sect
 for his own political ends; and in this land, where party feeling runs
 so high, nothing is easier. And, 5. The strong Christian movement,
 none the less strong for being under the surface--this has already
 been noticed in some English papers.

 "There was but _one_ man in Syria who both saw and protested against
 the many and glaring acts of injustice done by the _Wali_, and this
 was her Britannic Majesty's Consul at Damascus, Captain R. F. Burton,
 whom her Majesty's Foreign Office have thought fit to remove, giving
 ear to the tale raised two years ago, by certain missionaries and
 others, that Moslem fanaticism was working against him. Knowing the
 people and the country as well as I do, I hesitate not one moment to
 say that this is a deliberate lie (and I am ready to prove it such)
 invented by Captain Burton's enemies. Few men, if any, would have got
 on as well as he has with all classes here, Mohammedans and Metaweli,
 Greek Catholics and Syrians, Protestants and Latins. He visited and
 was visited by the religious sheikhs, and especially by the Emir Abd
 el Kadir of Algerian fame. This prince is looked upon as the leader
 of Mohammedan religion here. These facts are sufficient to show how
 false is the plea of Captain Burton's not being able to deal with
 Mohammedans on account of their fanaticism. Only to-day I have heard
 numbers of Moslems deplore his removal, which pleased only the _Wali_
 and his creatures, and a few Jews engaged in nefarious usury. I dwell
 upon these points, as I feel convinced that unless his successor be a
 man of _his_ stamp--which will be hard to find--he will sink to that
 state of subserviency to the _Wali_ to which the Consuls of other
 nations at Damascus have sunk. They are weak and timid, and completely
 under the _Wali_. The English Consul was the only man of independence,
 but now that Syria is becoming of vital importance to us on account
 of the Euphrates Valley Railroad, our name and _prestige_ must go,
 through her Majesty's Government recalling, at the instigation of a
 Turkish Pasha, the only man fit to represent Great Britain in Syria.
 The _Wali_, having succeeded by his vile intrigues in displacing one
 of the most efficient of her Majesty's Consular officers, will feel
 that there is no one to check his malpractices; the peasantry, sooner
 or later, must rise; the great Christian movement will be crushed,
 not without bloodshed, for the converts now number many thousands of
 resolute men of all classes, and we must be prepared for the worst. I
 venture to predict that before many months have passed, the troubles
 of Syria will have drawn upon her the eyes of Europe, and when blood
 has been shed England will see the error she has committed in throwing
 her influence here to the dogs, and obeying the wishes of Rashíd Pasha,

 "I am, Sir, etc.,

 "CHAS. F. TYRWHITT-DRAKE.

 "Damascus."


 "THE DAMASCUS CONSULATE.


 "The following letter, to which we have alluded in a leading article,
 on the subject of Captain Burton's recall, has been addressed to the
 Editor of the _Times_, by a well-known Syrian traveller:--

 "Sir,--In a letter I addressed to you, dated August 17th, on the
 state that Syria, especially in the Damascus district, was likely to
 fall into in consequence of the recall, from his post as Consul at
 Damascus, of the only man who had the courage to resist and check the
 malpractices of the notoriously corrupt and cruel Governor-General
 Mohammed Rashíd Pasha, I predicted that troubles would quickly ensue.
 On the 18th of August--the day that Captain Burton left Damascus--a
 raid was made into the Christian quarter by Mustafa Bey, Mir Alai
 of Zabtiyeh (Chief of Police), a most fanatical Mahomedan, with two
 hundred men, for the purpose of arresting certain Moslems suspected
 of a leaning to Christianity, and who had been decoyed from their own
 quarter by a police spy, Mahmud Bey Adham, a man who had by some means
 become possessed of their secret. Happily, these suspects were able
 to take refuge in the house of an English consular dragoman just as
 they were being arrested, and though the _gérant_ of her Majesty's
 Consulate ordered them to be given up, yet the matter became so public
 that the _Wali_ feared to proceed to extreme measures, and released
 them after a day's imprisonment. The affair, however, will not stop
 here, though it may lie dormant awhile.

 "On August 23, three days after Captain Burton's leaving Beyrout, the
 Protestant missionaries were prevented by the _Kaimakam_ (Governor)
 from making some small additions to their school at Rasheyya. The
 Rev. Messrs. Wright and Scott requested the _gérant_ of her Majesty's
 Consulate to procure them an order from the Government to enable them
 to go on. A so-called order was immediately procured, but, of course,
 it was utterly useless; a second produced no better effect.

 "This is but the commencement, yet it serves to show the way in which
 English missionaries will be hindered, and how English influence is
 to be crushed. It would be, to any one unacquainted with Syria, an
 incredible matter if I were to say how our national _prestige_ has
 fallen since the last ten days. I have some twenty letters from Moslem
 sheikhs of towns and villages, religious sheikhs and men of influence,
 as well as from Druzes and Christians, which I have been asked to
 forward to Captain Burton, as the writers think that their urgent
 entreaties may favour his return.

 "The Government organ, _El Hadikat el Akhbar_, has written a most
 shameful article on Captain Burton's recall, stating that he was not
 only on bad terms with the authorities, but also with his colleagues
 and all British-protected Jews, and other lies equally base. A few
 Jews, whom he refused to help in scandalous and illegal transactions,
 of course detest him, and have been secretly aiding the _Wali_ against
 him. A most fulsome article, too, appeared in another paper, _El
 Suriva_ (The Syria), from the pen of the _Wali_ himself in praise of
 the gentleman now in charge of her Majesty's Consulate here.

 "I fear to take up too much of your valuable space by dilating on the
 subject, but I am every day more convinced that there will be great
 trouble in this unhappy land of misrule.

 "I am, Sir, etc.,

 "CHAS. F. TYRWHITT-DRAKE.

 "Damascus, September."


 "REVIVAL OF CHRISTIANITY IN SYRIA.


 "To the Editor of the _Tablet_.

 "Sir,--I have just seen the account published in the _Tablet_ of the
 16th and 23rd of September, of the revival of Christianity in Syria. I
 can only say that you have an exceedingly well-informed correspondent,
 but one who seems hardly aware what enormous proportions this movement
 is assuming in the districts of Hums, Hamáh, and even Aleppo. The
 number of these diverts from Islam is almost impossible to calculate,
 but I believe that in the whole, of Syria twenty to twenty-five
 thousand is a moderate computation.

 "Now that Rashíd Pasha, of infamous memory, is removed from Syria,
 can nothing be done to bring back the twelve Sházlis banished to
 Africa? Will neither England nor any other Christian Power say one
 word in their favour? Is the policy of maintaining the unity of
 Turkey to be so strictly adhered to, that not even a harsh word is
 to be said to her though she deliberately breaks her treaties and
 solemn obligations: when, after promising religious freedom to all
 her subjects, she invariably persecutes those who dare to leave the
 religion of Mohammed, not perhaps directly, but by some subterfuge, as
 bringing against the so-called 'renegades' a charge of evasion from
 conscription, or desertion from the army.

 "Hoping that your advocacy may do something to bring about the return
 of these twelve martyrs, whose wives and families would have been
 starved here long ago had it not been for the liberality of their
 co-sectarians,

 "I remain, Sir, etc.,

 "CHAS. F. TYRWHITT-DRAKE.

 "Damascus, November 13."

Richard wrote at the end of his time in Syria, just before his recall--

 "My time here is marked and rendered bitter by contact with tyranny
 and an oppression which even this land of doleful antecedents cannot
 remember. The politics of the unworthy _Wali_, Rashíd Pasha, are
 alternately French and Russian, and, like all Orientals educated in
 Europe, he hates Europeans. I have been brought into collision with
 him, by his utterly ignoring the just claims and rights of British
 subjects and _protégés_, and he was supported by those whose duty it
 was to oppose him, so I had to battle alone with hands bound."

Later on, after his recall, he writes--

 "But they, his powerful protectors, failed, and truth from my poor
 pen and tongue prevailed, and Rashíd was recalled in disgrace and
 degradation, and threatened with irons and fetters. Every measure
 which I had ventured to recommend during my time was ordered to
 be carried out. The reform was so thorough and complete that her
 Majesty's Ambassador at Constantinople was directed officially to
 compliment the Porte upon its newly initiated line of progress. But
 Pashas soon fall into bad ways, and it is always the case of 'new
 broom.' The irony of events is extraordinary. Damascus is the civil,
 military, and ecclesiastical Capital of the country, the head-quarters
 of the Government and the High Courts of Appeal, the residence of the
 chief dignitaries, where the Consul-General ought to live, and the
 Vice-Consul for the shipping duties at Beyrout. But Beyrout is safe;
 Damascus is not always so. Persia has observed this long ago, and have
 a Consul-General. Russia, Prussia, France, and Italy do not speak to
 the Capital through Vice-Consuls, but Consuls; yet, to gratify the
 F.O.'s most _un_distinguished servant Mr. Eldridge, as soon as I was
 gone, a Vice-Consul was appointed for the Capital--a creature of his
 own. Therefore, to the detriment of British interest, to the injury
 of English residents, missionaries, and school-teachers, we took rank
 after Spain, Portugal, and Greece, because their representatives are
 often _rayyàhs_, or subjects of the Porte, and take precedence of the
 British Vice-Consul. Yet the English public is now surprised to hear
 from my successor that English travellers have been made prisoners at
 Kerak."

[Sidenote: _The Interval I remained as a Hostage._]

I must now return, and finish my own Eastern career, more for the
sake of showing the goodness of the Syrian heart, than for any other
interest. I am bound, though late, to bear testimony to them.

After seeing Richard off, I had a cold eight hours' drive over the
Lebanon, arrived at the _khan_ at Shtora, found my horse in excellent
condition, and slept for a few hours. Early in the morning I rode to
see Miss Wilson, who kindly insisted on my remaining a day with her.
Mr. Tyrwhitt-Drake, a _kawwás_, and servants and horses, met me here,
and escorted me back to Bludán; but we lost our way in the mountains,
and had an eleven hours' hard scramble. I was ill, tired, and harassed,
and was thankful to find my friend Mrs. Rattray, who came over to keep
me company. She was as much troubled as I was myself. I do not care who
says to the contrary, but the world _in general_ is a good place; for,
although a _few_ bad people make everything and everybody as miserable
as they can--permitted, I infer, by an all-wise Providence, like
mosquitoes, snakes, and scorpions, to prevent our becoming too attached
to this life, and ceasing to work for the other, where they cannot
enter--the general rule is good, and whoever is in trouble, as I have
said, will always meet with kindness, comfort, and sympathy, from some
quarter or other.

I had every right to expect, in a land where official position is
everything, where love and respect accompanies power and Government
influence, where women are of but small account, that I should be,
morally speaking, trampled underfoot. I do not know how to describe
with sufficient gratitude, affection, and pleasure the treatment I
met with throughout Syria. The news spread like wild-fire. All the
surrounding villages poured in. The house and the garden were always
full of people--my poor, of course, but others too. Moslems flung
themselves on the ground, shedding bitter tears, and tearing their
beards, with a passionate grief for the man "whose life" they were
reported to wish to take. The incessant demonstrations of sorrow were
most harassing, the poor crying out, "Who will take care of us now?"
The Moslems: "What have we done that your _Díwan_ (Government) has
done this thing to us? They sent us a man who made us so happy and
prosperous, and protected us, and we were so thankful; and why now
have they taken him from us? What have we done? Were we not good and
thankful, and quiet? What can we do? Send some of us to go over to your
land, and kneel at the feet of your Queen." This went on for days,
and I received, from nearly all the country round, little deputations
of Shaykhs, bearing letters of affection, or condolence, or grief, or
praise. These sad days filled me with one gnawing thought--"How shall
I tear the East out of my heart by the roots, and adapt myself to the
bustling, struggling, everyday life of Europe?"

I broke up our establishment, packed up my husband's books, and sent
them to England, settled all our affairs, had all that was to accompany
me transferred to Damascus, and parted with the mountain servants. Two
pets--the donkey that had lost a foot, and a dog that was too ill to
recover--had to be shot and buried in the garden.

[Sidenote: _I leave the Anti-Lebanon--Wind up at Damascus._]

When all these sad preparations were finished, I bade adieu to the
Anti-Lebanon with a heavy heart, and for the last time, choking with
emotion, I rode down the mountain, and through the plain of Zebedáni,
with a very large train of followers. I found it hard to leave the spot
where I had hoped to leave my mortal coil.

I had a sorrowful ride into Damascus, and I met the _Wali_ driving
in State, with all his suite. He looked radiant, and saluted me. I
did not return his salute, and he told his Staff that he was afraid I
would shoot him. Somebody did that a little later on. He looked less
radiant when the news of his own recall reached him a few days later,
with a special telegram, that if he delayed more than twenty-four
hours, he was to be sent in chains. He fought hard to stay, and I do
not wonder, for he had a splendid position, and had bought lands and
built a palace, which he never lived in; and he had to give up all his
ill-gotten goods, lands, and palace, squeezed out of the peasantry.

At Damascus I had to go through the same sad scenes, upon a much larger
scale than I had gone through at Bludán. All our kind friends, native
and European, came to stay about me to the last.

I saw that Richard's few enemies were very anxious for me to go, and
that all the rest were equally anxious to detain me as a kind of pledge
for his return. I reflected that it would be right that I should coolly
and quietly perform every single work I had to undertake--to sell
everything, to pay all debts, and arrange every liability of any kind
incurred by my husband, to pack and despatch to England our personal
effects, to make innumerable friendly adieux, to make a provision
or find a happy home for every single being--man or beast--that had
been dependent upon us. This was rendered slow and difficult, as the
Government left us _pro tem._, without a farthing. A servant generally
gets a month's notice with wages and a character, but without any
defence we were annihilated as if by dynamite. At last I made our case
known to Uncle Gerard, who telegraphed to the Imperial Ottoman Bank,
"to let his niece have any money that she wanted." Before I left I
went and dressed our little chapel with all the pious things in my
possession.

On the day of the sale I could not bear to stay near the house, so
I went up to Arba'in, or "the Forty Martyrs," above our house, on
Jebel Kaysún, about fifteen hundred feet high, and I gazed on my dear
Salahíyyeh below, in its sea of green, and my pearl-like Damascus, and
the desert sand, and watched the sunset on the mountains for the last
time. I also met some Mogháribehs, who came up to pray there, and who
prognosticated all sorts of good fortune to me.

In one sense I was glad, because I was a kind of hostage, giving
the lie to his enemies. If there had been anything wrong, I should
assuredly have paid the forfeit. I had no anxiety, for though I had
magnificent offers--two from Moslems to shoot certain official enemies,
as they passed in their carriage, from behind a rock, and another
from a Jew to put some poison in their coffee--I slept in perfect
security, amongst my Moslem and Kurdish friends, with my windows and
doors open, in that Kurdish village, Salahíyyeh. Between us and the
City was a quarter of an hour's ride through orchards that were wild
and lawless--at least, in my time, no one would come there from sunset
to sunrise, and timid people, not even in the day, without a guard.
We had the house on a three years' lease, and my bedroom window and
the _Muezzin's_ Minaret were on a level, and almost joined, so that we
could talk to each other. I used to join him in the "call to prayer,"
and he used to try not to laugh. I never missed a pin; I never had
anything but blessings. All my work took me some time, but I resolved,
whatever the wrench would cost me, I would set out the moment it was
finished. My husband being gone, I had no business, no place there; I
knew it would be better taste to leave.

We all began to perceive that the demonstrations were beginning to be
of an excitable nature; the Moslems assembling in cliques at night, a
hundred here and a hundred there, to discuss the strange matter. They
were having prayers in the mosques for Richard, and making promises
of each giving so much to the poor if they obtained their wish. They
continually poured up to Salahíyyeh with tears and letters, begging
him to return, and I felt that my presence and distress only excited
them the more. I left more quickly because I was informed that my
presence was exciting the people, who lived in hopes of his return, and
his non-appearance was causing an irritability that might break out
into open mutiny and cause another massacre. They were beginning with
the usual signs of meeting in clusters in the streets, in discussing
the affair in the mosques, in the bazaars, in the _cafés_, and putting
up public prayers for his return.

As half the City wanted to accompany me on the road, and I was afraid
that a demonstration might result, I thought I should be wise to slip
away quietly. My two best friends, Abd el Kadir and the Hon. Jane
Digby el Mezrab (Lady Ellenborough), were with me till the last, and,
accompanied by Charley Drake and our two most faithful dragomans, who
had never deserted me and put themselves and all they possessed at my
disposal, Hanna Asar and Mr. Awadys, I left Damascus an hour before
dawn, sending word to all my friends that parting was too painful to me.

    "Linger not out the hours of separation's day
    Till for sheer grief my soul to ruin fall a prey."[7]

[Sidenote: _I get Fever._]

I felt life's interest die out of me as I jogged along for weary miles,
wishing mental good-byes to every stick and stone. I had been sickening
for some days with fever. I had determined not to be ill at Damascus,
and so detained. Pluck kept me up, but having braved the fatal 13th,
and set out upon it, I was not destined to reach Beyrout.

When I reached that part of the Lebanon looking down upon the sea,
near Khan el Karáyyeh, my fever had increased to such an extent that
I became delirious, and had to be set down on the roadside, where I
moaned with pain and could not proceed. Half an hour from the road was
the village of my little Syrian maid. I was carried to her father's
house, and lay there for ten days very ill, and was nursed by her and
by my English maid. Many kind friends, English and native, came to see
me from Beyrout and from the villages round about.

Mr. Tyrwhitt-Drake took our house, part of the furniture, the faithful
Habíb, and the _sais_, my two horses, which I could not bear to sell
into stranger hands, the dogs, and the Persian cat, "Tuss," who,
however, ran away the day after I left, and has never been seen or
heard of since. All the other servants and animals were well provided
for in other ways. I was offered £15 for my white donkey, but I could
not bear to sell him, so I left him also with Mr. Tyrwhitt-Drake,
and he eventually found a good home with our successor, Mr. Green
(afterwards Sir W. Kirby Green), and died. The bull-terriers also
died natural deaths with Mr. Drake. It was a great relief to know
that the former would never become a market donkey, nor the latter
pariahs, nor be beaten, stoned, and ill-used. I was obliged to sell
Richard's _rahwán_, and I sent it to the purchaser, the Vice-Consul who
succeeded, from the village where I was ill. He came to pay me a visit.
Although the poor horse had only been there one night, this gentleman
told me he had no trouble in finding the house, for as soon as the
_rahwán_ got near the turn leading off the diligence road, he started
off at full gallop, and never stopped till he reached the door, nor
would he go anywhere else.

I went down to Beyrout as soon as I was well enough to move, and,
assisted by Mr. Watkins of the Imperial Ottoman Bank, Mr. Drake, and
Mr. Zal Zal, embarked in the Russian ship _Ceres_, the same that had
brought me formerly from Alexandria to Beyrout. As we were about to
steam out, an English Vice-Consul in the Levant gaily waved his hand to
me, and said laughingly, "Good-bye, Mrs. Burton. I have been sixteen
years in the service, and I know twenty scoundrels in it who are never
molested; but I never saw a Consul 'recalled' except for something
disgraceful, and certainly never for an Eastern Pasha. You'll find it's
all right; they would hardly do such a thing to such a man as Burton."
We were a fortnight at sea, detained by fogs and two collisions.

[Sidenote: _Eventually reach Home._]

On reaching London I found Richard in one room in a very small hotel.
He had made no defence--had treated the whole thing _de haut en bas_,
so I applied myself for three months to putting his case clearly before
the Foreign Office in his own name. I went to the Foreign Office, where
I had thirteen friends, and knew most of its Masters, and I asked them
to tell me frankly what was the reason of his recall.

Firstly, I was told it had been represented that he was in danger from
the Mohammedans. That was _too easily_ disproved by fifty-eight letters
from every creed, nation, and tongue of the thirty-six in Syria, from
Bedawi tribes, Druzes, Moslems of all categories, from the Ulemá, from
Abd el Kadir; and, like proverbs, this homely correspondence sprung
from the heart illustrated the native character better than books,
and was a fair specimen of local Oriental scholarship. What the Press
and the Public thought about it in various nations was the same--in
forty-eight articles chiefly from the English Press and the Levant, and
five leaders. All that England has ever done to _him_ of neglect and
slight has never touched him in any man's mind. He was the brightest
gem in his country's crown, and his country did not deserve him. I went
the rounds of my friends repeatedly in the Foreign Office, and insisted
on having a reason for the recall.

When the Mohammedan question was disposed of, it was found that it
was because "Burton had written a letter to convoke the Druzes to
a political meeting in the Haurán." I asked if I might have a copy
of that letter, and, having kept the _original_ copy, I was able to
put them side by side in the report, showing it was forged by Rashíd
Pasha. He was then accused of opposing missionary work, because he had
written advising a schoolmistress, in the kindest spirit, to try and
prevent her husband entering into _mining_ speculations: as there was
so much cheating going on, he was afraid he would drop several thousand
pounds. "Mining," was _somehow_ changed to "missionary;" but that fact
was disposed of by the regretful and indignant letters at his recall
from all the _other_ missionaries. He was accused of being influenced
against the Jews because he protected the poor villagers from paying
their debts twice and thrice over to the usurers, who took their money
and refused receipts, leaving nothing to show. Amongst the letters one
Jew wrote home that Captain Burton "was influenced by his Catholic wife
against the Jews." I am proud to say that I have never in my life tried
to influence my husband to do anything wrong, and I am prouder still to
say that if I _had_ tried I should not have succeeded, and should have
only lost his respect. The Jews have never had a better friend than
me. I distinctly divide the usurers from the Jews, just as I divide
the good, honest, loyal half of the Irish Catholic nation from the
Fenians and the moonlighters, who are mostly Irish living in England
and America, and who go over for the purpose of fomenting disturbance.
I have suppressed many a thing that civilized and idealized Jews would
be ashamed to have known of their lower and fanatical brethren in the
East and elsewhere. He was accused by the Greek bishop of firing into
"harmless Greeks at play," because he fired a shot in the air to call
assistance when we were being stoned to death.

[Sidenote: _He gets an Amende._]

Mr. Eldridge, who was quite a Russian at heart, went on the plan of
never compromising himself by writing an official order to Richard;
he never wrote him anything but private notes. Richard said he could
not use private notes in official life as proofs. I thought this very
wrong. I saw a _plan_ in this mode of action, so I used to keep them
in a portfolio till wanted, so that when I put the case together I was
able to state the facts very correctly. I have got several packets of
that Blue Book now, if anybody wants to see one. It ended by Richard
getting the _nearest thing_ to an apology that one could expect out
of a Government office, and an offer of several small posts, which he
indignantly refused. In his journal I find he was offered Pará, but
would not take it--"Too small a berth for me after Damascus."

[Sidenote: _We become Penniless._]

Shortly after, Mr. L---- offered him, that if he would go to Iceland
to inspect some sulphur mines, he would pay his passage there and
back, and his expenses, and if he found he could conscientiously give
a good report of the sulphur mines, that he would give him £2000.
He went, and as we were at a very low ebb, and as Mr. L---- did not
pay for _me_, I was left with my father and mother, which was a very
fortunate circumstance, because my mother died shortly after. I may
put in a parenthesis that, though Richard was able conscientiously
to give a _splendid_ report of the mines, Mr. L---- did not pay him
the £2000. The trip resulted in a book called "Ultima Thule: a Summer
in Iceland"[8] (2 vols.), which was not published till 1875, and his
"Zanzibar City, Island, and Coast" (2 vols., 1872); and he wrote a
lecture for the Society of Antiquaries, a "History of Stones and Bones
from the Haurán," and "Human Remains and other Articles from Iceland."
We had ten months of great poverty and official neglect (but great
kindness from Society), during which we were reduced to our last £15,
and after that we had nothing to do but to sit on our boxes in the
street, for we had _nothing_, not a _prospect_ of anything; but we let
nobody know that. He remarked one day when we were out on business--

    "Lunch, one shilling,
    Soup not filling."

And I noticed afterwards, in his journal, that he had longed for
some oysters, and looked at them long; but he says, "They were three
shillings a dozen--awful, forbidden luxury!"

At last my uncle, Lord Gerard, asked us up to Garswood, and we debated
if we had a right to accept it or not. I begged him to do so, as
I thought it might bring us good luck. We were alone in a railway
compartment, when one of the £15 rolled out of my purse, and slid
between the boards of the carriage and the door, reducing us to £14. I
sat on the floor and cried, and he sat down by me with his arm round my
waist, trying to comfort me. Uncle Gerard kept us one month, paid our
fare up and down, and, without knowing that we wanted anything, gave
me £25, and from that time one little help or another came to keep us
alive without our asking for anything. We sold some of our writings,
and it was discovered that some back pay was due to Richard.

[Sidenote: _Small Jottings._]

During this ten months at home, we saw a great deal of Winwood Reade,
whom all know by his travels in Africa, his many literary works, of
which the cleverest, but the most harmful, was the "Martyrdom of
Man," of which he presented Richard with a copy, which was carefully
treasured till about six months before Richard's death. He told us the
following account of a ghost story:--

There was a place in Africa or in India (I forget at this distance
of time), where there was a haunted bungalow, and Winwood Reade was
longing to see a ghost, as he was very sceptical about the existence of
such things. In this particular bungalow there was a room on the ground
floor, with folding doors of glass that opened to the ground, leading
out into the compound. Every night at twelve o'clock these glass doors
(being locked) slowly opened outwards, and the ghosts of three surgeons
who had died of cholera appeared in their winding-sheets. Winwood
Reade engaged the bungalow for the night, it being quite empty, but he
could not induce anybody, for love or money, to go with him. At last
he tempted a black boy, by large promises of money, to pass one night
there, and the boy said _if he might sleep on the roof_ he would, but
nothing would induce him to go inside the house. So they started forth,
and Winwood took with him a good novel, his gun, his watch, and plenty
of brandy and water, and towards eleven o'clock made himself very
comfortable on some cushions in a corner of the room in full view of
the window. As his watch pointed to twelve, the doors slowly opened,
he seized his gun, and in a moment the three white figures appeared. I
said, breathless with excitement, "And what did you do, Winwood?" He
smiled and hesitated, and said, "To tell the honest truth, I dropped my
gun and fainted, and when I came to I got out of the house as quick as
I could, called the boy, went away, and never went back." He was such a
brave man he could afford to own this.

Richard writes at this time in his journal, "I called on some old
friends, and as I came out of the house I heard the servants whisper,
'Why, Captain Burton looks like an old gypsy.'" This was after his
recall.

We had one very pleasant evening at Lady Marian Alford's. She had been
building her house at Prince's Gate, and Miss Hosmer had sculptured
her fountain; it was the opening night. Lady Marian wanted to prepare
a little surprise for her friends, so she made Richard dress as a
Bedawin Shaykh, and Khamoor (my Arab girl) and me as Moslem women of
Damascus. I was supposed to have brought this Shaykh over to introduce
him into a little English society. He spoke Arabic to Khamoor and
me, and broken English with a few words of French to the rest of
the party. It was a delightful little party, and we enjoyed it very
much, and--though they all knew him--nobody recognized Richard, which
was very amusing; but presently the Prince of Wales and the Duke of
Edinburgh were announced, and Lady Marian had to go out to prepare them
for this little joke, which amused them immensely, and so it gradually
had to ooze out. There was a delightful supper, three tables each of
eight. Khamoor in her Eastern dress came in with coffee on a tray on
her head, and presented it kneeling to the Prince and the Duke, and
to the others standing. Everything that Lady Marian Alford did was so
graceful.

I see that Richard notices in his journal a correspondence between
himself and the Rev. Herbert Vaughan, D.D. (our present Cardinal),
which I imagine was about the Sházlis. And he also notices that his
name is again left out of Sir Roderick Murchison's address, and asks,
"Why? Old Murchison hates me."

Again speaking of Sir R. Murchison, Richard writes, "He was anxious to
pay due honour to our modern travellers, to Livingstone and Gordon,
Speke and Grant. He has done me the honour of not honouring me." Later
on: "Received a card from him to go and see him."

We also went to Ashridge, Lord Brownlow's, on a visit to Lady
Marian Alford, which visit we enjoyed immensely, where we met Lord
Beaconsfield and numbers of other delightful people.

He also notices in his journal: "Had the satisfaction of hearing of
Rashíd Pasha's disgrace and removal. Wonder if he wishes he had not
crossed swords with me."

This year was the Tichborne trial, and Richard was subpœnaed by him,
but his evidence did more good to the family. Amongst other things
the Claimant said to Richard, "That he had met me in Rio de Janeiro,
and that I had recognized him as a long-lost cousin; but, on fixing
the dates, it was proved that I had sailed from Rio for London a week
before the Claimant arrived there." We had one very lively meeting at
the Royal Geographical Society. He writes--

 "Rassam stood up about a native message to Livingstone. Colonel Rigby
 contradicted, and said there were no Abyssinians in Zanzibar. They
 began to contradict me, so I made it very lively, for I was angry,
 and proved my point, showing that my opponents had spoken falsely. My
 wife laughed, because I moved from one side of the table to the other
 unconsciously, with the stick that points to the maps in my hand, and
 she said that the audience on the benches looked as if a tiger was
 going to spring in amongst them, or that I was going to use the stick
 like a spear upon my adversary, who stood up from the benches.[9]
 To make the scene more lively, my wife's brothers and sisters were
 struggling in the corner to hold down their father, an old man, who
 had never been used to public speaking, and who slowly rose up in
 speechless indignation at hearing me accused of making a misstatement,
 and was going to address a long oration to the public about his
 son-in-law Richard Burton. As he was slow and very prolix he would
 never have sat down again, and God only knows what he _would_ have
 said; they held on to his coat-tails, and were preparing, in event of
 failure, some to dive under the benches, and some to bolt out of the
 nearest door."

We went a great deal into Society those ten months, and we saw much of
the two best literary houses of the day, where one always met _la haute
Bohème_, the most interesting Society in London, mixed with the best of
everything, and those were Lord Houghton's and Lord Strangford's.

About this time we went to visit Mr. ----, our then publisher, at
his country-house, where he showed us all that was comfortable and
luxurious, with ten horses in the stable--everything else to match. He
gave us a large literary dinner, at which Lord Houghton, with his quiet
chuckle, called out across the table, "I say, Burton, don't you feel as
if we were drinking out of poor authors' skulls?" Upon which Richard
laughed, and tapped his own head for an answer.

Richard was very anxious that Alexandretta should be the chief port
in Syria, into whose lap the railway would pour the wealth of the
province, for it is the only good port the country possesses on the
eastern coast of the Mediterranean. Alexandretta, if freed from its
stagnant marshes, would be magnificent; the railway should go to
Damascus, Jerusalem, and Aleppo.

With regard to Sir Roderick Murchison, his journal again contained the
following, speaking of one of his books:--

 "Since these pages went to print Sir R. I. Murchison has passed away,
 full of years and of honours. I had not the melancholy satisfaction
 of seeing for the last time our revered Chief, one of whose latest
 actions was to oppose my reading a paper about the so-called Victoria
 Nyanza before the Royal Geographical Society; whilst another was to
 erase my name from the list of the Nile explorers when revising his
 own biography. But peace be to his manes! I respect the silence of a
 newly made grave."

We went, for the first time in our lives, and the last, to a great
banquet at the Mansion House, which amused us very much. Whenever we
wanted to make any remarks at dinner-time we made them in Arabic,
thinking that probably no one would understand us. Curiously, the
people who sat next to us turned round, and said in Arabic, "Yes,
you are perfectly right; we were just thinking the same thing;" and
Richard said, "We spoke Arabic thinking nobody would understand us;"
and they said, "It is most probable that out of all this huge crowd we
are the only four people who happen to speak Arabic, and happen to sit
together."

Another very interesting visit we paid was to the Surrey County Lunatic
Asylum, Wandsworth Common, where the doctor, who was a friend of my
husband's, invited us to spend the day and dine with him, and he showed
us over everything; but I know that I, for one, felt awfully glad when
we left it; some of the faces that I saw there I can see now if I shut
my eyes and think.

In 1872, we were on a visit at Knowsley, the Earl of Derby's, and we
planted there a cedar of Lebanon, which we had brought; and we went
over the alkali works at St. Helen's, very interesting to Richard, who
did not know so much of the "Black Country" as we did. We then went to
Uncle Gerard's, where we met the Muriettas (now Marchesa de Santurce),
and many other pleasant people. Here we went down some coal-pits (265
fathoms) for further information, and we planted more cedars of Lebanon
and a bit of Abraham's oak, which we brought from Mamre, some distance
from Hebron.

That year my mother got very ill, and we all assembled in town to be
with her. She had been paralyzed for nine years, and, nevertheless, had
been strong, active, and cheerful, and enabled in some fashion to enjoy
life. Her strong brain kept her alive.

At this time the public, answering an appeal of mine in the _Tablet_,
describing the poverty and destitution of the Syrian Inland Churches,
sent me wherewith to furnish six of them, which has never been
forgotten out there.

In 1872, poor General Beatson died at New Swindon. Richard sent
thirty-two species of plants from the summit of the Libanus to the
British Museum; and this year he got the news from Syria that he had
gained his cause about the stoning at Nazareth. The Greek Bishop had
brought an action against him before the Tribunal, and Richard won it
with honour.

He wrote and lectured on the "Stones and Bones of the Haurán," March,
1872, and "Human Remains in Iceland" in late 1872.

I attended the Tichborne trial, and saw Sir John Coleridge examine
my cousin, Katty Radcliffe. Richard whispered to me, "The next thing
plaintiff will do, will be to call himself Lord Aberdeen." I came home
from there, and found the other brother, Father Coleridge, S.J., giving
my mother Communion. At this time, too, we attended all the learned
societies, where Richard generally made speeches. We also went down to
the Duke and Duchess of Somerset's, where we met Lady Ulrica Thynne,
the Brinsley Sheridans, and afterwards, at their house, brilliant and
fascinating Mrs. Norton.

Charles Reade, the well-known author, who was a great friend of ours,
gave us a delightful dinner and pleasant evening, asking a great many
actors and actresses to meet us. Sir Frederick Leighton began to paint
Richard on the 26th of April, and it was very amusing. Richard was so
anxious that he should paint his necktie and his pin, and kept saying
to him every now and then, "Don't make me ugly, don't, there's a good
fellow;" and Sir Frederick kept chaffing him about his vanity, and
appealing to me to know if he was not making him pretty enough. That is
the picture that Sir Frederick has now, and is going to leave to the
nation; and both Richard and I always retained the pleasantest memory
of the many happy hours we passed in his studio. Richard was examined
on the Consular Committee, and made them all laugh. He complained that
the salary of Santos had been very inadequate to his position; he had
been obliged to use his own little capital to supplement. He was asked
how his predecessor (a baronet) had managed, and he answered, "By
living in one room over a shop, and washing his own stockings." Richard
attended the Levée on May 13th.

We went to a Foreign Office party, where Musurus Pasha explained to
Richard why he was obliged to go against him, by the order of the
Turkish Government about Syria, and Richard said to him, "Well, Pasha,
I did not know that you had; but I can tell you that, though I never
practically wish evil to my enemies, they all come to grief, and you
are bound to have a bit of bad luck on my account." The next day
Musurus Pasha fell down and broke his arm. It is an absolute fact that
everybody who did my husband an injury had some bad luck.

Richard tried to get Teheran, which was one of the places that he
longed for and was vacant, and we knew that three names were sent up
to her Majesty for approval; but we also knew, _sub rosa_, that Mr.
(afterwards Sir Ronald) Thompson, a personal friend in their youth of
Mr. and Mrs. (afterwards Lord and Lady) Hammond, of the Foreign Office,
was to get it.

I brought out "Unexplored Syria" (2 vols.), in which Richard and I and
Charley Drake collaborated, on the 21st of June, 1872, while Richard
was in Iceland.

[Sidenote: _Death of my Mother._]

Richard sailed on the 4th of June from Leith for Iceland. The 5th of
June was one of my most unhappy days. I got up early, and passed the
day with my mother. She received Communion at a quarter to one; at 9.30
p.m. she asked to see everybody. We said prayers to her, but did not
think her in any danger. At eleven some instinct made me refuse to go
home to my lodging. We were summoned suddenly. I ran in and took her
in my arms; she turned her head round upon my shoulder, looked at me,
breathed a little sigh, and died like a child at a quarter to twelve
p.m. All the week she lay in state, the room dressed like a chapel,
with flowers and candles, and we, her children, passed all day by her,
and had all our religious services in her room. (Richard notes in his
journal, "Poor mother died about midnight, June 5th.")

On the 12th of June, attended by all the people she liked best, we
buried her at Mortlake.

[Sidenote: _Richard accepts Trieste._]

At last, Lord Granville wrote to me, and asked me if I thought Richard
would accept Trieste, Charles Lever having died; and he also advised
me to urge him to take it, because they were not likely to have
anything better vacant for some time. And I was able to send Richard's
acceptance of Trieste to Lord Granville on July 15th. We knew that
after a post of £1000 a year, with work that was really diplomatic, and
with a promise ahead of Marocco, Teheran, and Constantinople before
him, that a commercial town on £600 a year, and £100 office allowance,
meant that his career was practically broken; but Richard and I could
not afford to starve, and he said he would stick on as long as there
was ever a hope of getting Marocco.

Finally we were taken into some sort of favour again. Lord Granville
_had not understood_ Richard's letter about wanting to have the Sházlis
baptized, and feared that it might result in a _Jehád_, or religious
war, if the baptisms had taken place. Richard told him "he knew it
_would not_." He knew he could carry it through; he was not a man to
risk such a matter. His plan was to buy a tract of land, to give these
people the means of building themselves cottages, choose their own
Shaykh, their own Priest, and make for themselves a little Church.
The village _was to belong to him_, and he would have put it under the
protection of his friends amongst the Mohammedans. He would have taken
no taxes from them, and no presents or provisions, as other people do,
and the consequence is they would have been now a flourishing colony.
_That was the real cause of the recall_; and, as I have said before,
Richard said, "That is suffering persecution for justice' sake with
a vengeance; but we won't have anything more to do with this subject
until I am free from an enlightened and just-minded Government in
March, 1891."

On the 26th of August I was going a round of country-house visits
in Richard's absence, and arriving at ten o'clock at night at Uncle
Gerard's, met the sad news that our youngest and favourite brother,
the flower of our flock, Jack Arundell, commanding the _Bittern_, had
died of rheumatic fever between the West Coast of Africa and Ascension,
where he is buried--that is to say, he did not die of rheumatic
fever, but it was a question of sleep saving him. A very slight dose
of opiate had been administered to him to ensure this boon. He had
never mentioned the peculiarity in our family of being very sensitive
to opiates; he went to sleep and never woke again, to the grief and
distress of all on board. He was only thirty-one years of age, was
bright and good-looking; he was a dashing officer, with his heart in
his profession, and a fine career was before him. He had not had time
to hear of our mother's death before he joined her. It was a terrible
blow to us.

Richard arrived on the 8th of June in Iceland, embarked for return on
1st of August, and arrived in England from Iceland at eleven at night
on the 14th of September.

On the 5th of October, 1872, the day was fixed for Richard to have a
tumour cut out of his shoulder or back. He had got it from a blow from
a single-stick, when he was off guard and his back was turned. It was
an unfair blow, only the man did it in fun; anyway, he said so. He had
had it for a long time, and it had frequently opened and discharged of
itself, but now it was getting troublesome. Dr. Bird, of 49, Welbeck
Street, performed the operation. It was two inches in diameter, and
from first to last occupied about twelve minutes. I assisted Dr. Bird.
He sat astride on a chair, smoking a cigar and talking all the time,
and in the afternoon he insisted on going down to Brighton. He did not
wish me to go with him, but I accompanied him to the station. I always
liked to wait on him, so I got him his ticket, had his baggage put in,
and took him a place in a _coupé_ whilst he went off to buy his book
and paper, and then I called the guard. I said, "Guard, my husband is
going down to Brighton. I wish you would just look after him, he is
not very well;" and I gave him half a crown. Presently an old man of
eighty hobbled by on crutches, "Is that him, ma'am?" "No," I said. Next
a consumptive boy came by, "Is this him, ma'am?" "No," I said; "not
yet." Many passed, and of all those who he thought looked as though
they wanted taking care of, he asked the same question, and he got the
same answer. Presently Richard came swaggering along, as if the whole
station belonged to him--all fencers know the peculiar walk a soldier
has who is given much to fencing and broadsword--and I whispered to the
guard, "There he is," and I stood by the carriage till the train went,
and I heard him whisper to a comrade, "She would never ask me to take
care of such a chap as that, unless he was a raving lunatic. I'll take
devilish good care I don't go near him; he would probably pitch me out
of the carriage."

After this we had a large family party at Wardour Castle, which we
enjoyed immensely.

A Greek priest from Syria came to see us, and we took him to a
spiritualistic _séance_. He was dreadfully frightened, and said his
prayers out loud all the time.

On his way up to Iceland he went to see Holyrood in Edinburgh, and,
visiting Queen Mary's room, exclaimed, "No wonder she sighed for
France." He went to the Levée held there by Lord Airlie (the present
Earl's father).

[Sidenote: _The Old Story of shooting People, and a Newer One._]

Before I finish with Syria, there is a question I want to set at rest
on behalf of both Richard and myself. During my husband's life, from
his journey to Mecca in 1853, till his death in 1890, a period of
thirty-seven years, a story was current about him, which he had no
idea of, and when he did hear it, treated it as a good joke--that when
he was on the road to Mecca he killed two Mohammedans, who suspected
him of being a Frank and a Christian. He told me it was absolutely
false; and, if any one knew what a horror he had of any one taking the
life of _anything_, they would not doubt it for a moment. He would
not allow even an animal to be killed, saying that "we had no right
to destroy life." One of his greatest remorses was shooting a monkey
in his younger days; "it cried like a child," he said, "and I can
never forget it." This story did happen to two Englishmen, who were
travelling in the desert about this time; and who, in consequence of
their unfortunate necessity, never appeared before the public, nor gave
an account of their travels.

Now, I mention this incident in connection with Syria (instead of
Mecca), because, after my husband died, his mantle in this respect
descended upon my shoulders. Mrs. Mentor Mott had assured me on
leaving Syria "that I did not leave a single enemy behind me," but
it issued from the British Syrian schools long afterwards, that the
cause of my husband's recall was that I had shot two men, and wounded
a third, because they did not stand up and salute me, and that I was
afterwards abandoned and neglected; though it never reached my ears
till five days after Richard's death, and that through a missionary's
letter to the _Newcastle Daily Chronicle_, owing, I suppose, to my
being a Catholic. He waited twenty years, till my husband could not
contradict it, and then did not lose a single instant in publishing
this utter fabrication. The fact is, these missionaries get to know
a little Syrian Christian Arabic--some more, some less--and perhaps
unintentionally they get hold of some wonderful stories, and make
mistakes and mischief. This is the true story.

[Sidenote: _The Truth._]

It was in a time of great excitement between Moslems and Christians.
I was riding through a village of about thirty-five thousand Moslems.
There was a feud between two local Shaykhs, the two principal men
of the village. The Consulate favoured one and not the other, who
were bullies. I rode through this village alone, having sent the men
in attendance on me to do a commission. The son of the _un_friendly
Shaykh, a youth of twenty-two, wanted to commence the row by attacking
me--spat at me, and tried to pull me off my horse. This in the East
means volumes, my position there being that of a very great personage.
If I had been cowardly, fainted, and screamed, there would not have
been a Christian left alive by the evening in that village. In fact,
as it was, all the villagers were upon their knees in deprecation of
the outrage, but were afraid to interfere with the village bully;
so I reined in my horse, and slashed him across the face with my
hunting-whip, and he howled and roared as if he were about five years
old. The noise brought my men up sharply, whom he had not seen, having
thought I was alone; seeing what was going on, they flung themselves
upon him, and I think he was very sorry for himself when they had done
with him. There was a general scuffle, in which somebody's pistol went
off in his belt, because they have the bad habit of keeping the trigger
down on the hammer, instead of at half-cock; but the ball fortunately
went into a wall, and nobody was hurt.

When I got home, a strong body of people from the village came up to
tell me that the youth, to revenge his beating, had collected all
the most riotous people of the village and was coming up at night to
burn our house (Sir Richard Wood's house in the Anti-Lebanon, by the
way, which he lent to Richard). I had not enough people about me for
defence, my husband having ridden a little distance in the desert
and taken most of our men; so I sent a mounted messenger over to the
_Wali_, and the next morning at dawn I was horrified at my husband's
confidential Afghan, in full _kawwás_ uniform, armed to the teeth,
coming to tell me that my horse was saddled at the door, and that I
must get up and ride down to the plain; he would explain as we went. I
found the plain covered with troops, who saluted me as I rode down, and
then the Colonel rode up to me, and told me that the _Wali_ had ordered
him to burn and sack the village. I told him that if he did such a
thing my husband and I would leave the country at once; that these
things were quite contrary to our English ideas. He said, "Then I put
myself at your orders." I told him that since he was so kind as to let
me have what I wanted, he was to assemble the principal Moslems of the
village, and to bind them over by an oath not to touch the Christians,
who were chiefly very poor, Greek Orthodox by religion, and Fellahín of
the Anti-Lebanon, and he should take the youth and put him in prison
for a while--say, a month.

This was carried out, and at my request he drew off the troops, and
there was great rejoicing in the village. For this conduct, for
which the writer to the _Newcastle Daily Chronicle_ has induced
many people to believe that my husband was recalled, I received a
complimentary letter from the Consul-General, Mr. Eldridge, who did
not like me because I hated his way with Richard, and the thanks of
the Governor-General, the Wali Rashíd Pasha, for having saved them a
great deal of trouble, both then and in the expected riot which Richard
prevented. Richard was also very pleased with me. I should be ashamed
to mention these things, but I do not mean to die and to leave any
attack upon my husband not cleared up, nor any on myself, if I happen
to hear of them.

When the youth was let out of prison, he became my most devoted
servant. The year after we left, his mother, who was very fond of me,
did some trifling thing which he had forbidden her; they say it was
selling eggs in the market. His father was absent, and, be the offence
what it may, we received a letter to tell us that he called his mother
into the courtyard, assembled the household, and with his own hands
he strangled her, and buried her in the courtyard under the stones. I
never heard whether his father said anything when he came home, but I
did hear that while she was dying, she extended her arms to our house,
and that she called piteously, "Ah, Ya Sitti! ah, Ya Sitti! if thou
wert here this abomination never could have been done."

It is monstrous for any missionary of the British Syrian schools or
otherwise, to pretend that my husband was recalled, because I defended
myself against the man who attacked me. The real cause was very
different; it was his one endeavour to do what England professes to
admire (theoretically, anyway), what Richard did in practice, namely,
sacrifice himself for Christianity's sake!

[Sidenote: _Difficulty of English Officials doing their Duty._]

And here I must be allowed a by-word. People in small official life
are always subject to these trials, and, knowing this, how careful
a Minister at home should be in listening to complaints! The lower
an officer's grade, the lower the people he has to contend with.
The Consul deals with all classes; when he rises to be Minister or
Ambassador, he is above the mob, which cannot touch him. The enemies of
the Consul will crawl in the dust to the Minister. Meantime the junior
official has to run the gauntlet of the mud pelted at him, and if his
Chief at home listens to it, a weak man dare not do his duty for fear
of losing his post; the strong man does his duty, but he knows he has
no chance of rising. Only the bad man succeeds.

He arrives at a new place, and all the bad people make a dead set at
him to take up and protect their evil doings and to join them against
their local enemies. If he does it he is upheld by them, but loses
caste with the decent classes; if he does not, they form a cabal, and
even pay people to write home complaint after complaint against him,
till the Minister for Foreign Affairs, who knows nothing of these
matters, says, "There must be something wrong about this man, or I
should not get bad reports of him right and left. It is evident he
won't do for the place." He recalls his good, honest, brave servant,
who was doing his Master credit, and he puts him on a shelf to pine in
useless inactivity, and breaks his spirit, and sends out another, who
naturally says, "I am duly warned what to do. I will take care not to
do what my unfortunate predecessor did, but the reverse." He has learnt
that the "decent people" only looked on, or if one or two did take his
part, they were not believed, or not listened to. He does as the others
bid him--"wins golden opinions"--and the Minister at home thinks it is
all as it should be. Who shall blame the man? He has, perhaps, a wife
and children to support, and he yearns for promotion. If he sees but
one road to his Chief's favour, that of "hearing no complaints of him,"
what shall he do? What consolation has he when he is driven out of the
world by penury, and has to earn his pittance in some out-of-the-way
settlement? How easy are the sacrifices of an independent man, who can
afford to bide his time!

I have seen many cases of this kind during thirty years of Consular
life, and personally I was always acting the part of Job's wife, but
unsuccessfully. Richard had no chance of rising to his proper position;
he was much too good. The "light of God" was upon him. The Home
Authorities heard all the complaints; _he_ did not report to them the
good he did, but _I_ will cry it from the house-tops until all hear it.
He gained respect and influence over all classes. All the good and the
poor loved and trusted him; the bad feared him. He had pre-eminently
the Divine gift of pity. He had some talisman for attracting the
people; and when they got a written order from him, they would kiss it
and put it on their heads as if it were a Sultan's Firman. He was more
than equal to his position if he had been only commonly backed up at
home.

With so many races, creeds, and tongues, all at variance, in an
Oriental intriguing focus, it is impossible to please everybody. You
cannot well walk down the street without treading upon somebody's toes.
It is difficult for a man who does his duty in a hotbed of corruption
to be universally popular, and there are _some_ whose _disapproval_
is a _proof of integrity_. One must have a straight line of duty. If
a person wants you to do something wrong, and you act uprightly and
refuse, they are sure to write to some great personage at home, to ask
them to complain at head-quarters. They never mention what _they asked
you to do_--what bribe they offered--but invent something against you.
If they are listened to, they can always keep you in hot water, as
_cela encourage les autres_.

        "To R. F. B.

    "Ever remember, 'tis Pretension rules
    Half men, three-thirds of women--to wit, the fools.
    In yonder coterie see, my friend, yon pair
    Of vapid witlings waging wordy war,
    While female senates hear, in trembling awe,
    This thing and that thing laying down the law.
    Murmured applause shall fill each greedy ear,
    Of 'Charming man!' 'Delightful, clever dear!'
    And Lady Betty lends her sweetest smile
    T' inflame their ardour and their toils beguile.
    Yet those same lips no word of worth afford
    To thy true heart, strong brain, quick pen, sharp sword.
    Pine not, brave soul! he whom such trifles vex,
    Unfit to serve, much less can rule the sex.
    Ask not the remedy--go, win a name,
    Famous or infamous, 'tis much the same;
    For silly girls and shallow youths make game
    Of God-like nature, all unknown to fame;
    But souls select, instinctive, recognize
    Congenial spirits unmarked to vulgar eyes.
    You asked what caused this egotistic strain--
    The fit is on me; let me here explain.
    Fools, seeing in youth a hero's value spurned,
    Ignored a heart and soul that fondly yearned
    And burned for honours honourably earned;
    His teens long passed, exiled in distant land,
    A noble heart held out the long-sought hand,
    Taught him to labour, strengthened him to wait
    The turn of fortune's tide that makes us great.
    Nor years' long lapse, nor change, nor fate can raze
    From Mem'ry's page those words of kindly praise.
    If one man's name on our heart's page be penned,
    'Tis his--no need to name our true best friend."[10]
                            ----ISABEL BURTON.

Some of us are left in the world to fight our battle. There are strong
souls who can resist all attacks; nothing overthrows them, nothing can
even hurt them. The devil makes war upon the world, but especially upon
them. Nevertheless, it is as hard for a brave spirit to hold its own,
and see its fancied treasures falling away from it in the hour of need,
as for a gallant and successful general, on the eve of victory, in the
turn of the battle, to be deserted by his troops, and left, in spite of
his own qualities, to disgrace and death.

[Sidenote: _Conclusion of his Damascus Career._]

Richard's character presented a singularity in the Levant, wondered
at by all, condemned by many, approved of or not by those who would
suffer or rejoice under his rule. He was a perfectly honest man--I
do not allude only to money. His enemies rejoiced at it, his friends
trembled for him, whilst indifferents were only astounded at his folly.
An attempt was made to console him with the hazy promise of a future,
which seemed, however, rather to consist in the good opinion of good
men than in anything tangible or useful. For him, truth to a principle
meant self-annihilation. He had always done the noble thing, and now,
because he did those noble things, he was virtually regarded as unfit
for the very employment for which God and Nature and his own life had
peculiarly fitted him.

My old friend Charles Reade told us that "in less than two hundred
years the first stone of _honesty in biography_" will have to be laid,
and then he proceeds to relate how _his_ "hero and martyr" has been
treated by the world; how he had earned the gold medal of the Humane
Society twice, and the silver twelve times; how he has never received
either, but is a blind and destitute old man, living in a chimney
corner, deserted and forgotten by the world, and shunned by those he
has saved; how his only public honour is being permitted to cross a
certain bridge without paying the common toll, from whose waters
beneath he has saved so many lives at the risk of his own. He describes
his hero as one of Nature's gentlemen, fit company for an Emperor, a
man without his fellow, who adorns our country. He was earning thirty
shillings a week when charity towards his fellow-creatures induced him
to throw away his sight for the public good, and the parish allows him
three and sixpence a week. He tells us that he better deserves every
order and decoration the State can bestow than does any gentleman or
nobleman whose bosom is a constellation; "yet," he says proudly, "not a
cross or ribbon has ever ascended from the vulgar level. Why? because,"
he adds, "this world, in the distribution of glory, is a heathen in
spite of Christ, a fool in spite of Voltaire." I quote Charles Reade's
story to show that nowadays England does not confer honour on merit in
any class of life. The higher and lower orders share the same fate.
Honours follow a certain red-tape routine, not noble deeds, and often
mock their wearer; whilst many a noble brow looks up to heaven with
patient, uncomplaining dignity, adorned only by God and Nature, and by
a life of chivalrous actions. The English public are, however, seldom
wrong _when once they know the truth_, and perhaps the best and truest
honour is their good verdict.

       *       *       *       *       *

Whilst here, we saw the Oriental papers every fortnight, and all the
accounts we read of our old home were of "Arab raids, of insults to
Europeans, of miserable, starving people, of sects killing one another
in open day, of policemen firing recklessly into a crowd to wing a
flying prisoner, and a general fusilade in the streets; of sacked
villages, and plundered travellers." We read of Salahíyyeh spoken of
as a "suburb of Damascus, which enjoys an unenviable reputation;" of
innocent Salahíyyeh men being shot down by mistake for criminals,
"because the people of Salahíyyeh are such confirmed ruffians, that
they are sure to be either just going to do mischief or just returning
from it." That is the place where for two or more years we slept with
open doors and windows, and I freely walked about alone throughout
the twenty-four hours, even when my husband was absent, and left with
Moslem servants.

       *       *       *       *       *

Having lifted any possible cloud which may have hung over the real
history of Richard's removal from his Eastern post--the only suitable
one he ever held--it is unnecessary for me to enter into any further
explanation of the causes of the base detractions from which he has
suffered. His case is not altogether a new one in the human history,
and the true explanation--the only real explanation--of it, which
can face the light of day, has been admirably expressed in the lines
written by the most brilliant statesman the Foreign Office ever
sent to the East--the "great Eltchi," whom I and all lovers of the
Orient speak of with admiration, respect, and pride--Lord Stratford
de Redcliffe--and which are applicable to Richard in every sense,
except that, so far from ever "spurning the gaping crowd," he always
sacrificed himself for the poor, the ignorant, and the oppressed.

    "Nay, shines there one with brilliant parts endowed,
    Whose inborn vigour spurns the gaping crowd?
    For him the trench is dug, the toils are laid,
    For him dull malice whets the secret blade.
    One fears a master fatal to his ease,
    Or worse, a rival born his age to please;
    This dreads a champion for the cause he hates,
    That fain would crush what shames his broad estates.
    Leagued by their instincts, each to each is sworn;
    High on their shields the simpering fool is borne."[11]

[1] Lord Granville, a courteous and easy-going peer, complaisant to the
great and unmindful of the little officials, soon found an excuse to
recall him. When he did recall him, he did so without the trial usually
allowed to accused people to prove their guilt or innocence, or to
defend themselves, and from that date began the ruin of Damascus and
the visible and speedy decline of Syria.--I. B.

[2] Men who know the ground will know what that ride means over
slippery boulders and black swamps in the dark.--I. B.

[3] All Consuls, especially men who live in the East, will understand
me.--I. B.

[4] I have had to endure the same since I have been a real widow.--I. B.

[5] I wrote this on the spot, end of 1871.--I. B.

[6] Meaning bribes.--I. B.

[7] Charles T. Pickering, "The Last Singers of Bukhára."

[8] It is a valuable book, chiefly for its philosophical transactions,
antiquarian proceedings, and philological miscellanies, and the mineral
resources of the island.--I. B.

[9] I never saw Richard so angry in my life; his lips puffed out with
rage.--I. B.

[10] The just departed Earl of Derby.

[11] From Lord Stratford de Redcliffe's "Shadows of the Past."


END OF VOL. I.