It is still paraded upon certain festival
days, invariably surrounded, however, by policemen, who keep the
natives clear of the wheels, for even to-day, if they were not
prevented, its victims would be as numerous as ever. Imagine, if
you can, with what feelings we stood and gazed upon this car,
which has crushed under its ponderous wheels religious enthusiasts
by the thousand, and which still retains its fascination over men
anxious to be allowed the glory of such self-immolation, at the
supposed call of God, who would be a fiend if he desired such
sacrifice.
We left Madras on Wednesday morning, and had a fine smooth sail
across the Bay of Bengal to Calcutta, the City of Palaces and
centre of the British power in India. Coming up the river we pass
the shipping in review, and never before have we seen so many
large, magnificent sailing ships in one port, not even in
Liverpool or London. The trade requires large clippers, and these
splendid vessels lie four and five deep for two miles along the
river, all in fine trim, flags flying, and looking their best. We
pass the palace of the old King of Oude, who was brought here when
deposed for his misdeeds. He is allowed a pension of $50,000 per
month, which seems a great waste of money, as it is mostly
squandered by the old reprobate. His collection of birds and
beasts is a wonderful one, for he pays any price for animals; last
month he paid $12,500 for two grand tigers, but they escaped a few
days afterward and swam across the river.
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