# On the Coromandel Coast/Chapter 10

CHAPTER X
OLD BLACKTOWN AND ITS MERCHANTS
Nothing is more seductive and at the same time more deceitful than wealth. It is extremely troublesome to acquire, to keep, to spend, to lose.-SLOKA.
What the mayor and corporation failed to do, the French effected. They cleaned a large portion of Blacktown by sweeping it off the face of the Coromandel Coast. The market, the Armenian quarters, and most of the Gentoo town disappeared. The densely populated native houses that filled the space between the old wall of the fort and the spot where the Law Courts now stand were annihilated, and the materials afterwards were used to form the glacis. Looking to-day from the top of the north gate over the fort stables and the outworks, it is difficult to imagine that the place was once a labyrinth of streets humming with busy life.
It took some years after the rendition of Madras to the English for the disorganised, half-destroyed town to recover itself. The work of restoration was begun, but it received a check when Lally invested it with his troops, nine years later, in his attack on the fort. In the wake of every invading army in the old days there followed gangs of budmashes, under the protecting title of camp-followers, whose sole object was loot. They rifled the dead on the battlefield, and plundered the living in the conquered and unprotected villages. The remnant of ​Blacktown suffered more from these scoundrels than from the guns of the siege.
On Lally's departure some of the inhabitants ventured back, and the rebuilding was continued. From 1760 progress was rapid. Although the streets were narrow and the native houses insignificant, it was a much cleaner and handsomer city than the old one. In 1769 a fortified wall was built round the town on the west and north sides, remains of which may still be seen. The man who built it was Benfield, whose name has been immortalised by Burke in one of his great speeches. The orator's words were not in praise, but in scathing condemnation of Benfield, who had shaken the pagoda tree too vigorously over the contract.
Towards the end of the eighteenth century the arm of the Cooum that washed the wall on the west was filled in, and the Broadway was made. The work was carried out by Stephen Popham, who came to Madras as solicitor of the Company. He belonged to the same family as the naval commander, Sir Home Popham, who held a command in India (1800-3). Stephen Popham brought his wife with him, a daughter of Sir William Thomas, and selected Blacktown as his home. He had given up a seat in the Irish Parliament to take the appointment, and he came out full of commercial enterprise and enthusiasm. He had visions of making Blacktown a princely mercantile suburb, where the merchants would live over their offices, as was the custom in London. It was a grand scheme, but there was an important factor in it with which Popham had not reckoned. This was the impossibility for the European to reside with safety among the natives. Sooner or later comes the epidemic, bred of their insanitary habits, and the Englishman succumbs.
Popham had the courage of his convictions, and endeavoured to live up to them. The result was disas​trous. First his little son of six years old was taken; then a cousin named Weekes Popham died, and was buried in the cemetery on the island; he had come out to collect the estate of Captain John Popham, commander of one of the Company's ships. A few months later Mrs. Popham followed. With a courage worthy of a better cause Popham stayed on for eight years after his wife's death, and was killed at Conjeeveram by a fall from his curricle. Mrs. Fay, a lady who visited Madras in 1780, has left a vivid picture of Blacktown. She says:
'We are at present with Mr. and Mrs. Popham, from whom we have received every possible civility. He is a brother lawyer and a countryman of my husband, and she is a lively woman ; her spirits have in some measure restored mine. . . . Mr. Popham is one of the most eccentric of beings I have ever met with. Poor man ! He is a perpetual projector, a race whose exertions have frequently benefited society, but seldom, I believe, been productive of much advantage to themselves or their families. He is at present laying plans for building what is called the Black Town to a great extent, and confidently expects to realise an immense fortune; but others foresee such difficulties in the way that they fear he may be ruined by the undertaking. The pleasure that he takes in his visionary schemes should not be omitted in the account as of some value, for it really seems to be an uncommon source of enjoyment. The Black Town is that part of Madras which was formerly inhabited wholly by natives, but of late many Europeans have taken houses there, the rents being considerably lower than in Fort St. George.'
It was with the rise of the new Blacktown that the merchant houses came into prominence. During the last half of the eighteenth century, when the Company's revenues were augmented by their territorial acquisitions, ​they became less jealous of their trade rights. This was the free merchant's opportunity, and he seized it. It was then that the big mercantile firms sprang into existence connected with the names of Harington, Dare, Roebuck, Garrow, De Monte, Moorat, De Fries, Balfour, Parry, Binny, and many others.
Dare built himself a house at Chetput, which still goes by the name of Dare's Gardens. He was the founder of the firm now known as Parry & Co. To this day the natives call Parry's place of business on the beach 'Dare's House.' The De Fries family were of Dutch origin, and the name appears on a monument at Cochin dated 1670, put up to the memory of Gerrit Jansz de Vries, who was born at Oldenburg, and came out in the service of the Dutch East India Company. They amassed great wealth, and spent it lavishly. At her marriage one of the ladies of the family wore shoes sewn all over with brilliants of enormous value.
Moorat is an Armenian name. The Armenians were connected with Madras from a very early period. After a cruel persecution in their own country they obtained permission to settle in Madras (1688) through Sir John Chardin, the celebrated traveller, whose brother Daniel lived and died in Fort St. George. Petrus Uscan, or Woskan, who built the Marmalong Bridge, was one of those who suffered in the destruction of Gentoo town. The French offered him protection if he would give his allegiance to them. He remained faithful to the English, who rewarded him on their return to the fort. When he died (1751) his heart was sent by his own request to Julfa, the town of his birth, in a golden box and buried there. Moorat also amassed wealth, and left some of it to charities for the benefit of his countrymen, which charities still exist. The rest of his fortune is dissipated, and his descendants .have to work for their living. In one of my ​journeys to India I passed through Paris, and I asked for a guide from an English travelling agent. A tall, handsome man of about thirty was sent to attend me, and he proved to be everything that could be desired. Learning that I was going to Madras, he told me that his ancestors had been merchants there. I asked his name, and he presented me with his card, which bore the name of Moorat.
The native merchants of Georgetown are many of them descendants of the men who were contemporary with the first settlers. Mr. Reddy Branson, who knew more about them than any man in Madras, said that the memory of their old rights was still cherished, and that the papers which confirmed those rights were jealously preserved among the family archives. They related to the carrying of umbrellas the umbrella being more a sign of state than an article of protection against the sun and the privilege of using palanquins. One of the most highly prized of these privileges, and for which vouchers are still preserved, was permission to enter the fort in a palanquin.
The town has its squalid parts, where the streets are as unpleasant as the inhabitants can make them, in spite of a vigilant municipality; and it might not prove attractive to the casual visitor. It abounds in interest with all its memories and associations; peace and war, famine and plenty have passed over it, and fortunes have been lost and won. In recent years it has been adorned with handsome buildings the Law Courts, the General Post-office, the Madras Bank and others which have given a new note to the town; but it cannot pretend to be on a level in architectural beauty with its sister cities of Bombay and Calcutta.
Between Georgetown and Mylapore is Triplicane, the Mohammedan quarter of Madras. Through the centre ​of the suburb runs a wide street, which is said to have been laid out by the French in the seventeenth century during their occupation for a few years of Mylapore. The houses in Triplicane are of the same character as those in the back streets of Georgetown, insignificant in appearance and not more than two storeys in height. Their occupants are dhirzis, small shopkeepers, and dealers in wares from the north of India the silks and satins of Indian make, embroidery, and gold thread. Over some of the doors in the Mount Road, as well as in Triplicane High Road, are some quaint notices. Over a small door leading into a tiny shed I noted:
'Indian Cycle and General Engineering Company. Agents for Aluminium. Madras Rickshaw Company.'
The single room would not have held more than half-a-dozen bicycles at most.
'Decent furniture for sale or hire ' was upon a house of one storey, which was overcrowded with a dilapidated sofa, a round table, and five chairs.
'The City Stables, Government Auctioneer, Commission Agents, and Carriage Builders,' was more than full with two ancient gharries past all hope of repair.
'The Carleton Billiard Saloon. Ale, Wine, Spirits, Best Colombo arrack and English liquors sold by the bottle or glass,' had one room eight feet square for the accommodation of the imaginary billiard-table and the gay company that might frequent the place. A bench outside was perhaps more inviting.
'Optician very cheap. Very cheap pebles [sic] for old and young to be had at any price.'
The windows of all the houses in Triplicane, whether they belonged to the dwellings of the well-to-do merchants or to the poorer classes, were all closely shuttered with Venetians, indicative of the strict gosha preserved by the inmates. The Mohammedan seems to hold the same ​view of woman as St. Chrysostom, who is said to have remarked that she is 'a natural temptation, a desirable calamity, a domestic peril, a deadly fascination, and a painted ill.' Acting on some belief of this kind the Moslem shuts her up, convinced that nothing but rigorous imprisonment will preserve her virtue. Not until she is supremely old and ugly is she allowed to relax the rules of her gosha and go beyond the limits of the backyard. Even then the veil is worn and the toothless mouth and sunken cheeks are hidden.
It is in Triplicane that the Prince of Arcot has his palace, the Amir Mahal. He is a descendant of the Nawabs of the Carnatic, one of whom, the Nawab Wallajah, built the palace at Chepak (1767) between the town of Triplicane and the sea. Lord Valentia, in his book of travels, says that it was designed by an English officer, but he does not mention his name. On the death of the last Nawab (1855), who left no direct heir, it was resolved by Government, says Colonel Love, 'to abolish the Musnad and to pension Prince Azim Jah' (the uncle of the last Nawab) ' and the other members of the Carnatic family.
'The late Nawab's military force was disbanded in 1855. One British regiment, one of native infantry, and the bodyguard moved to the Chepak parade-ground, where the palace force was drawn up facing them. The Government agent explained the necessity for the step. The men, ancient retainers for the most part, remonstrated and their women implored, but eventually arms were piled. There was more trouble with the mounted men, who were somewhat disorderly ; but the battery of six nine-pounders was taken possession of without difficulty. The palace property was placed in the hands of a receiver for the settlement of the Nawab's debts. The arms and the historical pictures were taken over by ​Government at a valuation in 1859. The land and buildings were sold by public auction, and fell to Government for five and a-half lakhs of rupees. . . . The palace was divided into the Khalsa Mahal of two floors, so called from its dome, which is now part of the College of Engineering, and the Humayun Mahal and Dewankhana, both of one floor, which forms portions of the present Board of Revenue Office, and which contained the Durbar Hall. The whole of the land between these buildings and the eastern enclosure wall was occupied by a network of domestic apartments. The present residence of the Principal of the College of Engineering was the Mahakama or Court of Justice, which was presided over by the Kazi-ul-Mulk. The ground to the westward was taken up by tanks, sepoys' barracks, elephant-lines and slave-lines. The saluting battery was near the site of the Senate House. Outside the compound, between it and the sea, were numerous buildings, including a grey stone structure resembling a mosque, with five arches in front and two handsome minars. This was said about 1826 to be the only noteworthy Mohammedan building in Madras. Bishop Heber visited the Regent Azim Jah in that year, but he has unfortunately left no description on record.
The palace grounds were gradually cleared of minor buildings, and the principal edifices were added to and altered into Government offices. The northern portion was devoted to an extension of Government House compound down to the sea and to a site for a Senate House; on the southern portion the Presidency College was built; while the western part was converted into a cricket-ground.
'In 1867 the title of Prince of Arcot was conferred on Prince Azim Jah and his descendants. The Amir Mahal was built by Government as the Prince's residence on ​ground formerly belonging to the Nawab of Royapettah' (Rayada-peta—Royal suburb).
In 1899 there was an old pensioned soldier named Gibbs who was in charge of St. Mary's Cemetery. He belonged to the 1st Madras Fusiliers (now Royal Dublin Fusiliers), and he was in Madras in 1855. He took part in the disarming of the Nawab's troops, and had many tales to tell as I wandered with him through the old burial-ground among its tombs and flowers. His regiment was ordered out on that occasion by Neill, who was then in command, and the men were not informed of their destination. The women belonging to the Nawab's troops occupied a set of lines, the windows of which looked upon the place chosen for the piling of the arms. As the men deposited their weapons and retired, the women spat at them and reviled them.
Gibbs had a kind of hero-worship for his old commandant. He said that Neill during the Mutiny had the utmost confidence in himself and his men. He seemed to pick up information by magic and to know all that was going on around him. In 1857 Neill took the regiment up to Calcutta by sea. He landed his men promptly, and, knowing the urgency of the situation, he marched them straight to the station. A train was just about to start. He ordered his men, Gibbs among them, to board the train. The guard and driver represented that they were due to start at once. Neill would not hear of being left behind. He placed a guard over the engine with orders to the sergeant to shoot the driver if he attempted to move out of the station before the regiment was properly accommodated.
Gibbs's regiment was the first to use the Enfield rifle, which replaced the old Brown Bess with flint and lock. In using the Brown Bess, he told me, the men were taught when firing to take aim and shut their eyes as ​they pulled the trigger. This was to guard the eyes against splinters from the flint. A man who did not take the precaution might escape, but the chances were that some time or other he would be struck by a splinter; if it touched the ball of the eye it meant blindness. Long after the Enfields were in use, the old soldiers, who were accustomed to the Brown Bess, shut their eyes from habit and spoilt the accuracy of their shooting.
In the Mutiny the sepoys were not long in discovering the advantage of the Enfield rifles, and they made use of them in their rebellion. There were great quantities lying in store with ammunition at Delhi and other places, and they adopted them and the cartridge, which had offended their caste sensibilities, without any scruple whatever. At first the Enfield cartridge was not a success. The end of it had a plate of iron which was frequently blown with the bullet out of the rifle, leaving the shell which jammed the weapon. Men whose rifles were jammed were as good as disarmed until they could meet a sergeant who had the necessary tweezers with him to extract the shell.
During the campaign Neill was superseded by Havelock. It was curious to hear the different opinions held by Gibbs and another old pensioner from the same regiment named Hart. Hart would have preferred Neill at their head, and would have followed him with confidence wherever he chose to lead. Gibbs preferred the more careful Havelock. When they entered Cawnpore, the day after the massacre, even Havelock was filled with a just wrath, and was roused out of his customary self-control by the awful sight which met his eye. Gibbs said he saw him wave his hat to the men as he cried out to them to pursue the enemy without sparing a single black skin.
Nana Sahib retreated before the regiment came up, ​and his followers killed the women and children, throwing them into the historical well, down which Gibbs looked twenty-four hours after the dreadful deed was done. On a gentle soul like Gibbs' s it only left an indelible impression of horror, but on the more impetuous temperament of Hart there remained the smouldering embers of resentment, which nothing but death could wipe out. He could never forget that the hand of the black had been turned against the white in a manner that was devilish and unpardonable.
From Cawnpore the Madras Fusiliers formed part of the force that marched to Lucknow, fighting three battles en route. The force was not strong enough to take Lucknow, so they retreated to Cawnpore to be reinforced. They advanced again and fought three more battles at the same places. Then they occupied the Alum Bagh on the eastern outskirts of the town, and Gibbs was left there with a detachment. The attacking force took stores and provisions into the Residency to assist the defenders in holding out against the rebels. There was a good deal of street-fighting before they could get in, and as they were not strong enough to disperse the enemy, the Residency was again besieged, as also was the detachment in the Alum Bagh. Gibbs was shut up there with his companion in arms, Hart, for two months, when the final relief was effected.
The Mutiny was quelled and the regiment returned to Madras. The rule of the Company came to an end, and British India became a possession of the Crown. At the time of the proclamation of the abolition of the Company the Company's regiments, European and native, were transferred to the service of the Queen.
This was done without previous reference to the men themselves. The Europeans resented the transfer in consequence. Their dignity was hurt; they considered ​that they were placed on a par with commissariat cattle. In addition to this they looked upon the act as a breach of contract. They had enlisted for service in India only. Service in the Queen's army involved service anywhere in the Queen's dominions. This was not in their agreement when they enlisted. Regarding themselves as domiciled for the rest of their lives in India, they had married women of the country, East Indians and natives, and raised families. Their wives were not suited to live in any but a tropical country ; they foresaw that if they were ordered to Canada or some similar place with a temperate climate their wives would not go with them. The two circumstances together caused them to object with all the argument they could summon to their assistance against the new arrangement. Argument failing, they asked to be discharged. Some of them found other employment in the country; some accepted the offer of a passage home with the private determination to re-enlist in regiments coming out to India.
A batch of such men were sent home in a hired trooper round the Cape, under the command of Captain Ponsonby Hill of the 1st Royals. They were sulky and ill-tempered, smarting under their grievance and the separation from their wives and families, and they gave trouble from the very beginning. They declined to assist the sailors in the usual way expected from soldiers on a trooper. They said that they were not soldiers, but only commissariat cattle; the difficult problem of bringing them to reason in as simple a manner as was possible was left to Captain Hill. The plan he adopted was to fall in with their view of the case; he gave orders that they, not being soldiers, were not to be employed on deck. They spent the hours in triumph until dinner-time came, when the soldiers were fed as usual. They were left without food and the dinner tables were cleared away. This resulted in a deputation ​to Captain Hill, who in reply explained to them that he had no orders to provide meals for civilians, let alone 'commissariat cattle,' and that his orders had only reference to soldiers. The situation was too ludicrous to last long. A laugh swept away the contention of the morning, and no more trouble was given. Many of the men on arrival in England carried out their design of enlisting in Queen's regiments just going out. By this means they assured themselves of about fifteen more years' service in the country, a time sufficient to bring them to their pension. Their wives and families joined them, and their original intention of settling in the country was fulfilled.
Gibbs served in the police for some years. During that time he was stationed for a certain period at Conjeeveram, where there is a large annual heathen festival. Two temples stand about a mile apart; each has its processional or Juggernaut car, a huge cumbrous vehicle highly ornamented with carving and gilding. These two cars, to use the old soldier's expression, have to relieve each other every year. They should be drawn by the worshippers themselves. On one occasion Gibbs was on duty to preserve order. There was the usual assemblage of pilgrims who brought their offerings and did pujah to the idols in the temples. When it came to moving the cars they made no offer of help, but looked on idly while the men attached to the temple endeavoured to drag the heavy carriages to their respective destinations. One of the pujaris, exasperated by the apathy of the onlookers, complained to Gibbs, saying:
'Please, sir, order some of these lazy country people to help us to pull the car.'
'What do you want to move the car for?' inquired Gibbs. 'It does very well where it is.'
'The god wants it taken over to the other temple.' ​ 'If your gord wants that car moved, let him move it hisself,' was the reply of the old soldier.
He made an excellent custodian of the cemetery garden, which was made up chiefly of pots of ornamental plants. Clean and trim in his own person, he kept the grounds as neat and tidy as a barrack square, and was entirely in sympathy with the chaplain's love of order. One day in a burst of confidence and admiration he said:
'His Reverence likes to have everything in order. You should see him dress the pots of a morning when he comes down here to look round.'
Gibbs lies buried in the cemetery. His epitaph might very well be the same as that which is written on a tomb in Syria over the grave of a Greek Christian: 'I lived well; I die well; I rest well. Pray for me.'