Chapter XVI. Life at Ooty.

If a bachelor, you generally begin by depositing your household gods in the club buildings, or one of the two hotels ⁽¹⁵⁶⁾--there is no travellers' bungalow at Ootacmund--if a married man, you have secured lodgings by means of a friend.

The Neilgherry house merits description principally because it is a type of the life usually led in it. The walls are made of coarse bad bricks--the roof of thatch or wretched tiles, which act admirably as filters, and occasionally cause the downfall of part, or the whole of the erection. The foundation usually selected is a kind of platform, a gigantic step, cut out of some hill-side, and levelled by manual labour. The best houses occupy the summits of the little eminences around the lake. As regards architecture the style bungalow--a modification of the cow-house--is preferred; few tenements have upper stories, whilst almost all are surrounded by a long low verandah, perfectly useless in such a climate, and only calculated to render the interior of the domiciles as dim and gloomy as can be conceived. The furniture is decidedly scant, bing usually limited to a few feet of drugget, a chair or two, a table, and a bedstead. The typical part of the matter is this. If the diminutive rooms, with their fire-places, curtained beds, and boarded floors, faintly remind you of Europe, the bare walls, puttyless windows and doors that admit draughts of air small yet cutting as lancets, forcibly impress you with the conviction that you have ventured into one of those uncomfortable localities--a cold place in a hot country.

So it is with life on the Nielgherries--a perfect anomaly. You dress like an Englishman, and lead a quiet gentlemanly life--doing nothing. Not being a determined health-hunter, you lie in bed because it passes the hours rationally and agreeably, and you really can enjoy a midday doze on the mountain-tops. You sit up half the night because those around you are not shaking the head of melancholy, in consequence of the dispiriting announcement that "the Regiment will parade, &c., at four o'clock next morning" (A.M. remember!). At the same time your monthly bills for pale ale and hot curries, heavy tiffins, and numerous cheroots tell you, as plainly as such mute inanamate things can, that you have not quite cast the slough of Anglo-Indian life.

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We will suppose that your first month in the Nielgherry Hills with all its succession of small events has glided rapidly enough away. You report your arrival in person to the commanding officer, who politely desired your signature to a certain document, ⁽¹⁵⁷⁾ threatening you as well as others with all the penalties of the law if you ventured to quit Ootacmund without leave. The Auditor-General's bill, which you received from the Paymaster, Bombay, authorizing you to draw your salary from him of the southern division of the Madras army, was not forwarded before the first of the month, or it was forwarded but not in duplicate--something of the kind must happen--so you were most probably thrown for a while upon your wits, rather a hard case, we will suppose. Then you tried to "raise the wind" from some Parsee, but the way in which he received you conclusively proved that he has, perhaps for the best of reasons, long ceased to "do bijness" in that line. You began to feel uncomfortable, and consequently to abuse the "authorities."

During your first fortnight all was excitement, joy, delight. You luxuriated in the cool air. Your appetite improved. The mutton had a flavour which you did not recollect in India. Strange, yet true, the beef was tender, and even the "unclean" was not too much for your robust digestion. You praised the vegetables, and fell into ecstasy at the sight of peaches, apples, strawberries, and raspberries, after years of plantains, guavas, and sweet limes. From the exhilarating influence of a rare and elastic atmosphere you, who could scarcely walk a mile in the low country, induced by the variety of scenery and road, wandered for hours over hill and dale without being fatigued. With what strange sensations of pleasure you threw yourself upon the soft turf bank, and plucked the first daisy which you ever saw out of England! And how you enjoyed the untropical occupation of sitting over a fire in June!--that very day last year you were in a state of semi-existence, only "kept going" by the power of punkhs ⁽¹⁵⁸⁾ and quasi-nudity.

The end of the month found you in a state of mind bordering upon the critical. You began to opine that the scenery has its deficiencies--Can its diminutive ravines compare with glaciers and seas of ice--the greenness of its mountain-tops compensate for the want of snow-clad summits, and "virgin heights which the foot of man never trod?" You decided that the neilgherries are, after all, a tame copy of the Alps and the Pyrenees. You came to the conclusion that grandeur on a small scale is very unsatisfactory, and turned away from the prospect with the contempt engendered by satiety. As for the climate, you discovered that it is either too hot in the sun or too cold in the shade, too damp or too dry, too sultry or too raw. After a few days spent before the fire you waxed weary of the occupation, remarked that the Neilgherry wood is always green, and the Neilgherry grate a very abominable contrivance. At last the mutton and pork, peaches and strawberries, palled upon your pampered palate, you devoured vegetables so voraciously that pernicious consequences ensued, and you smoked to such an extent that--perhaps tobacco alone did not do it--your head became seriously affected.

And now, sated with the joys of the eye and mouth, you turn round upon Ootacamund and inquire blatantly what amusement it has to offer you.

Is there a hunt? No, of course not!

A race-course? Ditto, ditto!

Is there a cricket-club? Yes. If you wish to become a member you will be admitted readily enough; you will pay four shillings per mensem for the honour, but you will not play at cricket.

A library? There are two: one in the Club, the other kept by a Mr. Warren: the former deals in the modern, the latter in the antiquated style of light--extremely light--literature. Both reading-rooms take in the newspapers and magazines, but the periodical publications are a very exclusive kind of study, that is to say, never at home to you. By some peculiar fatality the book you want is always missing. And the absence of a catalogue instead of exciting your industry, seems rather to depress it than otherwise.

Public gardens, with the usual "scandal point," where you meet the ladies and exchange the latest news? We reply yes, in a modifying tone. The sum of about 200l., besides monthly subscriptions, was expended upon the side of a hill to the east of Ooty, formerly overrun with low jungle, now bearing evidences of the fostering hand of the gardener in the shape of many cabbages and a few cauliflowers.

Is there a theatre, a concert-room, a tennis, a racket, or a fives-court? No, and again no!

Then pray what is there?

We will presently inform you. But you must first rein in your impatience whilst we enlarge a little upon the constitution and components of Neilgherry society.

Two presidencies--the Madras and Bombay--meet here without mingling. Officers belonging to the former establishment visit the hills for two objects, pleasure and health; those of the latter service are always votaries of Hygeia. If you ask the Madrassee how he accounts for the dearth of amusements, he replies that no one cares how he gets through his few weeks of leave. The Bombayite, on the contrary, complains loudly and bitterly enough of the dull two years he is doomed to pass at Ooty, but modesty, a consciousness of inability to remedy the evil, or most likely that love of a grievance, and lust of grumbling which nature has implanted in the soldier's breast, prevents his doing anything more. Some public-spirited individuals endeavoured, for the benefit of poor Ooty, to raise general subscriptions from the Madras Service, every member of which has visited, is visiting, or expects to visit, the region of health. The result of their laudable endeavours--a complete failure--instanced the truth of the ancient adage, that "everybody's business is nobody's business." Besides the sanitarians and the pleasure-seekers, there are a few retired and invalid officers, who have selected the hills as a permanent residence, some coffee-planters, speculators in silk and mulberry-trees, a stray mercantile or two from Madras, and several professionals, settled at Ootacamund.

With all the material above alluded to, our circle of society, as you may suppose, is sufficiently extensive and varied. Among the ladies, we have elderlies who enjoy tea and delight in scandal: grass widows--excuse the term, bing very much wanted, it is comme il faut in this region--and spinsters of every kind, from the little girl in bib and tucker, to the full blown Anglo-Indian young lady, who discourses of her papa the Colonel, and distains to look at anything below the rank of a field-officer. The gentlemen supply us with many an originale. There are ci-derant young men that pride themselves upon giving ostentatious feeds which youthful gastronomes make a point of eating, misanthropes and hermits who inhabit out-of-the-way abodes, civilians on the shelf, authors, linguists, oriental students, amateur divines who periodically convert their drawing-rooms into chapels of ease rather than go to church, sportsmen, worshippers of Bacchus in numbers, juniors whose glory it is to escort fair dames during evening rides, and seniors who would rather face his Satanic Majesty himself than stand in the dread presence of a "woman." We have clergymen, priests, missionaries, tavern-keepers, school-masters, and scholars, with précieux and précieuses ridicules of all descriptions.

But, unhappily, the said circle is divided into several segments, which do not willingly or neatly unite. In the first place, there is a line of demarcation occasionally broken through, but pretty clearly drawn between the two Presidencies. The Mulls ⁽¹⁵⁹⁾ again split into three main bodies, 1, the very serious; 2, the petit-sérieus; and, 3, the unsanctified. So do the Ducks, but these being upon strange ground are not so exclusive as they otherwise would be. Subdivision does not end here. For instance, the genus serious will contain two distinct species, the orthodox and the heterodox serious. The unsanctified also form numerous little knots, whose bond of union is some such accidental matters as an acquaintance previous to meeting on the hills, or a striking conformity of tastes and pursuits.

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A brief account of the Neilgherry day will answer your inquiry about the existence of amusement. We premise that there are two formulas, one for the sanitarian, the other for the pleasure-hunter.

And first, of Il Penseroso, or the invalid. He rises with the sun, clothes himself according to Dr. Baikie, ⁽¹⁶⁰⁾ and either mounts his pony, or more probably starts stick in hand for a four mile walk. He returns in time to avoid the sun's effects upon an empty stomach, bathes, breakfasts, and hurries once more into the open air. Possibly, between the hours of twelve and four, his dinner-time, he may allow himself to rest awhile in the library, to play a game at billiards, or to call upon a friend, but upon principle he avoids tainted atmospheres as much as possible. At 5 P.M. he recommences walking or riding, persevering laudably in the exercise selected, till the falling dew drives him home. A cup of tea, and a book or newspaper, finish the day. This even tenor of his existence is occasionally varied by some such excitement as a pic-nic, or a shooting-party, but late dinners, balls, and parties, know him not.

Secondly of L'Allegro, as the man who obtains two months' leave of "absence on urgent private affairs" to the Neilgherries, and the Penseroso become a robust convalescent, may classically and accurately be termed. L'Allegro, dresses at mid-day, he has spent the forenoon either in bed or en deshabille, in dozing, tea-drinking, and smoking, or, if of a literary turn of mind, in perusing the pages of "The Devoted," or, "Demented One." He dilates breakfast to spite old Time, and asks himself the frequent question What shall I do to-day? The ladies are generally at home between twelve and two, but L'Allegro, considering the occupation rather a "slow" one, votes it a "bore." But there is the club, and a couple of hours may be spent profitably enough over the newspapers, or pleasantly enough with the assistance of billiards and whist. At three o'clock our Joyful returns home, or accompanies a party of friends to a hot and substantial meal, termed tiffin, followed by many gigantic Trichinopoly cigars, and glasses of pale ale in proportion.

A walk or a ride round the lake, is now deemed necessary to recruit exhausted Appetite, who is expected to be ready at seven for another hot and substantial meal, called dinner. And now, the labours of the day being happily over, L'Allegro concludes it with prodigious facility by means of cards or billiards, with whiskey and weeds.

This routine of life is broken only by such interruptions, as a shooting-party, an excursion, a pic-nic, a grand dinner, soirée, or a ball. Short notices of these amusements may not be unacceptable to the reader.

There are many places in the neighbourhood of Ooty--such as Dodabetta, Fair Lawn, and others--where, during the fine season, the votaries of Terpsichore display very fantastic toes indeed, particularly if they wear Neilgherry-made boots, between the hours of ten A.M. and five P.M. Much innocent mirth prevails on these social occasions, the only remarkable characteristic of their nature being, that the gentlemen generally ride out slowly and deliberately, but ride in, racing, or steeple-chasing, or enacting Johnny Gilpin.

A more serious affair is a grand dinner. This truly British form which hospitality assumes, may be divided into two kinds, the pure and the mixed. The former is the general favourite, as, consisting of bachelors only, it admits of an abandon in the style of conversation, and a general want of ceremoniousness truly grateful to the Anglo-Indian mind. A dinner where ladies are admitted is, by L'Allegro, considered an unmitigated pest; and those who dislike formality and restraint, scant potations, and the impossibility of smoking, will readily enter into his feelings.

The Ootacamund soirée happens about once every two months to the man of pleasure, who exerts all the powers of his mind to ward off the blow of an invitation. When he can no longer escape the misfortune, he resigns himself to his fate, dresses and repairs to the scene of unfestivity, with much of the same feeling he remembers experiencing when "nailed" for a Bath musical reunion, or a Cheltenham tea-party. He will have to endure many similar horrors. He must present Congo to the ladies, walk about with cakes and muffins, listen to unmelodious melody, and talk small--he whose body is sinking under the want of stimulants and narcotics, whose spirit is fainting under the peine forte et dure of endeavouring to curb an unruly tongue, which in spite of all efforts will occasionally give vent to half or three-quarters of some word utterly unfit for ears feminine or polite. If, as the Allegri sometimes are, the wretch be nervous upon the subject of bing "talked about in connexion with some woman," another misery will be added to the list above detailed. He has certainly passed the evening by the side of the young lady whom he first addressed--his reasons being that he had not courage to break away from her--and he may rest assured that all Ooty on the morrow will have wooed and won her for him. Finally, he observes that several of his married friends look coldly upon him, beginning the morning after the soirée. Probably he endeavoured to compensate for his want of vivacity, by a little of what he considered brilliancy, in the form of satire,--quizzing, as it is generally called. The person for whose benefit he ventured to

looked amused by his facetiousness, encouraged him to proceed by

and lost no time in repeating the substance of his remarks, decked, for the sake of excitement, in a richly imaginative garb, to the sensitive quizzee.

There are about half-a-dozen balls a year on the Neilgherries, the cause of their infrequency being the expense, and the unpopularity of the amusement amongst all manner and description of men, save and except the "squire of dames" only. This un-English style of festivity is also of two kinds, the subscription and the bachelors': the former thinly attended, because 1l. is the price of a ticket, the latter much more numerously, because invitations are issued gratis. The amusement commences with the notes which the ladies indite in reply to their future entertainers, who scrutinize all such productions with a severity of censure and a rigidity of rule which might gratify a Johnson, or a Lindley Murray. And woe, woe, to her who slips in her syntax, or trips in her syllabication! Then the members of the club carve out for themselves a grievance, all swear that it is a "confounded shame to turn the place into a hop-shop," and one surlier individual than the rest declares that "it shan't be done again." At the same time you observe they endure the indignity patiently enough, as it is a magnificent opportunity for disposing of their condemnable though not condemned gooseberry.

And here we pause for a moment in indignation at such a proceeding. May that man never be our friend who heedlessly sets a bottle of bad champagne before a fellow-creature at a ball! Heated and excited by the dancing atmosphere around, the victim's palate becomes undiscerning, he drinks a tumbler when at other times a wine-glass full would have been too much, and in the morning--aroynt thee, Description! Well do we remember the bitter feelings with which we heard on one of these occasions, two gentlemen felicitating each other upon the quantity of sour gooseberry disposed of unobserved. Unobserved! we were enduring tortures from the too observable effects of it.

At eleven or twelve the ladies muster. The band--a trio of fiddlers, and a pianist, who performs on an instrument which suggests reminiscences of Tubal Cain--strikes up. The dancing begins--one eternal round of quadrilles, lancers, polkas, and waltzes. There is no difficulty in finding partners; the "wall-flower," an ornament to the ball-room unknown in India generally, here blooms and flourishes luxuriantly as in our beloved fatherland. But if you are not a bald-headed colonel, a staff-officer in a gingerbread uniform, or a flash sub. in one of Her Majesty's corps, you will prefer contemplating the festal scene from the modest young man's great stand-by--the doorway. About one o'clock there is a break for supper--a hot substantial meal of course:--the dancing that follows is strikingly of a more spirited nature than that which preceded it. The general exhilaration infects, perhaps, even you. You screw up your courage to the point of asking some smiling spinster if she "may have the pleasure of dancing with you?" and by her good aid in action as well as advice, you find out, with no small exultation, that you have not quite forgotten your quadrille.

At three P.M. the ladies retire, apparently to the regret, really to the delight of the bachelors, who, with gait and gestures expressive of the profoundest satisfaction, repair to the supper-room for another hot and substantial meal. The conversation is lively: the toilettes, manners, conversation and dancing of the fair sex are blamed or extolled selon; the absence of the Bombay ladies and the scarcity of the Bombay gentlemen are commented upon with a naïveté which, if you happen to consider yourself one of them, is apt to be rather unpleasant. Before, however, you can make up your mind what to do, the cigars are lighted, spirits mixed, and the singing commences. This performance is usually of the style called at messes the "sentimental," wherein a long chorus is a sine quâ non, the usual accompaniments a little horse-play in different parts of the room, and the conclusion a hammering of tables or rattling of glasses and a drumming with the heels, which, when well combined, produce truly an imposing effect. At length Aurora comes slowly in, elbowing here way, and sidling through the dense waves of rolling smoke, which would oppose her entrance, but failing therein, content themselves with communicating to her well known saffron-coloured morning wrapper a rather dull and dingy hue. Phœbus looks red and lowering at the prospect of the dozen gentlemen, who, in very pallid complexions, black garnets, and patent leather boots, wind, with frequent halts, along the common road, leading, as each conceives directly to his own abode. And the Muses thus preside over the conclusion, as they ushered in the beginning of the eventual fête.

"On the --- of ------- the gay and gallant bachelors of Ootacamund entertained all the beauty and fashion of the station in the magnificent ballroom of the club. The scene was a perfect galaxy of light and loveliness, etc."

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You have now, we will suppose, almost exhausted the short list of public amusements, balls and parties; you have boated on the lake; you have ridden and walked round the lake till every nodule of gravel is deadly familiar to your eye; you have contemplated the lake from every possible point, and can no longer look at it, or hear it named, without a sensation of nausea. You have probably wandered "over the hills and far away" in search of game; your sport was not worth speaking of, but its consequences, the headache, or the attack of liver which resulted from over-exertion, was--. Perhaps you have been induced to ride an untrained Arab at a steeple-chase, and, curious to say, you have not broken an arm or even your collar-bone. What are you to do now? You wish to goodness that you could obtain leave to visit the different stations in the low country, but, unhappily, you forgot to have your sick certificate worded, "For the Neilgherries and the Western Coast." You find yourself cooped up in the mountains as securely as within the lofty walls of your playground in by-gone days, and if you venture to play truant, you will certainly be dismissed the establishment, which is undesirable:--you are not yet over anxious to return to "duty," although you are by no means happy away from it.

Suddenly a little occurrence in your household affords you a temporary diversion. You dismissed your Bombay servants, first and foremost the Portuguese, a fortnight after your arrival at Ootacamund, because the fellows grumbled at the climate and the expense:--they could not afford to get drunk half as often as in the plains:--demanded exorbitant wages, and required almost as many comforts and luxuries as you yourself do. So you paid their passage back to their homes, and secured the usual number of Madras domestics, men of the best character, according to their own account, and provided with the highest, though more than dubious testimonials. You found that the change was for the better. Your new blacks worked like horses, and did not refuse to make themselves generally useful. Presently, they, seeing your "softness," began to presume upon it. You found it necessary to dismiss one of them, summarily, for exaggerated insolence. The man left your presence, and stepped over to the edifice where sits in state the "Officer Commanding the Neilgherries." About half an hour afterwards you receive a note, couched in terms quite the reverse of courteous, ordering you to pay your dismissed servant his wages, and peremptorily forbidding you to take the law into your own hands by kicking him. But should you object to obey, as you probably will do, you are allowed the alternative of appearing at the office the next day.

At the hour specified you prepare to keep your appointment, regretting that you are not a civilian:--you might then have tossed the note into the fire:--but somewhat consoled by a discovery, made in the course of the evening, that the complainant has stolen several articles of clothing from you. You walk into the room, ceremoniously bow and are bowed to, pull a chair towards you unceremoniously, because you are not asked to sit down, wait impatiently enough,--you have promised to ride out with Miss A-----, who will assuredly confer the honour of her company upon your enemy Mr. B----- if you keep her waiting five minutes,--a mortal hour an a half. When the last case has been dismissed, the Commanding officer, after some little time spent in arranging his papers, nibbing his pens and conversationizing with a native clerk about matters more than indifferent to you, turns towards you a countenance in which the severity of justice is somewhat tempered by the hard stereotyped smile of polite inquiry. Stimulated by the look, you forget that you are the defendant, till reminded of your position in a way which makes you feel all its awkwardness. The Commanding officer is a great "stickler for abstract rights," and is known to be high-principled upon the subject of black skins and British law. So you, who expected, as a matter of course, that the "word of an officer and gentleman" would be taken against that of a "native rascal," find yourself notably in the wrong box. Indignant, you send for your butler. And not Pariah meets Pariah with a terrible tussle of tongue. Complainant swears that he was not paid; witness oathes by the score that he was. The former strengthens his position by cursing himself to Patal ⁽¹⁶¹⁾ if he has not been swindled by the "Buttrel" and his Sahib out of two months' wages. The head servant, not to be outdone, devotes the persons of his Brahman, his wife, and his eldest son, to a very terrible doom indeed, if he did not with his own hands advance complainant three months' pay,--ans so on. At length the Commanding officer, who has carefully and laboriously been taking down the evidence, bids the affidavits cease, and reluctantly dismisses the complaint.

And now for your turn, as you fondly imagine. You also have a charge to make. You do so emphatically. You summon your witnesses, who are standing outside. You prove your assertion triumphantly, conclusively. You inform the Commanding officer, with determination, that you are resolved to do your best to get the thief punished.

The Commanding officer hears you out most patiently, urges you to follow up the case, and remarks, that the prosecution of the affair will be productive of great advantage to the European residents on the Hills. You are puzzled transiently: the words involve an enigma, and the sarcastic smile of the criminal smacks of a mystery. But your mental darkness is soon cleared up; the Commanding officer hints that you will find no difficulty in procuring a fortnight's leave to Coimbatore, the nearest Civil station, for the purpose of carrying out your public-spirited resolution. As this would involve a land journey of one hundred miles--in India equal to one thousand in Europe--with all the annoyances of law-proceedings, and all the discomforts of a strange station, your determination suddenly melts away, and gentle Pity takes the place of stern Prosecution; you forget your injury, you forgive your enemy.

You must not, however, lay any blame upon the Commanding officer; his hands are tied as well as yours. He is a justice of the peace, but his authority is reduced to nothing in consequence of his being subject to the civil power at Coimbatore. A more uncomfortable position for a military man to be placed in you cannot conceive.

This little bit of excitement concludes your list of public amusements. And now, again, you ask What shall you do? You put the question, wishing to heaven that Echo--Arabian or Hibernain--would but respond with her usual wonted categoricality; but she, poor maid! has quite lost her voice, in consequence of the hard-talking she has had of late years. So you must even reply to and for yourself--no easy matter, we can assure you.

Goethe, it is said, on the death of his son, took up a new study. You have no precise ideas about Goethe of his proceedings, but your mind spontaneously grows the principle that actuated the great German. You are almost persuaded to become a student. You borrow some friend's Akhlak i Hindi, ⁽¹⁶²⁾ rummage your trunks till you discover the remnant of a Shakespeare's Grammar, and purchase, at the first auction, a second-hand copy of Forbes's Dictionary. You then inquire for a Moonshee--a language-master--and find that there is not a decent one in the place. The local government, in the plenitude of its sagacity, has been pleased to issue an order forbidding examination committees being held at the Sanitarium; so good teachers will not remain at a station where their services are but little required. Your ardour, however, is only damped, not extinguished. You find some clerk in one of the offices who can read Hindostani; you set to--you rub up your acquaintance with certain old friends, called Parts of Speech--you master the Verb, and stand in astonishment to see that you have read through a whole chapter of the interesting ethical composition above alluded to. That pause has ruined you. Like the stiff joints of a wearied pedestrian, who allows himself rest at an inopportune time, you mind refuses to rise again to its task. You find out that Ootacamund is no place for study; that the houses are dark, the rooms cold, and the air so exciting that it is all but impossible to sit down quietly for an hour. Finally, remembering that you are here for health, you sent back the Akhlak, restore Shakespeare to his own trunk, and, after coquetting about the conversational part of the language with your Moonshee for a week or two--dismiss him.