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cities thirty centuries old turn up in his path,—where many a spot is hallowed by tradition, and many a ruin is consecrated by history,-where abound curious remains of the genius and industry of a world which has long passed away,—where he visits monuments celebrated to the farthest ends of the earth, and where he treads over battle-fields which have changed the destinies of nations. Its living population, its agricultural prosperity, its seats of manufacture, its busy markets, its ancient wealth and refinement, are also objects of no common attraction and interest.
Baber's ‘jungles abounding with elephants’ do not occur now-a-days in the immediate neighbourhood of Allahabad. Far from all such, the tract now bears the marks of a high cultivation and populousness. But the mutiny has left on the face of the country traces which the most careless observer cannot fail to discern many years hence. Resembling the lightning, it has left everything charred and burnt in its course. On either hand of the road, nothing but ruin meets the eye in its track. There are whole villages in ruins, without one human being. The walls of mud-huts stand thatchless and rain-beaten. The roads, untrodden by any footsteps, are overgrown with weeds and brambles. Thick bushes hide these villages from the view. There is no stir-no sound of life in them-not even the bayings of a dog to break in upon the silence. The desolate habitations are be cheragh at night. By this road had Renaud advanced to open the way towards Cawnpore. He marched his column, fighting as ocBerhampore.—Futtehpore.
casion required, and tranquillizing the country by the very simple expedient of burning all the villages in the line of march, and hanging everybody with a black face falling in his way. In two days, forty-two men were hanged on the road-side, and a batch of twelve men were executed because their faces were turned the wrong way, when they were met on the march.'—The possession of bits of telegraph by an individual in those days 'came under the chapter of capital offences in the Criminal Code, as revised by Colonel Neil.' These 'severities could not have been justified by the Cawnpore massacre, because they took place before that diabolical act.' Half a century of peace and good government had given to these regions a prosperity of which almost every sign has disappeared. The thick and thriving peasantry has become thinned by death and dispersion. No estimate can be formed of the value of property destroyed in that period of anarchy. It would take many years to repair the waste which is visible for many miles in succession. Here and there, the fields covered with crops
told of the return of a few families to their plough and pursuits.
Berhampore is a pretty station. The next one is Futtehpore. From its very name, its numerous mosques, serais, and tombs, this is at once known to be a Mahomedan town, in which the Patans were very strong, before the arrival of the Moguls. By the aid of a clear moonlight, we could discern, a few steps from the road, the ruins of a large bungalow standing roofless with its bare white skeleton walls, to proclaim the ravages of the incendiary rebels. The good Bishop, who has been so often quoted in these pages, states, that “the road for some miles from Futtehpore lies over an open plain, as level as any part of India, and marked out by nature for the scene of a great battle which should decide the fate of the country.' He justly opined, where actually had been fought the battle of Kudjwa, in which, to quote the proverbial saying in Hindoostan
• Sujah jeet bazy, apna haat hara.'
In our own days, there has been fought the battle which first raised the hopes of a desponding nation, announced to Nana the speedy downfall of his power, and earned to Havelock a niche in the temple of the Indian Clio.
October 28th—Coming with an exaggerated ideal, one is sure to be disappointed by the reality of Cawnpore. The station spreads over a considerable space, but much of it is open maidan on all sides. True, it is pleasantly situated on the Ganges, high up in Northern India. But the localty is an arid sandy plain, in which the glare, and dust, and the breath of the loo (simoom), have always given to it a bad notoriety. Cawnpore has no ancient architectural curiosities, no historic antecedents,-not even a name in the geography of the Hindoos. Baber does not speak of it, nor does the Ayeen Akbary allude to its existence. It is a town of English parentage—dating its origin from the time
when it became a watch-tower to awe down the royal Lucknowite.
Started off on a walk 'to look at Cawnpore.' The busy quarter of trade is a lively scene of activity. Here, lie scattered huge swollen bales of cotton,—there, are piled high pyramids of grain. Here, comes in a vehicle to discharge its goods,—there, goes out another creaking excruciatingly under the weight of its load. The jingling ekas pass trotting to and fro all the day long, and the tread of thousands of horses, camels, bullocks, and donkeys loosens every hour from the friable soil a quantity of dust, which rises into the air on the slightest provocation, and floats in suffocating clouds over the station.
The scene changes in the cantonments. The roads here are watered every morning and evening. The long avenues intercepting the sun are pleasing features in a dreary prospect. In no Indian town are the roads so broad, and so well ventilated. The open maidans very well answer the purpose of those squares which preserve the health of our metropolis. The tidy shops along the streets are hung with little sign-boards over the doors, or on poles in front of their entrance. In the gala-days of Cawnpore, the cantonments exhibited, mile after mile, a gay and fantastic succession of bungalows, barracks, bazars, and gardens to the river. The river reflected the scene of a floating village, with every description of vessel collected upon its surface. The now bare fields, then stretched with regular streets and
squares of canvas.' The promenades were gay with equipages and liveries—chockful of pretty women!' There were theatricals every week-balls, picnics, and dinners every evening. But those days are numbered 'with the years beyond the flood,'—and a mournful gloom now hangs over the walks and scenes once so animated with life.
Passing along a road towards the river, it was sad to see the desolate houses, some windowless, others roofless, of the late European residents. In the wrecks of gardens and flower-beds, 'roses contended in vain with choking weeds.' Near a dilapidated gateway, a sorry old Hindoostanee, beggared and bereaved by the mutiny, had set up a little brazen idol which was honoured with a pittance by natives to and from their bath in the Ganges along this road.
To Shah Behari Lal's Ghaut. The picturesque group of temples, and a broad flight of steps from an elevation of 50 feet above the stream, with which that rich banker of Lucknow had adorned the banks at Cawnpore, are now a most melancholy heap of rubbish-in which, literally, not one stone has been left unturned upon another.
The Hindoo temples sheltered the guns which the Gwalior Contingent had brought to play against the bridge of boats, and so Sir Colin thought proper to have them mined and blown up before his second march for Lucknow. The stout massive buildings had made an obstinate resistance to gunpowder. The priests had interceded for the preservation of their shrines. But they were destroyed on account of mili