representing, like the divisions of the Towers of Silence, the numbers of the chapters of one of the sacred books.
Near the Town Hall the scene became still more animated, and the applause of the multitude, though much more subdued in tone than the roar of an English crowd, was quite as enthusiastic. The men from H.M.S. 'Bacchante' lined the approaches to the building, and the Bombay Volunteers acted as a guard-of-honour. We were ushered into the gallery, where chairs were placed for Lady Reay and myself close to the Governor's throne. The sight from this 'coign of vantage' was indeed imposing. Immediately in front stretched a fine flight of steps, covered with red cloth, and crowded with European and native officials in every variety of costume. The approach to the steps was through a pretty garden, where the wealth of tropical vegetation was set off by flags and gaily coloured banners. A dense crowd of natives ringed this enclosure round, whilst lofty houses, their gaily draped balconies and windows filled with bright and happy faces, made a brilliant background. Presently the Governor was seen approaching, escorted by his own bodyguard and a company of mounted volunteers (now called the Bombay Light Horse), who looked very picturesque and soldierlike as they dashed through the crowd. All dismounted at the west entrance to the garden, where a procession was formed, at the head of which the Governor advanced and, amid a flourish of trumpets, took his stand in front of the throne to receive the addresses and telegrams presented by, or on behalf of, various classes of the community in the Bombay Presidency. No less than fifty-eight congratulatory telegrams from public bodies in the Mofussil had been received, and, after leave asked and granted, a number of deputations were introduced, who presented their documents enclosed in handsome caskets or in kincob bags. Almost the first telegram came from his Highness Aga Sultan Mahomed Shah, a potentate who is regarded by his followers with great awe and reverence. Then followed a message from the Rao of Cutch, enclosed in a beautifully embroidered bag, succeeded by many others. Fortunately all save two were 'taken as read,' the exceptions being the address presented by the inhabitants of Bombay and by the Senate of the University. The presentation of the caskets, some of which were quite works of art, occupied a long, long time. One casket seemed to be covered with a sort of lacework of ivory and ebony, and was still further ornamented by wreaths studded with gold and exquisitely modelled figures of elephants and wild beasts. Others, again, were of ebony profusely inlaid with silver.
The Governor's replies to the addresses were most happy, and evidently touched the feelings of his hearers. As he uttered his final words two young middies, perched on a dangerous-looking corner of the parapet, scrambled on to the roof, and, at a given signal, smartly unfurled an immense Royal Standard, amid the thunder of an imperial salute of 101 guns. The effect of the whole scene was deeply impressive, as well as suggestive. I have seen many ceremonies both at home and abroad, but never one more picturesque or of more thrilling interest.
From the town hall we went, still in procession, to the cathedral, which stands close to the Elphinstone Garden, where a musical service was held. 'God save the Queen' was magnificently rendered, and the two specially written verses which were added to the National Anthem were most effective.
After service the Governor and Lady Reay, with their aides-de-camp, in one carriage, and we in another, returned to Malabar Point, where we were only too glad to put off our finery and rest quietly indoors until half-past four, precisely at which hour we had to resume our war-paint and go, again in procession, to Parel, to meet their Royal Highnesses, the Duke and Duchess of Connaught. The road lay through the poorer part of the city, but was made gay and interesting by the crowd of people through which we passed, and by the preparations which all were busily making to take part in the Jubilee.
Parel is the official residence of the Governor of Bombay; much larger than, but not nearly so agreeable as, the house at Malabar Point; however, each successive Governor appears to entertain a different opinion on this subject, and Lord Reay's predecessor preferred Parel. The garden, with its fine trees and luxuriant vegetation, is pretty, but not very private; for a Hindoo house, much used for marriages, stands on one side of the tank which borders it, while the tramway almost touches it on the other. The house itself, originally a Portuguese chapel and monastery, is three-storeyed, and contains some fine spacious rooms. The present Governor intends to give up Parel for the use of the Victoria Technical Institute till a more suitable building can be found.
In the adjoining bungalow a substantial tea, with all sorts of cooling drinks, was temptingly arranged among masses of flowers and greenery. The servants from Malabar Point seemed to have arrived by magic, and their picturesque liveries added much to the brilliancy of the scene. The refreshments proved not to be by any means useless, for the Duke and Duchess of Connaught had commenced the day at Poonah by inspecting the troops on horseback at 7 a. m.; and this was closely followed by the opening of the Poultry Show and several other functions, to say nothing of a railway journey of six hours in the heat of the day from Poonah to Bombay.
In a pleasant, informal way, we were then told off to carriages from which to see the illuminations, an escort of cavalry and of the bodyguard being provided to prevent, as far as possible, our small procession being broken up by the crowd. In the suburbs the illuminations were general but simple in design. There was a more pretentious display in front of the Veterinary Hospital, consisting of transparent pictures of horses and cows. This hospital was established by Sir Dinshaw Manockjee Petit, one of the largest mill-owners of Bombay, who has received the honour of knighthood as a Jubilee gift.
Presently the crowd became more numerous, and began to run alongside the carriages, shouting, and carrying blue lights, a compliment with which we could well have dispensed; for the smoke, the clouds of powder which they occasionally threw into the air, the dust raised as they rushed along, and the general heat and want of air in the narrow streets, had a stifling effect. The illuminations were not only artistically beautiful, but afforded a proof that members of every religion and class had united to do honour to their Sovereign. Among the most striking buildings were a Mahomedan Mosque, the lines of which were clearly defined against the starlit sky by rows of pure white lanterns; a Hindoo temple, where court within court was lighted in a simple and effective manner by butties filled with cocoa-nut oil; and several Jain temples brightly illuminated with coloured lights. In the native quarter the houses were lighted up in the peculiar Indian fashion by chandeliers suspended from the windows or across the streets – perhaps the most wonderful part of the scene.
After driving through the crowded streets we proceeded to the Apollo Bunder – now officially called the Wellington Pier – to witness the illumination of the harbour and the grand display of fireworks. The harbour, with its thousands and thousands of twinkling lights, was a sight to be remembered. Even the little 'Sunbeam,' though somewhat overshadowed by the huge 'Bacchante,' displayed with good effect a row of coloured lights from stem to stern.
As we drove home we much admired the illumination of the public gardens on the Malabar Hill. The name 'Victoria' was written in lines of fire on its steep slopes, and was reflected with beautiful effect in the still waters of the bay.
Just before reaching home the horses in our carriage took to jibbing, and after nearly being precipitated over a wall and down an embankment we thought it better to get out and walk, which made us rather late for dinner. We were not alone in misfortune, however, for another of the carriages had collided with a tramcar; and a horse in yet another vehicle, in which the A.D.C.'s were driving, severely injured itself.
The next morning (Thursday, February 17th) we were all rather late – that is to say, for this part of the world. Personally, I began to work between seven and eight o'clock, and consequently got through a good deal before breakfast. Afterwards a succession of visitors arrived, friendly, complimentary, and on business, among the latter being many tradesmen, anxious to press their wares upon us. The verandah was soon crowded by box-wallahs, who squatted in the midst of their piles of brilliantly coloured silks, gauze, and muslins, or arrived laden with specimens of heavy lacquered-work, carved ivory, sandal-wood, Poonah inlaid work, arms, and jewels. A verandah at the back of the chief bungalow, containing the reception-rooms, had meanwhile been completely filled by a long table, on which was displayed a magnificent collection of jewels belonging
