Begums, Thugs and White Mughals

by Fanny Parkes

  March 12th – Very cold weather; this frigate-built ship is going nine knots an hour and rolling her main chains under water. In the evening, as I was playing with the children on deck at oranges and lemons, we were all thrown down from the ship having rolled heavily; her mizen-top-gallant mast and the main-top-gallant mast both broke; one spar fell overboard, and the broken masts hung in the rigging.

  March 18th – At eight o’clock we arrived at St Helena: the view of the island is very impressive; it rises abruptly from the sea – a mass of wild rocks, the heavy breakers lashing them; there appears to be no shore, the waves break directly against the rocks. The highest point is, I believe, two thousand feet; the island appears bare and desolate as you approach it. A white heavy cloud hung over the highest part of the mountain; the morning was beautiful and many vessels were at anchor. I sketched the island when off Barn’s Point. The poles of the flagstaffs still remain, on which a flag was hoisted whenever the Emperor appeared, that it might tell of his whereabouts, giving him the unpleasant feeling that spies were perpetually around him. I went on shore in a bumboat that had come alongside with shells. Landing is difficult at times when the waves run high; if you were to miss your footing on the jetty from the rising and sinking of the boat, you would fall in and there would be little chance of your being brought up again. There are only two points on the island on which it is possible to land, namely, this jetty and one place on the opposite side, both of which are strongly guarded by artillery. Batteries bristle up all over the rock like quills on a porcupine. The battery on the top of Ladder Hill may be reached by the road that winds up its side, or by the perpendicular ladder of six hundred and thirty-six steps. We went to Mr Solomon’s Hotel and ordered a late dinner; the prices at his shop and at the next door are very high: he asked twelve shillings for articles which I had purchased for five at the Cape.

  Procured a pass for the tomb, and a ticket for Longwood, for which we paid three shillings each. Next came a carriage drawn by two strong horses, for which they charged three pounds. We ascended the hill from James’s Hotel; from the summit, as you look down, the view is remarkably beautiful; the town lying in the space between the two hills, with the ocean in front, and a great number of fine vessels at anchor. The roads are good, and where they run by the side of a precipice are defended by stone walls.

  The tomb of the Emperor is situated in a quiet retired spot at the foot of, and between, two hills. Three plain large flagstones, taken from the kitchen at Longwood, cover the remains of Napoleon: there is no inscription, nor does there need one; the tomb is raised about four inches from the ground, and surrounded by an iron palisade formed at the top into spearheads. Within the palisade is still seen a geranium, planted by one of the ladies who shared his exile. The old willow has fallen and lies across the railing of the tomb, withered, dead and leafless. Many young willows reared from the old tree shade the tomb, and every care is taken of the place by an old soldier, who attends to open the gate and who offers to visitors the water from the stream which now flows out of the hill by the side of the tomb. Its course was formerly across the spot where the tomb is now placed; it was turned to the side to render it less damp: the water is remarkably pure, bright and tasteless. It was under these willows, and by the side of this little clear stream, that Bonaparte used to pass his days in reading, and this spot he selected as his burial-place.

  A book is here kept in which visitors insert their names; many pages were filled by the French with lamentations over their Emperor, and execrations upon the English. Many people have made a pilgrimage from France to visit the tomb, and on their arrival have given way to the most frantic grief and lamentations.

  Having pleased the old soldier who has charge of the tomb with a present in return for some slips of the willow, we went to a small and neat cottage hard-by for grapes and refreshment. It is inhabited by a respectable widow who, by offering refreshment to visitors, makes a good income for herself and family. We had grapes, peaches and pears, all inferior, very inferior to the fruit at the Cape. After tiffin we proceeded to Longwood, and passed several very picturesque points on the road. Around Longwood there are more trees, and the appearance of the country is less desolate than in other parts of the island. We were first taken to the old house in which the Emperor lived; it is a wretched place, and must ever have been the same. The room into which you enter was used as a billiard-room: the dining-room and the study are wretched holes. The Emperor’s bedroom and bath is now a stable. In the room in which Bonaparte expired is placed a corn-mill! I remember having seen a picture of this room: the body of the Emperor was lying near the window from which the light fell upon the face of the corpse. The picture interested me greatly at the time, and was vividly brought to my recollection as I stood before the window; whilst in imagination the scene passed before me. How great was the power of that man! With what jealous care the English guarded him! No wonder the women used to frighten their children into quietness by the threat that Bonaparte would come and eat them up, when the men held him in such awe. Who can stand on the desolate and picturesque spot where the Emperor lies buried and not feel for him who rests beneath? How much he must have suffered during his sentry-watched rambles on that island, almost for ever within hearing of the eternal roar of the breakers, and viewing daily the vessels departing for Europe!

  In the grounds by the side of the house are some oak trees planted by his own hands; there is also a fishpond, near which was a birdcage. The Emperor used to sit here under the firs, but as he found the wind very bleak, a mud wall was raised to protect the spot from the sharp gales of the sea. After the death of Napoleon the birdcage sold for £175.

  We quitted the old house and went to view the new one, which was incomplete at the time of the death of the Emperor; had he lived another week he would have taken possession of it. The sight of this house put me into better humour with the English; in going over the old one, I could not repress a feeling of great disgust and shame. The new house is handsome and well finished; and the apartments, which are large and comfortable, would have been a proper habitation for the exiled Emperor. The bath daily used by him in the old dwelling has been fitted up in the new; everything else that could serve as a relic has been carried away.

  In the grounds were some curious looking gum trees covered with long shaggy moss. The heat of the day was excessive; we had umbrellas but I had never before been exposed to such heat, not even in India. The sea-breeze refreshed us, but the sun raised my skin like a blister; it peeled off after some days quite scorched.

  We returned to dinner at Mr Solomon’s Hotel. Soup was placed on the table. Dr G— said, ‘This soup has been made of putrid meat.’ ‘Oh no, Sir,’ said the waiter, ‘the soup is very good; the meat smelt, but the cook took it all out before it came to table!’ A rib of beef was produced with a flourish; it was like the soup – we were very glad to send it out of the room. We asked to see the landlord; the waiter said he was over at the mess: we desired him to be sent for, of course supposing he was sending up dinner to the officers of a Scotch regiment, whose bagpipe had been stunning our ears, unaccustomed to the silver sound. What was our surprise when we found the hotel and shopkeeper was dining with the officers of the regiment! King’s officers may allow of this, but it would never be permitted at the mess of a regiment of the Honourable Company; perhaps his being sheriff formed the excuse. It was too late to procure dinner from another house; the boatmen would wait no longer and our hungry party returned on board to get refreshment from the steward.

  The night was one of extreme beauty – the scene at the jetty under the rocks was delightful; the everlasting roar of the breakers that at times dash over the parapet wall, united with the recollections awakened by the island, all produce feelings of seriousness and melancholy.

  [ … ]

  CHAPTER LV

  DEPARTURE FROM ST HELENA

  MARCH 19TH 1839 – A fine and favourable breeze bore the Madagascar from St Helena, and gave us hopes o
f making the remainder of the voyage in as short a space of time as that in which the first part had been accomplished. The only really good fruit we got at James’s Town was the plantain. Some mackerel was baked and pickled on board, but we were recommended not to eat it after the first day as the St Helena mackerel, if kept, is reckoned dangerous.

  April 11th – How glad I was to see the polar star, visible the first time this evening! I thought of my dear mother and how often we had watched it together; and the uncertainty of what might have occurred during my voyage to the dear ones at home rendered me nervous and very unhappy. The southern hemisphere does not please me as much as the northern; the stars appear more brilliant and larger in the north.

  April 18th – The ship was passing through quantities of seaweed, supposed to be drifted from the Gulf of Mexico; it is always found in this latitude. The children amused themselves with writing letters to their mother and sending them overboard, corked up in empty bottles.

  [ … ]

  May 13th – For some time we had been busy arranging for going on shore, which I determined to do if possible at Plymouth; therefore my packages of curiosities were got up – at least as many as I thought I could take with me, being nine chests; and all the buffalo and stags’ horns were in readiness. About thirty-five miles from Plymouth a pilot vessel came alongside, and we calculated on landing in her in four hours. At five o’clock, having taken leave of the captain who had shown us the greatest attention during the voyage, we went – a large party – on board the pilot vessel: no sooner did we enter her than the wind changed, the rain fell, it was very cold; we were forced to go below into a smoky cabin, the children squalled and we all passed a most wretched night.

  May 14th – We arrived at six o’clock. May-flowers and sunshine were in my thoughts. It was bitterly cold walking up from the boat – rain, wind and sleet, mingled together, beat on my face. I thought of the answer of the French ambassador to one of the attachés, who asked why the Tower guns were firing – ‘Mon ami, c’est peut-être qu’on voit le soleil.’

  Everything on landing looked so wretchedly mean, especially the houses, which are built of slate stone, and also slated down the sides; it was cold and gloomy – no wonder on first landing I felt a little disgusted. I took a post-chaise, and drove to the house of that beloved parent for whose sake I had quitted the Hills and had come so far. The happiness of those moments must be passed over in silence: she laid back the hair from my forehead and looking earnestly at me, said ‘My child, I should never have known you – you look so anxious, so careworn!’ No wonder – for years and anxiety had done their work.

  The procession from the Custom House was rather amusing; the natural curiosities passed free, and as the buffalo and stag-horns were carried through the streets, the people stopped to gaze and wonder at their size. Having left my young friends in the Madagascar, it was necessary to go to town to receive them. I went up in the mail from Devonport; its fine horses pleased me very much, and at every change I was on the look out for the fresh ones. We went on an average ten miles an hour. One gentleman was in the mail. I was delighted with the sides of the hedges covered with primroses, heatherbells and wild hyacinths in full bloom; nor could I repress my admiration; ‘Oh! what a beautiful lane!’ ‘A lane!’ said the man with frowning astonishment, ‘this is the Queen’s highway.’ I saw the error I had committed; but who could suppose so narrow a road between two high banks covered with primroses was the Queen’s highway? Everything looked on so small a scale; but everything brought with it delight. When the gruff gentleman quitted the mail, he gathered and gave me a bunch of primroses; with them and a bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley I was quite happy, flying along at the rate of a mile in five minutes. In the cold of the raw dark morning they took me out of the mail thirty miles from London and placed me in a large coach, divided into six stalls, somewhat like those of a cathedral: a lamp was burning above, and in a few minutes we were going through a long, dark, dreary tunnel. It was very cold and I felt much disgusted with the great fearful-looking monster of a thing called a train: in a short time we were at the end of the thirty miles, and I found myself once again in London. On my arrival I was exceedingly fatigued; all the way from Landowr I had met with nothing so overcoming as that day and night journey from Devonport to town. To every person on a return from India, all must appear small by comparison. Devonshire, that I had always heard was so hilly, appeared but little so; and although I was charmed with a part of the drive from Devonport to Exeter, with the richness of the verdure and the fine cows half hidden in rich high grass, and the fat sheep, still I was disappointed – Devon was not as hilly a country as I had fancied. Oh the beauty of those grass fields, filled as they were with buttercups and daisies! During seventeen years I had seen but one solitary buttercup, and that was presented to me by Colonel Everest in the Hills. The wild flowers were delightful, and the commonest objects were sources of the greatest gratification. I believe people at times thought me half mad, being unable to understand my delight.

  At the time I quitted England it was the fashion for ladies to wear red cloaks in the winter – and a charming fashion it was: the red or scarlet seen at a distance lighted up and warmed the scenery – it took from a winter’s day half its dullness. The poor people, who always imitate the dress of those above them, wore red, which to the last retained a gay and warm appearance, however old or threadbare. On my return all the women were wearing grey, or more commonly very dark blue cloaks. How ugly, dull, dingy and dirty the country people generally looked in them! Even when perfectly new they had not the pleasant and picturesque effect of the red garment.

  In Wales I was pleased to see the women in black hats, such as men usually wear, with a white frilled cap underneath them: it was national, but not a red cloak was to be seen.

  What can be more ugly than the dress of the English? I have not seen a graceful girl in the kingdom: girls who would otherwise be graceful are so pinched and lashed up in corsets, they have all and every one the same stiff dollish appearance; and that dollish form and gait is what is considered beautiful! Look at the outline of a figure; the corset is ever before you. In former days the devil on two sticks was a favourite pastime. The figure of the European fair one is not unlike that toy. Then the bustle – what an invention to deform the shape! It is a pity there is no costume in England as on the Continent for the different grades in society. Look at the eyes of the women in church – are they not generally turned to some titled fair one, or to some beautiful girl, anxious to catch the mode of dressing the hair, or the tie of a ribbon that they may all and each imitate the reigning fashion, according to the wealth they may happen to possess? This paltry and wretched mimicry would be done away with if every grade had a fixed costume.

  I went to Mr Greville’s, Bond Street, to look at some birds and took a list of his prices. My scientific friends preferred the birds in the state in which they came from India, therefore they remain in statu quo.

  Of all the novelties I have beheld since my return, the railroads are the most surprising and have given me the best idea of the science of the present century. The rate at which a long, black, smoking train moves is wonderful; and the passing another train is absolutely startling. The people at the stations are particularly civil; there is no annoyance, all is pleasant and well conducted. From the velocity with which you move, all near objects on the side of the railroad look like anything turned quickly on a lathe – all long stripes; you cannot distinguish the stones from the ground, or see the leaves separately, all run in lines from the velocity with which at full speed you pass near objects. The New Police, now so well regulated, also attracted notice; their neat uniform renders them conspicuous; a wonderful improvement on the watchmen of former days. The beautiful flowers, the moss-roses and the fine vegetables in town were most pleasing to the eye. The height of the carriage horses in the Park attracted my attention; they are fine, powerful animals, but their necks are flat, and their heads generally appeared very c
oarse. They wanted the arched neck and the fire of the horses of India.

  Visited the British Museum; the new rooms that have been added are handsome and well filled with Egyptian curiosities; mummies in crowds, and very fine ones. The Elgin marbles, in a handsome hall, are also shown to great advantage. My collection of Hindu idols is far superior to any in the Museum; and as for Ganesh, they never beheld such an one as mine, even in a dream!

  [ … ]

  THE FAREWELL

  AND NOW the pilgrim resigns her staff and plucks the scallop-shell from her hat – her wanderings are ended – she has quitted the East, perhaps for ever: surrounded in the quiet home of her native land by the curiosities, the monsters, and the idols that accompanied her from India, she looks around and dreams of the days that are gone.

  The resources she finds in her recollections, the pleasure she derives from her sketches and the sad sea waves (written at St Leonard’s-on-Sea), her constant companions, form for her a life independent of her own life.

  THE NARRATION OF PLEASURE IS BETTER

  THAN THE PLEASURE ITSELF

  And to those kind friends at whose request she has published the history of her wanderings, she returns her warmest thanks for the pleasure the occupation has afforded her. She entreats them to read the pilgrimage with the eye of indulgence, while she remembers at the same time that,

  HAVING PUT HER HEAD INTO THE MORTAR, IT IS USELESS TO

  DREAD THE SOUND OF THE PESTLE

  To her dear and few surviving relatives – and to her friends of many years – the Pilgrim bids adieu: