THE WRECK.
The scene now opens on the right bank of the Ganges. We quitted the Bhagruttī (a branch of the sacred river) at Sooty, and have now entered upon the main stream, at a point where it is of amazing breadth, the view of it only terminating with the horizon: the waves roar, and roll, and foam like those at sea; whilst a tūfān (one of the heavy storms of India) is blowing fiercely, accompanied by thunder, lightning, heavy rain, and utter darkness. The impetuous stream, rushing with the force of a torrent, undermines the banks of the river, and tears up forest trees by their roots. A voyage at this time is particularly dangerous; native vessels are swept along with amazing velocity, and when a tūfān is encountered, like the one now blowing, they are frequently wrecked.
Three dāndīs (native boatmen) have been swept by the violence of the waves from the mast of their sinking vessel; they are striving to regain their hold: the rest of the crew have sunk to rise no more. These men are admirable swimmers; they may possibly be carried along by the current and rescued on some turn of the river, unless from the violence of the storm they are carried out into the middle of the stream, and swept onwards, until, overcome by exhaustion, they sink beneath the waves.
During some periods of the year, a voyage on the Ganges is attended with great risk. The natives quote the Persian saying as a consolation under misfortune, “‘What is the use of taking precautions, since what has been ordained must happen.’ Truly saith the proverb, ‘If the diver were to think of the jaws of the crocodile, he would never gather precious pearls.’”