The setting in of the monsoon, or tropical sea-wind, in the East Indies,
is thus described by Forbes in his “Oriental Memoirs.” The scene was at
Baroche, where the British army was encamped. “The shades of evening
approached as we reached the ground, and just as the encampment was
completed, the atmosphere grew suddenly dark, the heat became
oppressive, and an unusual stillness presaged the immediate setting in
of the monsoon. The whole appearance of nature resembled those solemn
preludes to earthquakes and hurricanes in the West Indies, from which
the east in general is providentially free. We were allowed very little
time for conjecture; in a few minutes the heavy clouds burst over us. I
had witnessed seventeen monsoons in India, but this exceeded them all in
its awful appearance and dreadful effects. Encamped in a low situation,
on the borders of a lake formed to collect the surrounding water, we
found ourselves in a few hours in a liquid plain. The tent-pins giving
way, in a loose soil, the tents fell down, and left the whole army
exposed to the contending elements. It requires a lively imagination to
conceive the situation of a hundred thousand human beings of every
description, with more than two hundred thousand elephants, camels,
horses and oxen, suddenly overwhelmed by this dreadful storm, in a
strange country, without any knowledge of high or low ground; the whole
being covered by an immense lake, and surrounded by thick darkness,
which prevented our distinguishing a single object, except such as the
vivid glare of lightning displayed in horrible forms. No language can
describe the wreck of a large encampment thus instantaneously destroyed,
and covered with water, and this amid the cries of old men and helpless
women, terrified by the piercing shrieks of their expiring children,
unable to afford them relief. During this dreadful night, more than two
hundred persons and three thousand cattle perished, and the morning dawn
exhibited a shocking spectacle.”
The south-west monsoon generally sets in very early in certain parts of
India. “At Anjengo,” observes the above author, “it commences with great
severity, and presents an awful spectacle; the inclement weather
continues, with more or less violence, from May to October: during that
period, the tempestuous ocean rolls from a black horizon, literally of
‘darkness visible,’ a series of floating mountains heaving under hoary
summits, until they approach the shore, when their stupendous
accumulations flow in successive surges, and break upon the beach; every
ninth wave is observed to be generally more tremendous than the rest,
and threatens to overwhelm the settlement. The noise of these billows
equals that of the loudest cannon, and, with the thunder and lightning,
so frequent in the rainy season, is truly awful. During the tedious
monsoon I passed at Anjengo, I often stood upon the trembling sand-bank,
to contemplate the solemn scene, and derive comfort from that sublime
and omnipotent decree, ‘Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further; and
here shall thy proud waves be stayed!’”