# Volunteering in India/Chapter 4

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CHAPTER IV.
Although at this period disaffection lurked in almost every corner of the Bengal Presidency, and the greater part of Northern India was in open rebellion, and in Oudh (except the ground at the Ahlum Bagh, in the suburbs of Luknow, on which a British force stood), not a vestige of the Government authority had yet been re-established, arid albeit we were daily nearing a body of revolted troops, there were no signs of anarchy, nor any manifest feelings of hostility discernible among the people of these districts.
It is true there could be no confidence, and there was none; but the friendly disposition of the inhabitants may be considered sufficiently apparent, when the fact is stated that the rustic food and fodder supplied by them at every halt, amply provided for the pressing wants of the Corps.
It were tedious, however, to relate the untoward difficulties we encountered in these flying marches, and to recount the rough-and-ready way in which we were compelled to meet the troubles of our position — to hint at each volunteer personally attending to his horse; to tell of our “sleeping accommodation” for weeks together being the bare ground, screened ​sometimes against the heavy dews of December by leafy canopies of trees, the projecting roots of which served as extemporised pillows; to speak of the novel or unique spectacle presented in joints of mutton spitted on sabres — with which the sheep had had their heads struck off — grilling over huge green-wood fires, and then, half raw and well smoked, devoured without salt or sauce with a relish, not to say gusto, that Soyer himself, or even genuine cannibals, might have envied; to note that roasted rice pounded into powder with the butt-end of our carbines proved an acceptable substitute for tea or coffee; and, finally, to remark that breakfasting on parched grain, and boiled milk, was certainly not very unusual with us during these fast and furious rides.
English readers may be slightly surprised at our finding time, while rushing headlong over the country, to indulge in the oceans of boiled milk to which we were treated at these hurried al fresco breakfasts. But the Hindus who supplied us never use milk — not even for making butter — unless it is thoroughly boiled, like water for making tea. In its raw state they consider it little better than the animal morbid matter, and often call it, by way of execration, “white blood,” and believe that if it is used without undergoing purification by fire, its virus is sure to inoculate the human body with some virulent disease, or develop some malady to which it may be predisposed. Apart, however, from the open confession that, in upholding the opinion of these Hindus, I would as soon eat raw ​beef as drink raw milk, it may be appropriate to mention here that in all my experience of neariy thirty years in India I never knew, or heard of, a single case of diphtheria in man, woman, or child who used boiled milk; while, at the same time, I have known several Europeans, who were in the habit of taking milk as it is generally used in Europe, to die of the disease, when not a native among whom they were living, and who numbered in proportion at least a thousand to each European, showed a sign of the disease at all.
Some days having passed in the manner mentioned above, we at length gained a sandy tract, on the banks of the Kose river, where the savage scenery was impressively grand. Taking its rise among the Himalaya Mountains, the Kose, deep and impetuous, winds its course through, and emerges from, the sombre recesses of well-nigh utterly impenetrable jungle. This sub-mountain jungle is called the Terai, and it stretches along parallel to the base of the Himalaya Range, and varies in breadth, on a rough average, from ten to twenty miles.
Without noticing, however, the insignificant bit of it at present before us, I will here briefly speak of its prominent features as they appear interspersed throughout the whole of that wondrous region; so that the reader may form some idea of the nature of the country in which we were at this time employed.
Roughly though correctly sketched, either by pen or pencil, the Terai is a vast trackless belt of forest ​covering hundreds of miles with almost every variety of luxuriant tropical vegetation; and in innumerable localities it is intersected by rivers, mountain-torrents, and frightful ravines choked up with thorny under-wood, and interlaced with bamboos, ratans, and other rope-like plants and creepers ; and in places it is diversified with savage-looking hills densely draped in dark foliage, and timber of stupendous size; while in its midst are enormous abysses filled with putrid water and interminable swamps, which eject the poisonous streams that silently and invisibly glide like mythological serpents through this enormous jungle-entangled region.
Though the inexhaustible profusion of vegetation is the most striking and impressive feature of the Terai, its exuberance in animal life is certainly not much less characteristic ; and in numbers and variety, it may be said to exhibit greater richness in the department of zoology, than any other region on the globe.
Passing over its insignificant hordes of the wild animal kingdom, I shall cursorily notice only in passing some of its more prominent denizens; and among the prolific category, enumerate the buffalo, the samber, the lilgye, and deer of several species in incalculable numbers. Then the deeper recesses of the Terai have their appropriate occupants: there the elephant, the rhinoceros, the tiger, — leopards, bears, hyenas, etc., may be computed literally by thousands and thousands. The serpent species, from the ​formidable boa-constrictor to the dangerous cobra, abound. Among the venomous reptiles there are many varieties of huge lizards, and alligators of enormous size swarm in the streams and marshes. The feathered tribe, from the magnificent golden eagle to birds unknown in ornithology, are also numerous; while insects, infinite in variety, infest these regions in endless myriads.
The malarial climate of the Terai, however, is so deadly to Europeans that they are prevented from tarrying in its fever-breeding jungles. Were it otherwise, sportsmen in search of big game would astonish, with their “bags,” the most ardent hunters in any part of the world.
Behind the Terai are the lower hills and their subsidiary dells, also covered with evergreen woods, and timber of such gigantic size that the very sight of it fills one with astonishment beyond conception, — trees of from twenty to thirty feet in girth, and, although centuries old, upright as pillars, straight as darts, and growing to a height of two hundred feet or more. Beyond, stretching like a huge irregular barrier, rise the noble Himalaya, and the lofty and fantastic peaks of the mountains enveloped in everlasting winter. To associate tropical India with the North Pole would seem ridiculously fictitious; nevertheless there, before our very eyes, tower the ice-bound giants of wonderland, which even in the height of summer freeze all the day through, despite the sun, and look down from their perpetual frozen abode upon the poor broiling creatures on the fiery plains below. While farther ​to the north, far above the others, to an elevation of more than twenty-eight thousand feet above sea-level, Kunchin Junga, with its majestic head right away in endless space, distinct and well defined under the clear blue canopy of heaven, looks in its incomparable grandeur like an isolated mountain of molten silver, towering to the skies from an aerial worid of eternal glaciers and snow.
The spot from whence this view is obtained, and from which we were not very far bivouacked, commands the most magnificent prospect of the dazzling Snowy Range visible from any place in India. Nothing in Nature on her grandest scale can be conceived more awe-inspiring, or awfully sublime. Talk about Mont Blanc, why, that lofty snow-capped peak in Europe is, by comparison, a mere hillock to the giant Kunchin Junga in High Asia. And so prominent and stupendous is this wonderful monarch of mountains, that the indigenous mountaineers actually believe its geographical position to be — as expressed in their own words — the centre of the terrestrial worid, and its summit, towering up to heaven, they say is half-way to the celestial realm above, whereon rests the hallowed footstool of the Great God of Heaven! Just as under the influence of similar superstitious nonsense, the inhabitants of the Peshawur valley, about a thousand miles or perhaps more away in the Punjab, call a snow-capped peak Tukht-i-Suleiman, or “Solomon’s throne”! The Viceroy of India has also a throne on these incomparable mountains; and in consequence Simla has been ​the regular summer residence of Government for far more than half a century. It is, therefore, astonishing to note how little this delightful salubrious region has been opened up, and how little we really know of this vast mountainous world within itself. Now, as the atmospheric temperature on the plains of Upper India for about half the year may be compared with that of a veritable glowing furnace, it is quite distressing to find that the charms of the Himalaya — with their invigorating climate, suggestive only of the most lovely “cool summer” in England — should remain so neglected, and little better than a trackless wilderness in Africa. And that, too, when even the present wretchedly laid out and badly built old hill stations (to wit, Simla, Mussoorie, Nyne-Tal, and others) of the “dark ages,” so prominently indicate the feasibility with which this Asiatic paradise might be transformed into a flourishing European colony.
Those who know the Himalaya best, will readily admit that numerous localities in the interior of that vast unreclaimed region are by soil, water, and climate admirably suited for English settlements; and as it is proverbial that if Englishmen have a will to penetrate and explore a trackless wilderness, they can generally find a way, it seems almost incredible that after so great a lapse of time, embracing over a century, no serious attempt has yet been made to rear even what may be called a miniature colony in the susceptible heart of this beautiful mountainous tract, and its countless fair valleys, with delightful atmospheric ​conditions, peaceful and soothing surroundings, sweet sparkling streams, and ever-echoing cataracts, clear and brilliant as diamonds. Here, too, in and along these fresh and charming valleys, melodious with the songs of beautiful birds, the various forests contain innumerable handsome and gigantic trees of many English species, such as the oak, chestnut, pine, birch, etc.; and among those of native growth I will mention only the superb Magnolia as really the Queen of the Forest, when in her spring toilet and crowned with the lovely bloom that scents the air with its honeyed fragrance. Then again, conspicuous among the indigenous fruit trees, are the cherry, walnut, fig, medlar, etc. — not to exclude such modest dainties as raspberries, strawberries, nuts, etc. — all growing literally wild. As to the infinite varieties of the fern and flora, my feeble pen would droop in attempting to portray their rare and surpassing beauty— unfading beauty, ever lovable, yet never admired; ever blooming, yet never seen, except by the wild beasts and birds that hold sway over the neglected tracts of which I have here drawn a brief and rough sketch. But there can be little doubt that, in years to come, Colonisation will stretch its enterprising arms over these magnificent mountains, to the advantage of England's prestige, in spreading her civilising influence among the semi-barbarous and heterogeneous people (and their name is legion), inhabiting the border-lands, and mysterious unknown countries stretching away from the Great Himalaya Chain into remote and Central Asia.
​But I have said enough, and to spare, on this obviously prolific subject, and reluctantly leave it as irrelevant to the narrative in hand. Before doing so, however, I wIll add that the intelligent reader will easily understand that the writer has been briefly speaking of the Terai and of its occupants, and also of the glorious Himalaya (some of the remotest parts of which he has trodden, where even to the present day no other “white man's stride” has reached), from experience gained, during many sporting tours, and adventurous wanderings over their wildest tracts, in happy days long gone by.
Soon after crossing the Kose, we reached the encampment of a small European force with which we were to co-operate. And here, our jaded horses having been attended to, we disencumbered ourselves of arms and accoutrements for the first time since our flying march began, and stretching down at rest beneath the shadows of lofty trees, we slept in bundles of straw, coiled up like hedgehogs, with that unbroken soundness familiar to health and fatigue.