_BOMBAY TO GOA._
_February 22nd._--We had been told that Jinjeera was seventy miles
distant from Bombay. Our rate of progress being rather slow, we did
not consult the chart until late in the afternoon, when we found great
difficulty in making out the place at all. At last we discovered it,
marked in the smallest of letters, close to the mouth of the Rajpoori
River; Khassia, now in ruins, being on the opposite or north side.
Instead of seventy, it proved to be only thirty-five miles from
Bombay; so that we had actually overrun it. Knowing that we were
expected, there was nothing to be done except to beat our way back
against the wind during the night. It would have been a pleasant sail
had it not been for the annoying loss of time which it involved.
Just before daybreak we saw the Rajpoori light, and the one at
Kennery, twelve miles south of Bombay. About 9.30 A.M. the Nawab's
brother came on board, and soon afterwards we proceeded to land. After
rowing more than half round a curious island-fort, we arrived at the
gateway, a small opening in the thick walls, where we were met by the
Nawab himself, dressed in European costume, but wearing a red and gold
turban, and surrounded by his native bodyguard.
The landing was rather difficult, for, owing to want of space, the
boat had to be pushed in stern foremost. When this feat had been
accomplished, some of the Nawab's followers brought chairs, and
hoisted us with great dexterity to the top of the steps, where it was
no easy matter to alight with the dignity proper to the occasion.
Having received the salaams of the Nawab and returned his hearty
welcome, we took a long walk all round the curious old fort of
Jinjeera, built five hundred years ago. It contains many narrow
passages designed for security, for they are entirely independent of
the bastions, each of which is provided with its own little water-gate
for the admission of supplies or the escape of the garrison in case of
necessity. I found the walk very fatiguing owing to the heat, and so
did many of the others.
The temperature would indeed have been unbearable but for an
occasional puff of cooler air which reached us through the embrasures.
Some of the guns were of Spanish manufacture, dated 1665, but most of
them were lying useless on the ground. In no case would they avail
much against modern ordnance; but the fort, owing to its natural
advantages, would be difficult to attack. The present Nawab is of
ancient descent, and one of his ancestors was an Admiral in the
service of the Grand Mogul. At the time of the disruption of the
Kingdom of Delhi the Nawab's State became independent, and has
remained so ever since. He has about 70,000 subjects, in whose welfare
he appears to take great interest. He has a shrewd face, is very
English in appearance, and seems quite capable of looking after his
own interests.[1]
[Footnote 1: The Nawab of Jinjeera is of Abyssinian descent, and is
popularly called the Seedee or Hubshee, generic terms applied by
natives of India to Africans. One of the Nawab's ancestors laid siege
to Bombay Castle in 1688-9, and the English, being unable to dislodge
him, were compelled to seek the intervention of the Emperor Aurungzebe
to secure the withdrawal of his forces.]
[Illustration: Jinjeera Fort]
It was delightfully refreshing to be able to rest in a spacious
bungalow after our tour of the fort was over; and still more delicious
was a curious sort of punkah, peculiar to the district, which fanned
us pleasantly. The Nawab accompanied us on our return to the yacht,
and afterwards sent us a most acceptable _Nazir_, or present, of two
huge bunches of bananas, as well as other fruits and vegetables,
besides milk and ghee.
The Nawab's second wife, whose mother we had met at Bombay, is a
pretty little girl of about thirteen. She came on board to see us, but
many precautions to preserve the _purdah_ had to be taken. It was
necessary to observe this custom in deference to the prejudices of her
people rather than to those of her husband. She had never been on
board a yacht before, and was naturally much interested in all she
saw.
Soon after twelve we resumed our voyage to the southward before a
deliciously cool breeze, which lasted for a considerable time. Further
on, the coast seems to consist of a series of plateaux, varying in
height from 200 to 600 feet, occasionally interrupted by a peak or a
narrow strip of white beach, with here and there a small straggling
town. At sunset we were off Ratnagiri, an ancient Mahratta fort
connected with the mainland only by a narrow sandy neck. Its southern
extremity is nearly 300 feet above the sea level, thus forming a
headland, surmounted by a line of fortifications and bastions of great
strength. The complete isolation of its position has doubtless caused
it to be chosen as the place of detention of King Theebaw, who can
have but little chance of escape. The entrance to the river lies to
the eastward of the fort, and the intermediate space is covered with a
luxuriant growth of cocoa-nut palms. The European station is to the
northward, for the southern shore is rugged, and ends abruptly in
cliffs and huge boulders. Small coasting steamers maintain as well as
they can communication with the fort; but the approach is always
difficult, and is almost impracticable during the south-west monsoon.
[Illustration: Off Ratnagiri]
Mr. Crawford, who was formerly Commissioner here, had kindly given
notice of our probable visit; for we had been anxious to land if
possible to see something of King Theebaw, and to inspect the
excellent industrial school established here. The district used
formerly to be the great recruiting-ground for the Bombay army; but
the young men now prefer entering the school, which, from one point of
view, seems a pity. It was with much regret that, after having made
preparations for landing, we were obliged to abandon the idea of
doing so; for it became both late and dark, thus adding too much to
the difficulties, and even dangers, of the proposed expedition. We
therefore sailed slowly past, throwing up rockets at long intervals,
to indicate that we were proceeding on our course.
As the evening wore on the breeze dropped, and during the night we
made but little progress.
_February 25th._--A calm and somewhat sultry night. Daylight brought a
delicious and welcome sea-breeze, before which we sailed rapidly on
our southward course. The morning was devoted to a general tidying up,
preparatory to settling down for our long voyage.
Over the memory of the latter portion of this day I wish that I could
draw a veil; but, sad as is the story, and little as I desire to dwell
upon it, it must be told.
Travelling, visiting, and sight-seeing had so completely occupied our
time in India, that I had found upon my return to Bombay a vast
accumulation of letters from England and elsewhere requiring
attention; and as it was far beyond my strength to deal with them
without assistance, I considered myself fortunate in securing the
services, as temporary secretary, of a gentleman whom we had met at
Bombay, and who had been strongly recommended to us. Mr. Frank White
was at that time engaged on the staff of the 'Bombay Gazette,' and, as
Special Correspondent, had accompanied the present as well as the
former Governor of Bombay upon their official tours. Now, however, he
was about to leave India in order to take up an appointment on the
staff of the 'Melbourne Argus,' and we, as a matter of mutual
convenience, offered him a passage to Australia in the 'Sunbeam,'
which he accepted, apparently, with delight. These brief facts will
account for his presence on board the 'Sunbeam.'
At luncheon to-day Mr. White was cheerful and full of conversation,
giving us an interesting description of the annual migration of the
members of the Bombay Government to Poona during the season of rains
and monsoons. We had, as usual, coffee, cigarettes, and a little
gossip on deck before recommencing our quiet occupations of reading or
writing. Mr. White strolled aft, and I soon became immersed in my
book. Suddenly I perceived a change in the vessel's movement, as if
the helmsman were neglecting his duties, and directly afterwards heard
the thrilling cry of 'Man overboard!' Of course a great commotion
ensued, the men rushing up from below, all eager to render assistance.
I ran aft, whence the cry had proceeded, seizing a life-buoy as I
passed, but found that one had already been thrown over by the man at
the helm, who exclaimed, 'That gentleman,' meaning poor Mr. White,
'has jumped overboard.' A boat was lowered, a man was sent up to the
cross-trees, another on to the deck-house to keep a look-out, and the
ship was put about in an incredibly short space of time. In the
meanwhile hasty preparation of hot bottles, blankets, and other
remedies was made on board, in case the boat should happily be
successful in her search. But although she rowed over the exact spot
many times, and picked up Mr. White's helmet and the life-buoy,
nothing more could be discovered.
[Illustration: Vingora Rocks]
The agonised interest with which that little boat was watched by all
on board will always live in my memory. Two men had jumped into her
just as they had rushed on deck, without shirts or hats to protect
them from the burning sun. Another was preparing to spring overboard
when he was forcibly restrained by Tom, who saw that it would by this
time be utterly useless. All on board worked with a will to get the
vessel round and to lower every stitch of sail; no easy matter with
every kite set, and the yacht running from ten to twelve knots before
the wind.
From letters left behind it was painfully clear that a determination
of many days past had just been accomplished. It appeared that Mr.
White had questioned the doctor--who little suspected his object--as
to how long it would take to stop the vessel when running with
studdingsails set before a strong breeze. The unhappy man had
constantly complained of inability to sleep, and he had been seen on
deck the previous night long after everyone else had gone to bed. Of
the motive for the rash act it is impossible to form an opinion. Borne
down by physical and mental suffering, he must have been overcome by a
temporary aberration of intellect, which rendered him for the moment
irresponsible for his actions. I need not dwell on the terrible shock
which the dreadful catastrophe caused to our hitherto happy little
party. The evening was a sad one, and not even the excitement of
making the lights off Goa, bringing the ship up, and anchoring for the
night, or the prospect of an interesting excursion to-morrow, could
raise our spirits or dissipate the depression caused by the sad event
of the afternoon.
_February 26th._--Orders had been given for steam to be ready in the
launch by six o'clock, so that we might get ashore soon after
daybreak, and thus avoid the heat of the midday sun, which is now
becoming quite a serious matter. But the painful duty of collecting
and packing up all poor Mr. White's things to be sent back to Bombay
had first to be performed, and it was nearly half-past seven before
we were ready to land.
[Illustration: Vingora Lighthouse]
Just as we were starting, Mr. Norman Oliver, the Assistant Delegate at
Goa, arrived alongside in his pretty little schooner yacht, of native
design and build, but of English rig. He brought with him a very kind
letter from Mr. H.D. Donaldson, the assistant engineer of the new
Portuguese Railway, now in course of construction, to connect Goa with
the English lines northward to Bombay and eastward to Madras. If only
the inhabitants of Goa will make use of the new railway, it ought to
be of the greatest value to them. Such, however, is their conservative
disposition and so great is their pleasure in obstinately creating and
maintaining, in the form of customs-duties, obstacles to commerce and
free circulation, that it is considered probable that the railway will
have to be continued some fifty miles to the southward, as far as the
British port of Carwar, before any perceptible increase in the export
of produce can be looked for. The line to Goa is now nearly completed,
and will, it is hoped, be opened after the rains. Mr. Donaldson kindly
proposed a tempting trip over it to the summit of the Sahyadri
Mountains, or Ghats, which form the eastern boundary of the Portuguese
territory. Unfortunately we are already so much behind our time that
we shall have to press forward as quickly as wind and waves will
allow, if we mean to adhere to the original plan of our voyage with
anything like punctuality.
So many difficulties are thrown in the way of would-be visitors to the
churches of Goa, that although Mr. Oliver had kindly sent his sepoy on
to announce our arrival, and had written to the Administrador to ask
leave, we were recommended to wait for an hour or two on board, to
allow time for the necessary forms to be complied with. A refreshing
sea-breeze was blowing, and at ten o'clock we decided to brave the sun
and to proceed under the double awnings of the gig (towed by the
steam-launch) across the bar and up the river towards Old Goa.
From the sea, the Portuguese settlement looks like a series of
promontories, each crowned by a fort, with the river Mandovi in the
centre, running up into the interior between richly wooded banks. Its
coast-line is some sixty or seventy miles long from north to south,
and its greatest breadth about thirty miles. The entire territory is
hilly, and intersected by numerous rivers, of which the Mandovi is the
most important. Both the ancient and modern cities of Goa have been
built on its banks. The promontories of Bardez and Salsette protect a
fine harbour, capable of accommodating vessels of the largest tonnage
during the greater part of the year. The climate of Goa is generally
healthy, though smallpox and cholera have from time to time broken out
there with great virulence.
[Illustration: Portuguese Rowlock]
[Illustration: Cape Goa Entrance]
Never was any place so totally unlike what I had expected--in fact, it
did not in the least correspond to the idea which any of us had formed
about it. The palace of the Governor (who was for over three
centuries called the Viceroy) stands in the city of Pangim, or New
Goa, which, as I have already said, has been built on the river
Mandovi, about five miles from its mouth. Curiously enough, the
present Governor of Goa is our old friend Captain da Carvalho, who
commanded the corvette 'Affonso Albuquerque' when she brought the King
of Portugal to Plymouth last year, and lay alongside us for a
fortnight in lovely Barn Pool, under the shadow of the Mount Edgcumbe
trees. As we steamed over the bar and, aided by a strong flood-tide,
quickly ascended the river, we next came to the pretty village of
Raibandar, passing between low reedy banks fringed with cocoa-nut
palms and other vegetation. The distant Ghats formed a fine background
to the picture, which included several white-spired English-looking
churches, perched here and there on convenient knolls. The inhabitants
of the district, however, composed as they are of descendants of the
original natives found here by the Portuguese conquerors at the
beginning of the sixteenth century, with a subsequent slight
admixture of European blood, bore no resemblance to the British type.
Those whom we saw on the river wore scarcely any clothing, and paddled
about in little canoes somewhat similar to those used in the South Sea
Islands and Ceylon. These boats are extremely narrow, and are provided
with an outrigger in the shape of an enormous rough block of wood,
connected with the canoes by bent spars some four feet long.
After a pleasant voyage of about eleven miles in tow of the
steam-launch, we were suddenly cast off at some steps leading to a
small pier, in the midst of a large grove of palm-trees, and were told
that we had reached our destination. But where was Goa? We were all
expecting to see ruined palaces, churches, and houses; whereas all
that was visible was one massive arch and gateway about a hundred
yards distant, standing, like the Irishman's 'main gate,' in the
centre of a field, with no wall on either side of it. Meaningless as
it now looked, this was the celebrated _Arco dos Vicereys_, or Arch of
the Viceroys, originally built in 1599, and composed of blocks of
black granite, now partially whitewashed. Through this gateway each
successive ruler of Goa passed on his way to the ancient capital; on
which occasions it was always splendidly decorated. A statue of St.
Catherine, patroness of the city of Goa, occupies an upper niche,
while beneath her is a figure of Vasco de Gama, with features somewhat
defaced by time. The facade used to be adorned with paintings
representing incidents of the Portuguese war in the Indies; but they
are now effaced by whitewash. The portico bears an inscription
dedicating it to the Immaculate Conception, and commemorating the
emancipation of Portugal from Spain in 1656.
[Illustration: BENARES AND THE SACRED GANGES]
By this time the heat had become so great that, finding no carriage
was forthcoming, I had almost resolved to give up the idea of visiting
the wonderful old palaces and churches which we had taken so much
trouble to come and see; but Tom and the Doctor encouraged me to make
an effort, and improvised a sort of carrying-chair for me. We
accordingly proceeded up a steep hot road, through the aforesaid arch,
to the Rua Direita, so called because it once led direct from the
Palace of the Viceroys to the Church of Misericordia. The name has
lost its meaning, for all that now remains of the splendid palace is a
portion of the chief gateway, so small in extent that when we tried to
take a photograph of it, the helmet of one of the gentlemen who
chanced to stand some distance in front of the camera completely
concealed it. Only 250 years ago the palace must have been the most
conspicuous building in the city. At that time a large square stood in
front of it to the south, surrounded by fine houses. A noble staircase
led from this square to the principal hall of the palace, in which
were hung pictures of most of the Portuguese ships which had come to
India since the time of Vasco de Gama. In an inner hall the Viceroy,
who then lived in a style of regal splendour, received ambassadors
from the Indian princes, and transacted important business. Da
Fonseca, in his historical and archaeological description of the City
of Goa, states that the Viceroy rarely stirred out of his palace,
except to make a royal progress through the city. 'A day previous to
his appearance in public, drums were beaten and trumpets sounded, as a
signal to the noblesse and gentry to accompany him on the following
day. Accordingly, early in the morning about three or four hundred
hidalgos and courtiers appeared in the _Terriero do Paco_, clad in
rich attire, mounted on noble steeds with gold and silver trappings
glittering with pearls and precious stones, and followed by European
pages in rich livery.' The palace began to fall into decay when the
city was abandoned; and although from time to time there was an idea
of repairing it, the work was never seriously undertaken. In 1820 a
considerable portion of the splendid building was ordered to be
knocked down; and though the remainder stood for some time, even so
lately as up to fifty or sixty years ago, it has gradually fallen to
pieces, and its ruins are now covered with vegetation.
The small Church of S. Cajetan was the first place we visited after
passing the entrance to the palace. It was built by some Italian
friars in 1640, and so closely adjoins the palace that some travellers
have referred to it as the Viceregal Chapel. The facade, with its
Corinthian columns, and the fine cupola rising behind them, reminds
one of St. Peter's at Rome in miniature. Outside the church, exposed
to the full heat of the burning sun, a party of half-clad natives were
scrubbing _with soap and water_ some fine full-length oil portraits of
past viceroys, governors, and archbishops, which had been removed from
the sacristy for this purpose. Among them were those of Vasco de Gama,
and of Affonso Albuquerque, the first European conqueror of Goa. The
church had not yet been opened, so we waited in a long room in the
adjacent convent, through which the sea-breeze blew with delicious
coolness. After a short rest we went out into a balcony and looked
with delight over a forest of tropical vegetation, to the blue river
running swiftly through the trees, with the paler grey of the distant
ghats beyond. When at last we gained admittance to the church, we much
admired its graceful dome and the fine altar-piece in the principal
chapel. Close to and in striking contrast with this grand painting
stood a little group of scantily clothed natives, who had evidently
taken advantage of the opportunity of inspecting the sacred edifice
which our visit afforded. The windows of the church are made of small
panes of the thin, semi-transparent inner scale of the pearl oyster,
used in place of glass--a fashion still followed in many of the
private houses of Goa. These shell windows, the materials for which
must formerly have been very plentiful in the neighbourhood, admit a
peculiarly soft and tender light.
[Illustration: St. Xavier, Goa]
From S. Cajetan we proceeded to the Cathedral of S. Caterina, one of
the oldest buildings of Goa, and the only church in which daily
religious service on a grand scale is now held. Albuquerque was the
founder of this sacred edifice, which took seventy-five years to
build, and has been well described as 'worthy of one of the principal
cities of Europe.' Dr. Russell, visiting it with H.R.H. the Prince of
Wales, speaks of its 'vast and noble proportions.' We were amazed by
the richness of the materials, and the artistic beauty of the
elaborate carving which met the eye in every direction. The vaulted
ceiling, the mosaic covered side-chapels, and the high altar, near
which stands the Archbishop's chair, are the features most worthy of
attention. The cathedral is, indeed, a stately pile, the nave being
over 70 feet high and 140 feet long, and the total length of the
building more than 270 feet. The vestries and sacristies are full of
rich vestments and valuable plate, now seldom seen except by a few
priests, or an occasional foreign visitor like ourselves, or, at still
rarer intervals, by the general public when a grand exhibition is
held, to which the faithful flock in crowds. Even the exhibitions have
been discontinued of late years, for it was found that the gathering
together of a large concourse of people in so unhealthy a locality led
to the spread of infectious disorders. The site of Old Goa is, indeed,
terribly malarious. The Government having abandoned the city, it was
deserted by everybody else, the finest houses, after standing empty
for years, gradually falling to pieces, so that literally not one
stone remains above another. Old Goa was one of the headquarters of
the terrible Inquisition, and until comparatively recent days its most
cruel decrees were there executed with stern and heartless rigour. The
tower of the Cathedral of S. Caterina contains five bells, the largest
of which, still in daily use, is the same which was formerly tolled on
the occasion of the _auto-da-fe_. It was quite thrilling to listen to
its deep knell, and to think that those same tones must have fallen
upon the agonised ears of the poor victims of an odious tyranny.
[Illustration: Inquisition Stake, Goa]
Close to the cathedral once stood the Palace of the Inquisition, a
vast and magnificent building, the space occupied by which is now
filled with dense jungle. It is the home of venomous snakes, not to be
met with in any other part of the island. Probably some special shrub
or herb which they like grows there and nowhere else. From the
cathedral we passed across an open space to visit the Church of Bom
Jesus, containing the chapel and tomb of St. Francis Xavier, and a
fine altar, in the centre of which stands a colossal image of St.
Ignatius of Loyola. St. Francis (who died at Sanchan, in Malacca)
rests in a crystal and silver coffin within a magnificent sarcophagus.
The body, clad in the richest vestments, is said to be still, after
the lapse of three centuries, in a wonderful state of preservation--a
fact testified to by the chief surgeon of Goa in an official report
made in 1859.
Never was there a city so unlike a city, or even the remains of one,
as Old Goa, unless it were Palmyra. Goa is now, in fact, only a forest
of palm-trees with patches of jungle here and there, made gay by
tropical flowers, such as the scarlet coral-tree, the pimelia with its
bright golden convolvulus-like flowers, and scarlet and apricot-yellow
euphorbias. From this mass of vegetation the spire of a church rises
or the tower of some ancient building occasionally peeps forth. No
other traces of its bygone splendour could be seen, whether one looked
upward from the level of the earth or downward from the roof of one of
the few buildings which still remain.
On our return to the landing-place we found that the railway officials
had kindly lent us their large steam-launch, in the cosy little cabin
of which, sheltered by venetian blinds, we enjoyed our well-earned
lunch, for it was now past three o'clock, and we had breakfasted soon
after six. The sea-breeze blew refreshingly as we steamed down the
river, and once clear of the land the heat was not at all oppressive.
Pangaum, or Nova Goa, is a nice clean-looking little town, of some
15,000 inhabitants, at the foot of a hill covered with palm-trees. It
is of comparatively recent growth; for although the viceregal
residence was transferred here from Old Goa in 1759, when a terrible
epidemic broke out in that place, it was not until 1827 that any
vigorous steps were taken to reclaim the land on which it now stands.
In 1843 it was formally declared to be the capital of Portuguese
India, and the Governor, the Archbishop, and other authorities and
dignitaries now live there. The Causeway of Ribandar, which connects
Pangaum with the city of that name, is a wonderful construction,
nearly two miles in length, built in 1633 by order of the then
Viceroy.
Only the gentlemen landed during our brief stay; and they soon
returned from their stroll, having seen most of the objects of
interest in the place. I had in the meantime occupied myself in taking
some photographs--under somewhat difficult conditions, for the breeze
was stiff and strong, and the steam-launch was by no means steady. As
soon as we returned on board the 'Sunbeam' we were met by an
extortionate demand on the part of the Portuguese officials--which, I
am glad to say, was successfully resisted--for the payment of eighty
rupees, in return for the privilege of anchoring in the roads without
the aid of a pilot. Then we had to bid adieu to kind Mr. Norman
Oliver, regretting much that time would not admit of our seeing more
of him and making the acquaintance of his wife. The anchor was soon
weighed, and the 'Sunbeam' once more spread her wings to the favouring
breeze, before which we sailed so quickly, and at such an angle, that
the more sensitive members of the party began to fancy it was rough,
and would not come down to dinner. Later in the evening it was
delightful to sit on deck and watch, by the light of the young
crescent moon and the brilliant stars, the vessel racing along through
the cool evening air.
In the course of the next day we passed Carwar, about fifty miles
south of Goa, and one of the most interesting ports in India.
Adjoining it is a backwater, such as are often met with on the
south-west coast of India, along which it is possible to sail for many
miles in a native boat with great comfort and ease. Further south is
Honahwar, whence the famous Falls of Gairsoppa, in Mysore, can easily
be reached. Just now the waters of the river Kauri are rather low;
else, I think, we should have made an effort to visit the falls (which
have a drop of 1,000 feet in one place) notwithstanding the shortness
of the time and the difficulties of the journey, which can only be
performed in rough country carts.
The wind was light all day; but the old 'Sunbeam' glided gracefully
along, and made good progress through the hot air.
_February 28th._--The sun becomes perceptibly more powerful each day.
At noon we were off Mangalore, formerly a place of considerable
importance, where the British forces have stood more than one siege.
Like the rest of the ports on this coast, it has been deserted by
trade, and has now fallen more or less into a state of decay and ruin.
We have now resumed our usual life-at-sea habits. In the morning we go
on deck at a very early hour, to enjoy the exquisite freshness of the
dawn of the tropical day. Tom and the Doctor help to man the pumps,
sometimes assisted by the children, who appear to like the work of
scrubbing decks as much as they did in the old days of our first long
voyage round the world. Then we are most of us _hosed_. An open-air
salt-water bath is a luxury not to be appreciated anywhere so
thoroughly as in these tropical climates. After an early breakfast we
settle down to our several occupations--the children to lessons, till
it is time for sights to be taken and calculations made; Mr. Pritchett
elaborates the sketches which he has made on shore during our recent
wanderings; the Doctor makes himself generally useful, and has plenty
of time to devote to this benevolent work, for at present he has
hardly any patients. Later on he kindly gives the children a lesson in
arithmetic, while Mr. des Graz, assisted by Prior, spends a
considerable time in developing, printing, and toning the photographs
which we have taken. I have always plenty to do in the way of writing,
reading and general supervision. Often do I look wistfully at the many
books which I long to read, and think regretfully of the letters and
journal that ought to be written; but a good deal of time has to be
spent in less interesting, and certainly more prosaic, work. In the
afternoon there is more reading, writing, and lessons; and after tea
there is a general taking off of coats by the gentlemen, a putting on
of suitable costumes by the children, and a grand game of
hide-and-seek and romps during the short twilights until the
dressing-bell gives warning to prepare for dinner.
Landsmen can never know how delightful it is to be able to sit quietly
on deck late in the evening, in the open air, without any tiresome
wraps, and to enjoy the soft silvery light of the stars, scarcely
dimmed by the brighter rays of the young moon. It is indeed a period
of tranquil happiness. One is only agreeably fatigued by the exertions
of the day; and one feels so soothed by the beauty and peacefulness of
the scene as to be quite content to do absolutely nothing, and to rest
satisfied with the mere pleasure of existence. Indeed it is only the
recollection of the charms of early rising which induces any of us to
leave the deck at last.
_February 29th._--By noon to-day we had only run seventy-five miles.
The air is still occasionally hot and oppressive. About 3 P.M. a large
steamer was seen coming up astern, and with a glass we made her out,
by the white band round her funnel, to be one of the British India
Line. For some time we seemed to hold our own with her, even after the
breeze fell light, almost to a calm; and it was 9 P.M. before she
actually passed us, steaming ahead full speed. The 'Sunbeam' sails
like a witch in her new suit of light canvas, and we pass the little
native craft as if they were standing still, even in the lightest of
breezes, for which they are specially built.
_March 1st._--However it may mean to go out, March has come in like
the quietest of lambs, and we could well do with a little more wind to
help us on our course.
At noon we were off Calicut, a curious old town of nearly 50,000
inhabitants, to which belong many ancient stories and traditions. As
we all know, it gives its name to that useful and familiar
material--calico. This was the first point of India touched at by
Vasco de Gama nearly 400 years ago, after his long voyage from
Portugal. Not far from Calicut, near Mahe, a high rock rises--one of
the few places in India where sea-swallows build their edible nests.
Further south is Tellicherry, whence the highly appreciated cardamoms
of Waima are exported. The plant (_Amomum repens_) which produces them
is not unlike the ginger shrub in appearance, bearing small
lilac-coloured flowers. Cardamoms are so indispensable in all Indian
cookery that great pains are taken in their cultivation.
On the other side of the river lies Beypoor, one of the terminal
stations of the Southern Indian Railway, whence it is possible to
proceed by rail in almost any direction. Mysore, Bangalore, and
Seringapatam can be easily reached from here; and last, though not by
any means least, one can travel _via_ Pothanore and Metapalliam to
Ootacamund, that loveliest and healthiest of Southern hill stations in
the Neilgherry Mountains, familiarly called 'Ooty.' This delightful
place of refuge restores the enfeebled health of the European, and
makes it possible for husband and wife, parents and children, to be
spared the terrible separations incidental to a career in India; for
the climate of Ootacamund is as cool and invigorating as that of
England.
_March 2nd._--The distance run at noon was 106 knots, the wind during
the previous twenty-four hours having been stronger and more
favourable.
We passed Cochin in the course of the day, but not near enough to see
much of it. It must be an interesting old place, dating, like Calicut,
from the ninth century, or even earlier, with inland waterways to
Quilon and other ports on the Malabar coast, by delightfully smooth
and sheltered backwaters, always navigable for the native boats, even
in the full strength of the monsoon. Trivandaram, the capital of
Travancore, is near this. The Rajah of Travancore on the occasion of
the Great Exhibition of 1851 sent our Queen a most beautifully carved
ivory chair, made in his own dominions, which her Majesty now uses
whenever she holds a Chapter of the Order of the Garter at Windsor.
One of the bedroom stewards got a touch of sunstroke this morning, and
suffered a good deal. I was, of course, very sorry for him, but could
not help feeling rather annoyed, for it was entirely his own fault.
The men are just like children, and will not or cannot understand the
power of the sun and the danger of exposure to it. They will run up on
deck bare-headed to look at some passing object, and then are
surprised that they at once get a bad headache. They are all well
provided with pith hats, and awnings are spread everywhere, so that
one cannot feel quite as much sympathy for them as if they were
sufferers in the cause of duty.
_March 3rd._--An absolutely calm and uneventful day.
We are now getting towards Tuticorin, whence it is a short journey by
rail to the splendid temples of Madura, or to Tinnevelly, the great
missionary station of Southern India. Tanjore with its famous rock and
its wonderful history, and Trichinopoly, with its temples and caves,
are also easy of access.
We had hoped to have been able to pay a visit to the great temples on
Rameshuwaran and Manaar, two of the islands forming what is known as
Adam's Bridge, which partially connect Ceylon with the mainland; but,
to our disappointment, we find that they are unapproachable from the
westward, and we cannot get through the Pamban Passage, as its depth
is but ten feet of water, whereas we draw thirteen. In order to reach
the temples it would consequently be necessary for us to make the
circuit of Ceylon, which would take far too much time. We shaped,
therefore, as direct a course for Colombo as the light and variable
breezes would admit of.
_March 4th._--To-day was calmer and hotter than ever. At noon we had
run eighty-eight knots, from which time until 8 P.M. we were in the
midst of a flat oily calm, beneath a burning sun. We were,
consequently, all much relieved when, in the course of the evening,
fires were lighted, awnings spread, wind-sails set, and we began to
make a little air for ourselves.
Sailors are amazingly like sheep in one respect; for if one does
anything at all out of the ordinary course, it is ten to one that his
shipmates feel bound to follow his example. Yesterday morning, for
instance, after the cases of sunstroke of the day before, several of
the crew reported themselves to the Doctor as sick, though, upon
examination, he found that they were only suffering from the effects
of a too-vivid imagination. Some medicine of a nauseous but otherwise
innocent character was accordingly prescribed, with the satisfactory
result that all the _malades imaginaires_ are 'Quite well, thank you,
sir,' this morning.
[Illustration: View in Ceylon]