Buddee, Friday, Nov. 9, 1838.

I SENT you my last Journal the day before yesterday, having brought our history down to the beginning of our second year’s march.

The tents look worse than ever, inasmuch as they are a year older, and the new white patches look very discrepant; but one week, I suppose, will make them all a general dirty brown. The camp looks melancholy without any ladies or children; I miss Mrs. A. particularly. Our dear friend Mr. C., of Umballa, who magistrated us last year, joined us again at the foot of the hills, and had the bright idea to station his gig at the first passable bit of the road, which, as I was shaken into small atoms by eight hours of the jonpaun, was a great relief. Moreover, after seven months of the hills, a wheeled carriage was rather a pretty sight, and I began to think of the rapid advance of science, and the curious inventions of modern times.

We are obliged to stay here, to give time for the things to come up. The old khansamah wanted another day for his arrangements, and it is impossible to refuse him anything, for he never makes a difficulty, and very seldom owns to one.

When we stopped half-way between Sabathoo and this place it was a double march, and there was not a thing come up, not even a chair; and then the dear old khansamah, with his long white beard, went fussing about, in and out of the tents and the trees, and there were fires burning amongst the grass, and tea made in a minute; and then he came with half-a-dozen fresh eggs, which he must have laid himself, and a dish of rice, and in ten minutes we had an excellent breakfast. I met my new horse on the plain: such a beautiful animal, like an Arabian in a picture book, with an arched neck and an arched tail, and he throws out his legs as if he were going to pick up a pin at a great distance. W. was riding it in a prancing sort of manner, that made me think it was the high-spirited animal its former owner described, and to which its present owner would particularly object; but I am happy to say that is a mistake. I rode it one day alone with Captain X., and to-day with G., whose horse was enough to drive any other mad, and my beauty did not care a straw.

‘I am glad, Miss Eden,’ Webb said, ‘you did not take fright at first sight, because the horse would have found you out directly; and he is about the best horse in our stable, which is saying a good deal. I rode him all the way from Kurnaul, and I think it was as much like sitting in a good easy-chair as anything ever I felt.’ I think if the horse had a view of Webb in his travelling costume, he would not consent to be an easy-chair under him: a flannel jacket, with leathers, and leather gaiters, and an immense hat made of white feathers and lined with green, supposed to keep out the sun; and now he has set up a long beard, and he rides by the side of the carriage, either common fashion or sideways, if he is exercising one of our horses. G. says he wonders how the Sikhs will describe him in their journals. We have at last arrived at the possession of Mr. D.’s bonnets, which were packed up exactly a year ago, and have come out as fresh as if the milliner’s girl had just stepped over with them, from the shop at the corner, the blonde inside looking quite blue and fresh, and the gauze ribbon just unrolled. It is very odd, and I am of opinion it would be clever, even now, to have ourselves put up in tin and soldered, till it is time to go home. We should alter no more. The bonnets are particularly pretty. I mean to appear in mine at Ferozepore, to give Runjeet some slight idea of what’s what in the matter of bonnets.

Mattae, Monday, Nov. 12.

We made our first march on Saturday to Nallyghur: roads bad, horse an angel. The carriage could not be used. G. drove me the last half in Mr. C.’s gig, and Mr. C. drove F. We went on the elephants to see Nallyghur on Sunday afternoon. It is a pretty place, and the old rajah has a very nice little palace on the top of a hill, looking into his village, and he is a nice gentleman-like old man, very fair, with lightish hair, which is, I believe, a disease almost amounting to leprosy, but it did not look bad—quite the contrary, rather distinguÉ and European. All the Sikh chiefs under Mr. C.’s care look comfortable; he makes them keep their roads and palaces in good order. Mrs. C. had a melancholy accident the other day. She was out riding with her children; one of her bearers touched her mule, which kicked and threw her over its head. She broke one arm in two places, and dislocated the other wrist. Mr. C. was away, and there was no doctor nearer than Sabathoo; she remained four days with these broken arms before Dr. L. could be fetched from Sabathoo, but her arms are set, and she is recovering very well. That want of a doctor must very often be a sore distress in India. A Mrs. R. at Simla, whose husband was sent as Resident to ——, where she is to join him, came in tears to see us last week, saying she had two sickly children and there was not a doctor within one hundred miles, and she wished I would mention it to G. I thought what a state you would have been in, and how you would forthwith have removed your Major R. from his residency. The doctors are all wanted for the army, so I did not think she had much chance, but G. happily had one spare one at his disposal, and the poor little woman was very grateful.

We had a great storm of rain last night at Nallyghur, and brought it on here with us; and I suppose there never were such a set of miserable animals seen, sloshing about what may be called our private apartments in overshoes, and with a parasol stuck up in particularly thin places—the servants all shivering and huddled together, palanquins wanted to take us to breakfast and dinner—in short, a mess.

Roopur, Tuesday, Nov. 13.

This is the memorable place where Lord William and Runjeet had their meeting, ‘where those sons of glory, those two lights of men, met in the vale of Roopur. You lost the view of earthly glory. Men might say, till then true pomp was single, but now was married to itself,’ &c. What is that quoted from? You don’t know—you know nothing. But as touching this scene of glory, it is a large plain—in short, a slice of India—with a ruinous fort on one side and a long narrow bazaar of mud huts on another, the Sutlej running peacefully along about a mile from our encampment. We have the same tents Lord W. had, at least facsimiles of them; therefore we are quite up to the splendid meeting. Perhaps our tents are a shade handsomer, being a very deep chocolate colour owing to the rain of yesterday. They were of course let down into the mud, and have acquired that rich brown hue. Moreover, it occurred to me that my feet were very cold to-day, and at last I discovered that the wet oozed out of the setringees (an Indian excuse for a floorcloth) at every step, and I had them taken up, and the tent is littered profusely and handsomely with clean straw, giving the whole the air and odour of a rickety hackney coach. G. observes every day, as he did last year, ‘Well! I wish Sir Charles Metcalfe could see us, and explain why this is a luxurious method of travelling.’ The sufferings of the cattle, as usual, make the morning’s march hateful. We have lost seven camels and two bullocks in seven days, and generally come in for a view of their dying agonies.

Wednesday, Nov. 14.

I cannot put any names to these places, but we are three marches from Loodheeana. I had such a pretty present this morning, at least rather pretty. It is a baby elephant, nine months old, caught at Saharunpore by the jemadar of the mahouts, and he has been educating it for me, and offered it by means of Captain D., his master. W. and I have been looking about for some time for a gigantic goat for Chance to ride on great occasions, but a youthful elephant is much more correct, and is the sort of thing Runjeet’s dogs will expect. It just comes up to my elbow, seems to have Chance’s own little bad temper and his love of eating, and is altogether rather like him. I had no idea such little elephants were valuable, but it appears that they are, as the baboo told me, ‘Quite a fancy article; great rajahs like them for little rajahs to ride on.’ The mahout would not take any money, so I had it valued and it is worth about forty pounds, and I got Mr. C. to present him with a pair of shawls and a pair of bracelets to that amount, accompanied by a neat Persian speech, which C. thought was worth about an equal sum. The blue shawls would have suited my own complaint exactly. The investiture took place in my tent, and the excellent mahout was much affected, Mr. C. says by his speech, I think by the blueness of the shawls, and the man probably regretted his little elephant.

There has been an exchange of thirty elephants with various chiefs, in the course of the last ten days. Chance never means to part with his, and as Captain D. observed in his slowest tones, ‘In about forty years, that will be a very handsome elephant.’ Very interesting, because it would naturally be very vexatious to me if forty years hence it were to turn out a great gawky beast. Jimmund came with Chance under his arm to make a salaam, and when I asked what was the matter, he said he came to say he was very glad that his Chance had got a Hotty. You are of course aware that we habitually call elephants Hotties, a name that might be safely applied to every other animal in India, but I suppose the elephants had the first choice of names and took the most appropriate.