NATIVE SUGAR MILLS.
The following account of the sugar mills, given me by Major Parlby, will elucidate the annexed sketch, which was taken by him on the spot.
THE SUGAR MILLS AT BELASPORE.
Sketched on the spot, and on Stone by Major Parlby.
“As the sugar-cane is usually cultivated all over India, and the produce of its juice, in some form or other, is universally used, and constitutes a valuable article of export from India when converted into sugar, it may not be out of place to describe the construction and use of the patriarchal and simple form of mill represented in the drawing, which is at the village of Belaspore, on the left bank of the Ganges, near Mirzapore, about thirty miles below Allahabad.
“It is supposed that sugar has been known and used in India and China from the earliest ages; and historians say that it was not introduced into the western world until after the conquest of Alexander the Great. This construction of mill is common in many parts of India; and, rude and simple as it is, it is found to succeed in expressing the juice from the sugar-cane more perfectly than the rude cylinder mills which are used in other places. The villagers knew nothing more of its origin than that their fathers and grandfathers had used the same mills without alteration, except the occasional renewing and repairs of the wood-work, as required.
“Some writers,—and amongst the rest, Colonel Sleeman,—in describing this construction of mill, term it the “Pestle and Mortar sugar mill:” but this name is improperly applied, for the vertical beam has no reciprocating up-and-down motion, as the pestle of a common mortar has, but merely turns round in the cavity of the bed, as the bullocks walk round in their circular course. The bed of the mill is formed of a large mass of stone, of as hard a nature as can be procured in the locality, and free from any mixture of limestone, on which, probably, the action of the acid of the expressed juice of the cane might be injurious.
“The beds are cylindrical, ornamented externally with figures, emblematical or religious, which are cut in relief.
“The upright beam of the mill is generally selected from a tree, the wood of which is heavy, hard, tough, and durable; and for this purpose the trunk of the babūl, which is indigenous in these parts, is well suited, and is generally chosen.
“The bark is stripped off, one end is rounded, and the other is cut to a point; the rounded end works in the hollow bed of the mill, and on the pointed end is hitched the end of a stay, properly formed for the purpose, the other end of which is attached to a horizontal beam, generally formed from a strong crotched piece of wood, which is cut at the crotched end to fit into a groove cut on the outside of the bed in which it traverses round, and the bullocks are yoked to the end of this beam. The stay leading from the top of the vertical beam is generally made of two pieces, which are capable of adjustment, so that the horizontal beam to which the bullocks are yoked may be kept at a proper distance from the ground.
“The short pieces of cane, as they are supplied by a native, are bruised and squeezed against the internal sides of the mortar as the vertical beam moves round, the expressed juice running off by the channel which is cut from the bottom, opposite to which is an earthen pan let into the ground to receive it, a small piece of bamboo generally serving to connect them.
“The driver sits on a frame or seat upon the end of the horizontal beam, his own weight increasing the bruising power of the mill, which is also assisted by adding a weight of stones, if necessary. As the process of bruising the cane takes place in the cold season, in December, the driver sometimes keeps himself warm by a pan of hot embers placed on the frame.
“To each of these mills at Belaspore there were six bullocks, forming three reliefs: they work night and day as long as the cane is cutting, three hours at a time; and in three hours about four seer or eight pounds of juice are expressed. The juice, as the pan fills, is immediately taken to the hut, whence the smoke is seen escaping at the door; and there, in a boiler fixed on a rude furnace, the process of boiling the juice to concentrate it is carried on; it is boiled down until it becomes a substance called goor, much thicker than treacle; and in this state is carried to the neighbouring market of Mirzapūr, where it is sold at the rate of eighteen seer for the rupee. Sixteen seer, or thirty-two pounds of goor are obtained from one maund of cane (eighty pounds).
“In the foreground of the sketch are three heaps of sugar-cane, cut into pieces of six or eight inches long, ready to be supplied to the mill. A native carries the pieces of sugar-cane in a basket, and charges the mill by occasional supplies, as represented in the drawing; and he also takes out the bruised cane, from which the juice has been sufficiently expressed, and carries it to the hut, to assist, with a mixture of oplā (dried cow-dung) in making the fire for the boiling process. The sugar-cane is slightly wetted when put into the mill, about two pints of water being used to moisten about eighty pounds’ weight of it. The goor is purchased by the sugar-refiner, who dissolves and refines it again in the process of making sugar. But goor is also used for several purposes,—as in preparing tobacco for smoking, and by masons, to mix with lime in forming hard cements for floors, terraces, baths, &c., for which the Indian masons are celebrated.
It is impossible to contemplate the scene in the drawing without being struck with the strong contrast it bears to any mechanical process in our own country. The sketch was taken from life, and there was a quietude and apathy in all the persons engaged, which was remarkable: even the bullocks are urged round at a very slow pace, hardly two miles an hour, by the voice, more than by the short whip occasionally used by the driver. Thus it is ever in climates where the necessaries of life, shelter, food, and clothing are cheap, and easily procured; in more severe climates the expenses attendant on the social state call forth the more active energies of human nature. ‘God gives sugar to him who eats sugar[53],’—i.e. He provides for His creatures in proportion to their wants.”
CHAPTER LXIX.
RESIDENCE AT PRĀG, AND RETURN TO CALCUTTA.
The Sibylline Temple—Mr. Berrill’s Hotel—A Barouche drawn by Camels—The Murdār-khor—A Kharīta from the Bāiza Bā’ī—Marriage of the Chimna Raja—Sultan Khusrū’s Garden—The Tombs—Tamarind Trees—The Sarā’e—The Bāolī—Tattoos used for Palanquins—Reasons for the Murder of a Wife and Child—The Lāt—A Skilful Swordsman—An Eclipse—Tufāns—Death of Mr. James Gardner—Quitted Allahabad—The Ganges—A Wreck—A Storm—Indian Corn—Colgong—Terīyāgalī Hills and Ruins—Nuddea—Suspension Bridge—Prinsep Ghāt at Calcutta—Engaged a passage in the “Essex.”
1844, Dec. 18th.—The whole day was employed in receiving visits from our old acquaintances at the station, the mūnshī, the ’amala of the office, and the natives whom we formerly employed. The pleasure they testified at our return was very gratifying; and the delight of Lutchman, my old Barha’ī mistree (carpenter), was so genuine, it brought tears from my eyes, as well as from his own. We have moored the boats just below an old būrj (bastion) of the ancient city of Prāg; there is a gateway below,—the water-gate, perhaps, of the old Fort: the Sibylline temple crowns it. The old gossein who lives in the temple came this evening to make salām; he reminded me of my having given him a present of sixteen rupees for having aided in recovering two hundred, that had been stolen from me; he was young, and good-looking then, now he is old and wily: he brought his son, a fine young Brahmān, to introduce to me. Many are the strange stories related respecting this old Brahmān and his solitary temple; and I have before mentioned its curious resemblance to that of the Sibyl. Having defended the truth and faithfulness of my pencil in England, I was glad of an opportunity of again particularly observing the Ionic style of architecture of this little building; and while pondering on its singular appearance, Colonel Edward Smith came on board, and solved the mystery by mentioning that General Ouchterlony, finding the Jama Masjid seldom used as a place of worship, took possession of it as his dwelling-place, and formed magnificent rooms between the arches. He built the temple of the Sibyl on the top of the ancient water-gate of the old city. The Muhammadans, some years afterwards, petitioned Government not to allow the mosque to be used as a dwelling-place; it was therefore restored to them, and is now used as a masjid.
A pretty little modern building,—a small temple, dedicated to Mahadēo, is near the ancient well of the water-gate.
I am quite fatigued with seeing old faces, and saying kind words to the poor people. To my surprise an old woman, with a basket full of worsted balls, came to make salām; she was fat and well,—I had left her a poor wretched creature; she used to make worsted balls for my dog Nero to fetch and carry. How many ānās a month the poor old woman got from Nero; she used to throw her ball to the dog, and then come to ask for payment; she was in fact a pensioner. The beautiful dog is dead; and the wretched old hag is fat and well, and makes worsted balls as usual. She got her little present, and went off quite happy.
The ghāt off which we are moored has been recently made by the Steam Agency; and just above is an hotel, which has been established for the convenience of the passengers from the steamers, and is well conducted by Mr. Berrill. This little hotel on the banks of the Jumna-jee is well described in the following curious lines, which were written in four languages on the window of an inn in Russia.
“In questa casa troverte
Tout ce qu’on peut souhaiter,
Vinum, panem, pisces, carnes,
Coaches, chaises, horses, harness.”
23rd.—We quitted the boats, and went up to stay with our friends, Mr. and Mrs. M⸺; they received us with all that kindness and hospitality for which India is renowned; their bungalow, a very fine one, is well situated at the other end of the station. We met a barouche drawn by two camels, harnessed like horses; they went along at a fine pace, and I envied the possessor that pair of well broken-in carriage camels: in double harness they look well; in single harness,—especially in a Stanhope, or any other sort of buggy,—the animal appears too large for the carriage.
1845, Jan. 11th.—Saw a small comet, the nucleus of which was more distinct than that of the immense comet I saw when at sea, although the tail was so small, that it looked not unlike the thin switch tail of a horse.
18th.—Finding it necessary to remain up the country for a time, we dug a tank and made a house for the wild ducks, and turned sixty-five birds into it. It was amusing to see the delight with which the murghabīs splashed into the water when freed from the baskets in which they had been brought from the jangal, and such a confabulation as there was amongst them!
I omitted to mention that during my former residence at this station, the jamadar came to tell me that a murdār-khor (an eater of carrion), who had lately arrived, was anxious to perform before us. The man did not ask for money, but requested to have a sheep given him; he said he would eat the whole at one meal, body and entrails, leaving only the horns and the skin, which he wished to carry away; the wretch said that he would kill the sheep by tearing open its throat with his teeth, and would drink the blood. This feat they told me he had performed before in the bazār. I saw the man at a distance, and was so much disgusted that I ordered him to be turned out of the compound (the grounds around the house). In Colonel Tod’s “Travels in Western India” there is a most interesting account of the murdi-khor, or man-eaters; he made an attempt to visit the shrine of Kalka, the dread mother, whose rites are performed by the hideous Aghori, whose patroness she is, as Aghoriswara Mata. At one time they existed in those regions, but were only found in the wildest retreats, in the mountain-cave, or the dark recesses of the forest. Colonel Tod saw a man perform pūja at the shrine of Goraknāth, whom he had every reason to believe was one of these wretched people,—but whether he was a murdi-khor he could not determine; although, as he went off direct to the Aghori peak, said to be frequented only by his sect, it is probable that he belonged to the fraternity. It appears that the murdār-khor (the carrion-eater) is almost the same as the ādam-khor or cannibal.
24th.—This life is very monotonous, and the only variety I have is a nervous fever now and then.
March 1st.—During a visit at the house of a friend I received a kharīta from her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī, and was greatly pleased to see the signature of the dear old lady, and also felt much flattered by her remembrance. After I quitted Allahabad for England her Highness remained there some time; at last, on her positive refusal to live at Bunarus, it was agreed that she should reside at Nassuk, a holy place, about one hundred miles from Bombay. She quitted the Upper Provinces, marched across the country, and established herself at Nassuk. Having heard from some of her people of my return to India, and arrival at Prāg, her Highness did me the honour to write to me, and after the usual compliments with which a native letter always commences, the Bāiza Bā’ī added, “I received your letter in which you acknowledged the receipt of mine; but I have not since heard from you, and therefore beg you will write and tell me how you and the sāhib are; do not be so long again without writing, because it makes me anxious.”
I sent in answer a letter of thanks to her Highness for her kindness in having borne me in remembrance; it was written by a mūnshī in the Persian character, and enclosed in a kharīta. At the same time I sent a bunch of the most beautiful artificial flowers to the Gaja Raja, to testify my respect; it would have been incorrect to have sent the flowers to the Bā’ī. They were Parisian, and remarkably well made; the Gaja Raja, being fond of flowers, will be pleased. I gave the letter and bouquet to one of her attendants, Bulwunt Rāo, who promised to send them across the country to Nassuk. The title of Gaja, i.e. elephant, is curiously applied to the young Princess, her form being fragile, delicate, and fairy-like.
In 1848 I received a letter from a friend at Gwalior, mentioning that the Chimna Raja, the daughter of the Gaja Raja Sāhib, who was born at Allahabad, and who was then about eight years of age, had been betrothed by her great grandmother, the Bāiza Bā’ī, to Jhankī Rāo, the Maharaj of Gwalior; after which ceremony the young bride returned to Oojein with the ex-Queen. This intelligence pleased me greatly, because the marriage of the great grand-daughter of Dāolut Rāo Scindia with the reigning sovereign of the Mahrattas will give great satisfaction to her Highness; and the wandering Hājī rejoices that her great grand-niece (by courtesy) will share the throne of her ancestors with the Maharaj of Gwalior.
5th.—This evening, while cantering at a sharp pace round the Mahratta Bandh, my horse fell, and my companion thus described the accident in a letter to his brother. “Kābul came down upon his nose and knees; nineteen women out of twenty would have been spilt. The Mem Sāhiba sat her horse splendidly, and pulled him up like a flash of lightning. The infernal brute must have put his foot in a hole. The evening passed hearing music, and talking philosophy.”
9th.—I was invited to spend the day at Sultan Khusrū’s garden, to which place a tent had been sent, which was pitched under the fine tamarind trees in a most picturesque place. The garden is a large space of ground, enclosed by a high wall, containing tombs and some very fine trees: the entrance is through a lofty gateway. There are three tombs, and a Baithak-khāna or pavilion. The first and largest monument is that of Sultan Khusrū, in which he is buried; it is a handsome building, and within it is deposited a beautifully illuminated kurān, which the dārogha showed us with great pride. Sultan Khusrū married a daughter of the Wuzeer Azim Khan; he was the son of Jahāngīr, and his mother was the daughter of the Rajpūt Prince Bagwandas of Amber. The next monument is that of the Jodh Bā’ī, but in honour of which lady of that name I know not. Akbar married a Jodh Bā’ī, the daughter of Oodi Singh, of Jodpoor; she was the mother of Jahāngīr, and was buried on the Chand-maree, near Fathīpūr Sicri. Jahāngīr married a Jodh Bā’ī, the daughter of Rae Singh, of Bickaner; she was the mother of Shāhjahān, and her tomb is at Secundra. I forget to whose memory the tomb in Sultan Khusrū’s bāghīcha (garden) was erected.
There is also a third mausoleum, which is not so handsome as the two before mentioned; and the fourth building is a pavilion, in which visitors are allowed to live for a short time during a visit to the garden. Around the tombs are some of the largest tamarind trees I ever beheld: the imlī, as the natives call the tamarind tree, is one of the finest and most beautiful in the world; and they are generally found around or sheltering the tombs of revered or sacred characters. The sherbet prepared from the fruit is excellent; the leaves and fruit are used medicinally. The natives are impressed with a notion that it is dangerous to sleep under the tamarind tree, especially during the night; grass or vegetation of any kind is seldom seen growing in such situations, and never with luxuriance. In times of scarcity the seeds are eaten by the poor; they resemble a common field bean.
Part of Sultan Khusrū’s garden has been cultivated English fashion, that is, for vegetables; seeds are given to the mālīs, (gardeners), and rewards for the first, second, third, and fourth best dālī—that is, basket of vegetables: this is good; the highest prize is fifty rupees, which will be to natives worth the contest. The mālī in charge, kneeling on one knee, presented me with a bouquet of flowers; it was not ungracefully done,—nevertheless, it was bad taste to teach a man an European style of reverence, which in gracefulness is far inferior to the salām of the native.
The sarā’e (caravansary), with its gateways, and the handsome one through which you pass to the garden, are well worth visiting; on the doors of the latter a number of horse-shoes are nailed for good luck, and the variety in shape and size is so great it is absolutely curious.
Just beyond the gates of the sarā’e is a bāolī, a magnificent well, with underground apartments; it is a most remarkable and curious place, and the well is a noble one. The top of the bāolī is level with the ground, from which place water can be drawn up, as also from the underground apartments, which open on the well. You descend by a long broad flight of stone steps to the water’s edge, where there is an arch, ornamented with two large fish, the arms of Oude. Half way down is a pathway of stone that juts out from the wall, and communicates with the third apartment, from which you ascend by small circular staircases to the top. A nervous person might object to the walk along the pathway, it being very narrow, and having no defence—no parapet on the inner side. Parties of natives resort here during the hot winds, and spend the hours in the coolness of the bāolī.
March 15th.—Hired a large bungalow of a very respectable native for eighty rupees a month, garden included, and removed into it.
20th.—My husband received permission from Government to visit England on furlough. A friend quitted us for the up-country in a palanquin placed on a truck, and drawn by a tattoo (a pony), with relays on the road. In former times a palanquin was always carried by bearers,—by the present method a dāk trip is performed much more quickly than it was formerly by relays of natives.
26th.—The other day a native was brought before Mr. R. M⸺, the magistrate of Allahabad, charged with the murder of his wife and daughter. The man confessed to having cut their heads off with his sword; he said he had reason to believe his wife unfaithful, therefore he killed her; and as he supposed the magistrate would murder him for the act, and, as in that case, his young daughter would have no one to marry her, and would be obliged to beg her bread, he killed her also. “But,” said he to Mr. M⸺, “beware how you murder me for having killed my wife. If the women find their husbands are hung for killing them should they be unfaithful, what man will be safe?” I know not the name of the frail fair one who fell a sacrifice to jealousy; doubtless it was soft and pleasing, for although her husband did not attend to the words of the Hindū sage, who says, “Strike not even with a blossom a wife guilty of a hundred faults!” still, in all probability, her parents bestowed an harmonious name upon her, in obedience to the directions of Menu, who suggests that “the names of women should be agreeable, soft, clear, captivating the fancy, auspicious, ending in long vowels, resembling words of benediction.” He also says, “Let mutual fidelity continue to death: this, in few words, may be considered as the supreme law between husband and wife.” The conjugal duties of the Rajpūts are comprehended in that single text.
30th.—When I was formerly at Allahabad the Bāiza Bā’ī was anxious to have leave from Government to erect a most remarkable pillar of stone, that was prostrate in the Fort, near the gateway. This lāt, as before mentioned, is covered with inscriptions in unknown characters, that puzzle the learned. The design of her Highness was not carried into execution, and the lāt was afterwards erected in the Fort at the expense of the Asiatic Society, by Colonel Edward Smith, C.B. We drove to see it in the evening, admired it very much, and thought it erected with great judgment: it is highly ornamental to the Fort. Whilst we were examining the pillar, the buggy horse took fright, became very violent, upset five of the small stone pillars that support the chains that surround the lāt, and broke his harness in divers places. The scene was good.
April 1st.—I fell by accident on the stones in the verandah with considerable force, and fainted away; the blow which I received on my left shoulder was severe; painful and useless my arm hangs by my side,—I have no power to move a finger.
The oriental proverb, that “A sharp sword will not cut raw silk[54],” does not apply to silk when manufactured; as I this morning saw a gentleman place a silk handkerchief upon his sword, and, with one skilful drawing cut, divide it exactly and diagonally.
27th.—Divine service was performed in the new church, that has been erected at Allahabad at the expense of the inhabitants; it formerly took place in the Circuit Bungalow, or in the Fort. The church is a very handsome one, and the internal arrangements are good.
29th.—About 3 P.M. a tufān came on,—rain in torrents, with heavy hail,—dust in whirlwinds; in the course of a quarter of an hour the thermometer fell ten degrees, from 88° to 78°. It was fine to witness such a commotion. The roof of our house was under repair,—streams of water came pouring into every room from all parts of the roof, until the house was full of it; much damage was done to the pictures; and we were obliged to quit the place, and take refuge at the house of a friend.
May 11th.—The ice-pits opened, the allowance to each subscriber eight seer per diem,—about sixteen pounds’ weight daily. The thermometer is 89°. There being no wind, the tattīs are useless, and in spite of the thermantidote the heat is overpowering; we begin to long for the fresh breezes of England; I shall rejoice when we are on board a good vessel and out at sea again.
21st.—About half-past 9 P.M. the moon was almost completely eclipsed, and the night was so dark I could not see the way as I was driving home. The natives were making offerings of rice, fruit, vegetables, &c., to restore the light quickly, and to ward off impending calamities.
22nd.—A tufān or a storm of dust blew furiously at night, succeeded the next morning by heavy rain, thunder, and lightning; the day after it was oppressively hot,—another storm cleared the atmosphere, and the thermantidote became quite delicious, it poured in such a volume of cold air.
31st.—Went to the Bandh in the evening, but soon returned; the air was so hot, it was like breathing liquid fire.
June 1st.—The heat in church was so oppressive, I will not venture there again; pankhas and thermantidotes are in full play during the time of Divine service,—but even with their aid in cooling the air, the heat is intolerable.
26th.—The rains appear to have set in, accompanied with thunder and lightning. The darkness was so great to-day at 4 P.M. that we were obliged to dine by lamp-light; the evening is dull and heavy, the rain is falling in torrents, and the darkness is relieved at intervals by forked lightning; the thunder is distant.
30th.—Very hot during the day, and very oppressive; this damp heat is worse for the health than the dry heat of the hot winds. Heard with regret of the death of Mr. James Gardner, at Khāsgunge.
July 8th.—Engaged a fourteen-oared pinnace, a woolāk of 900 mŭns, a pataila of 600, and a small cook-boat, to take us down to Calcutta.
20th.—We quitted dear old Prāg at 6 A.M. under heavy rain and a contrary wind. I bade adieu to a place in which I had spent so many happy days with much sorrow, and without any prospect of ever revisiting the spot.
22nd.—Anchored at Rāj ghāt, Benares: the ghāts have lost much of their picturesque beauty from the height of the river, the water having covered the steps. The Hindū temples that have partially fallen merely show their spiral domes above the waters; and the Ganges is as full of mud as a river may well be; the water is quite thick, of a muddy colour, and a small quantity in a tumbler gives a most marvellous sediment.
24th.—A heavy wind against us; the waves were so high on the Ganga, and the boats rolled so violently, that the natives on deck were quite overcome by sea-sickness, and I was also suffering from mal de mer.
31st.—Picked up a large heavy chest afloat from some wreck. It contained fifty boxes of G. Davis’ Chinsurah cheroots, and was marked Jan Mahomed Shah, in the Persian character: the cheroots were all destroyed from having been in the water. Soon afterwards we picked up another chest of the same size and description, with the bottom stove in; also a box of cigars that was floating by the side of it, evidently from the same wreck. Lugāoed off the bāstī of Tipperiah, in the midst of an expanse of water. About 8 P.M. the strong easterly wind, which had been blowing all day, veered and sunk; a deep silence fell around—the whole canopy of heaven was covered with a pall of black clouds: there was not a gleam of light excepting on the horizon in one part, where there was one low gleam of whitish pale light, in form like a bow. The muddy colour of the interminable river assumed an inky blackness, and united with the horizon all around: a few minutes afterwards the light on the horizon disappeared, and all was intense darkness,—a rushing sound then arose, and the rain fell in torrents, the drops were of great size, it more resembled the fall of sheets of water; soon afterwards the lightning blazed over the river, and some peals of thunder like the roar of cannon and the sharp discharge of fire-arms, added to the stormy scene. During this time the wind rose, and suddenly changed to the opposite quarter of the heavens. I made the dandīs look well to their moorings, as we were fastened on a wet field, covered by the river, so that there was a fear the bamboos would be torn out of the wet earth by the force of the wind acting on the vessel, and that she would be carried down the fierce stream; however, she stood it well, being in rather slack water, therefore I went to bed and slept quietly through the gale, after I had sufficiently enjoyed the first part of it.
August 1st.—The rock of Dolepaharry, with its temple and beautiful trees standing far distant inland and of very great height, was a beautiful object—it is near Janghīra—the latter rock sank into insignificance and appeared very low, in consequence of the height to which the Ganges had risen. The whole country is overflowed—the river appears like one vast sea with a number of fine trees in it—their trunks rising out of the water, and the earth completely hidden.
Passed Sultangunge and anchored on a wet bank, just on the entrance of that branch of the river that leads to Bhagulpūr. The Hindūs must go without their dinners to-night; they will not cook on board, and in the wet swamp they cannot make a fire: this is a wretched anchorage, and here comes the rain in torrents again. Stolen goods cannot be digested, or never thrive, and so it proved with a boy employed to pull the pankha. He stole a great quantity of Indian corn; it was not ripe, but of full size; abounding in milk, sweet, and tempting to eat when raw; but when fried in butter, with pepper and salt, it is delicious. In spite of the caution given by an old havildār, to whom the field belonged, the boy ate a great quantity—his body swelled, he became in great pain, and is now ill with fever.
3rd.—Last night the distant roar of the waters as they rushed past the rocks of Colgong lulled me to sleep. This morning, about 7 A.M., we came up to the rocks, the stream was rushing past at a fearful rate, and forming very large and powerful whirlpools. Two large patailas were on before us; the first was twirled round by the eddy and carried back against the other; they became entangled, and both were carried back with great velocity for about three hundred yards. Our pinnace was flying along aided by the cars on board, and also by the towing of her little boat; but the powerful eddy turned the vessel straight across the stream, and there she was stopped, the eddy pulling one way and the men the other—just at this moment an immense pataila of about two thousand mŭns, heavily laden with gram, was coming down upon us with full force, borne on by the violent stream; it was a disagreeable sight, it appeared as if the shock must sink the pinnace: fortunately a woolāk was between us and the monster vessel; she came with great force first upon the woolāk, and drove her against the pinnace in front of herself; the pinnace reeled with the shock, but it saved us greatly, and the large vessel, disengaging herself from us, went on shoving our stern right round in her impetuous course. I ran on deck, having a dislike to be drowned in a cabin, but escaped with only a fright. The dandīs recommenced their exertions, and in a short time we were out of the eddies and whirlpools around the rocks, and in calm water. Colgong is very beautiful, both during the rains and the cold weather, and this is perhaps the most beautiful part of the Ganges. At 11 A.M. passed the Terīyāgalī Hills. The dandīs say there are fine ruins in the jangal on the largest hill, but no road to them; and they speak of the immense doorways—entrances; I should like to explore the place.
8th.—At 1 P.M. passed Nuddea, eighty-two and a half miles from Calcutta; at this spot the Jellingee unites with the Bhagirathī, and they flow forward under the name of the Hoogly: the tide is perceptible at Nuddea, it just comes so far.
9th.—Anchored at Nyaserai to prepare anchors for the tide, which detained us one hour and a half. Nyaserai is on the entrance of the old Damooda river, over which there is a light iron suspension bridge. An Up-country boy who was pulling the pankha told me it made his blood run cold to see the people crossing on such a slight bridge; that his father had never visited Calcutta, nor he himself, but that his grandfather had made the voyage. He was charmed with some Ooria singers on the bank, and thought they would make their fortunes if they were to visit Prāg:—what a budget of wonders the boy will have to unfold on his return to the Up-country! Moored off the residence of a friend at the powder-works at Eeshapūr.
10th.—Arrived in Calcutta—anchored off Prinsep ghāt, from which place you have a fine view of the river and of the shipping, all the large vessels lie just off the ghāt. Visited the “Madagascar” and the “Essex” in the evening.
19th.—Took our passage to England in the “Essex;” the price of the larboard stern cabin on the poop was 2500 rupees, for ourselves, an ayha, and my curiosities.
28th.—Having settled all our affairs we came on board; fortunately the ship will not sail until to-morrow—I am killed with fatigue.
CHAPTER LXX.
SKETCHES AT SEA.
“The brave man is not he who feels no fear,
For that were brutish and irrational;
But he, whose noble soul its fear subdues,
And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.”
The “Essex”—The “James and Mary”—Steering a Ship at Anchor—A Waterspout—The Andamans—Acheen Point—A squally Trade Wind—Rodorigos—A Gale—The Whirlwind—The Stormy Petrel—A Day of Repose—A Remarkable Sunrise.
Sept. 1st.—At 8 A.M., while we were in tow of the steamer, the “Essex” ran upon a sandbank; she fell over very disagreeably on her side, was thus carried by the violence of the tide over the obstacle, and righted in deep water; the accident broke the hawsers that united the two vessels. After some little difficulty and much delay we proceeded on our voyage. The pilot was much surprised, as a fortnight before that part of the river was all clear; he said we had run upon the end of the tail of the “James and Mary” sandbank, which had become lengthened, and he despatched a notice thereof to Calcutta. Where the Hoogly is joined by the Roopnarrain at Hoogly Point, a very large sheet of water is formed, but it has many shoals; and as it directly faces the approach from the sea, while the Hoogly turns to the right, it occasions the loss of many vessels, which are carried up the Roopnarrain by the force of the tide. The eddy caused by the bend of the Hoogly has, at this place, formed a most dangerous sand, named the “James and Mary,” around which the channel is never the same for a week together, requiring frequent surveys. The Bore commences at Hoogly Point. The musquitoes were very troublesome; we found it cooler than on shore, but nevertheless very hot.
2nd.—Passed Mud Point, and felt rather nervous on the occasion; the heat was intense, and there was not a breath of air. Employed myself writing farewell letters to friends in India, which were sent to Calcutta by the Saugor dāk boat. This evening the tide ran with such violence that after the vessel had anchored, it was necessary for a man to remain at the helm. This steering an anchored vessel had a curious and novel effect.
3rd.—The pilot quitted us at the Sandheads, and took my husband’s official letters with him. A calm came on, and we were just preparing to anchor again, when a breeze sprang up and carried us out to sea.
4th.—A number of native sailors (khalāsīs) came down the river with us to assist the men on board the “Essex.” Seven of the English sailors are ill from fever; no marvel with extra grog and hard work under such a terrific sun: the musquitoes and prickly heat alone, are enough with such intense heat to bring on fever.
I saw a waterspout—it commenced like a great funnel hanging from a dark cloud that was the basis of a fine white one: the point of the funnel having descended about half way attracted the sea-water, which bubbled and rose up in a point until it united with the end of the spout; having accomplished this union, the spout thickened, and became of the same size from the top to the bottom. After a time it appeared to become lighter, for it bent with the wind and formed a slight curve. The spout became still less and less, and eventually so thin that the wind carried it along almost horizontally. It appeared to sever from the sea, and having become as thin as a ribbon, disappeared. It was of a dull rainy colour—some bright blue sky was above the white cloud formerly mentioned, and the whole had a vapoury appearance.
8th.—The weather cooler; for the last few days we have had heavy squalls, accompanied with thunder, lightning, and rain in torrents. Ill from mal de mer: I know not when I have suffered so severely; the ship has a cargo of sugar, which is packed in hides: the rain has fallen in torrents, in sheets of water, as rain only falls, I think, in the bay of Bengal, a perfect deluge:—the hatches having been closed in consequence, a horrible effluvium has ascended to the cuddy: how people can live below deck is a miracle, in the heat and steam of those sweating hides! fortunately, no passengers are below, and sailors, poor fellows, endure and shrink not. An huppoo was seen to-day making its way to the ship, but weary from its long flight, and overpowered by the strong squall, it sank in the waters screaming. A flying-fish came on board, and one of the most elegantly-formed birds I ever saw, which they called a whale-bird, was caught in the rigging; its head beautifully marked, the body slight, its slender and powerful wings very long.
11th.—Off Madras.
13th.—Opposite Centinel Island in the Andamans,—very little wind. It is remarkable, with the exception of a few squalls, how calmly we have come down the Bay; at this time of the year we expected to encounter fierce weather. The weather still hot, although very different from what it was before,—nevertheless it renders any exertion a great toil.
14th.—The moonlight evenings on the poop are beautiful. A fine breeze, with a steady ship; she is deeply laden, goes on quietly and steadily, and seldom rolls at all. What a contrast to that wretched “Carnatic!” Apropos, I am told she was condemned in Calcutta as not sea-worthy; therefore I had a good escape in her.
15th.—We are anxious to get to the western side of the Bay, but the winds force us in a contrary direction; we are near the Nicobars, running down the side of the islands. I should like to go on shore to see Lancour, and the rest of my friends, the Carnicobar-barians, once more.
16th.—To-day we are only fifty miles from the great Nicobar, and shall soon get away from the islands, which will be pleasant; should a squall come on their vicinity is to be avoided. The “Essex” has been very unfortunate this voyage: in coming out she lost her captain at the Cape; in Calcutta she lost her third mate, the cook, and six seamen. The property of the deceased seamen will be sold by auction on deck this evening.
17th.—We have passed the Great Nicobar, and are on a level with Acheen Point. The vessel is going steadily through the water about six knots an hour.
18th.—A squall came on during the night, and snapped the flying jib-boom right in halves: my slumber was broken by being nearly pitched out of my sea sofa. This being an unfavourable time of the year for a voyage to England, we have only two passengers besides ourselves on board,—fortunately they are most agreeable people. We have now two cabins on the poop, the larboard stern cabin, and the one next to it, and are therefore very comfortable.
19th.—We are creeping away to the south; there is a swell, and we are looking out for the trade wind.
20th.—Rain and calm,—what an annoyance! Oh! for a gale to carry us with double-reefed topsails over the Line, as we had in the “Madagascar!” Any thing would be better than this vile calm. What does it matter if a few spars are snapped, and a few more sails split asunder, if we do but make way! We must now be exactly upon the Line: the musquitoes have not yet quitted my cabin, they plague me greatly. As if in accordance with my wish, at 4 P.M. a squall came on, and carried us over the Line.
21st.—A fine favourable breeze,—we flatter ourselves it may be the trade.
24th.—Squalls and calms.
26th.—A heavy squall, which continued with lightning and rain in torrents from noon throughout the night: we are quite dispirited.
28th.—With joy this morning I saw the stunsails were set, and a fine sun was drying the deck: now I really believe we have fallen in with the trade.
Oct. 3rd.—Never was there so unpleasant a wind as this south-east trade. It is very strong and constant, but is a succession of squalls, both night and day. The ship lies over very much, and the waves burst upon her in a very disagreeable fashion; we have made 200 or 225 miles for some days, but these constant squalls are detestable. There comes the water rushing into the cuddy at this minute!—we are now about 400 miles from Madagascar.
5th.—I do not mention that Divine service was always performed on Sundays,—that took place, of course, unless prevented by a gale. During the night, passed the Island of Rodorigos, to the north; I did not see the land, distant only seven miles, my port being shut, on account of having shipped a sea, which rendered the cabin cold and wet.
Horsburgh remarks, “Hurricanes are liable to happen here from the beginning of November till the end of March; in some years there are two, but generally only one, and sometimes none. They blow with great violence, commencing from southward, and veering round to east, north-east, and north-west, where they gradually decrease, after continuing about thirty-six hours. The fish caught here in deep water with hook and line are poisonous; whereas, those got by the net in shore are good and wholesome.” The land is high and uneven, reefs and shoals encompass it; the harbour is called Maturin’s Bay. The remarkable peak answers as a guide.
8th.—Passed the Mauritius, and were opposite Bourbon, about two hundred miles south.
9th.—Crossed the Tropic.
10th.—Off Madagascar we were caught about noon in the tail of a whirlwind; fortunately it was only the tail,—the sailors said, had we fallen into the centre of it, and the vessel had been unprepared, it would have carried the masts overboard. Rain fell in torrents; a waterspout was seen for a short time,—and the wind, hitherto fair, became completely contrary.
15th.—This has proved a most uninteresting voyage as far as it has gone, nothing to be seen; one solitary albatross appears now and then, and a few Cape pigeons. The other day I saw a sperm whale blowing at a distance. There is nothing to look at but the boundless ocean; even the sunsets and sunrises have not been remarkably fine,—no groups of glorious tints such as I beheld from the “Carnatic” on the other side the Line.
22nd.—Cold and dreary. Saw a fin-back whale close astern; two fine albatross and four Cape pigeons were floating on the waters; some stormy petrels were cutting about, and dipping their wings in the waves every moment; and there were also two black Cape hens. The flight of the Cape pigeon is very elegant, and the albatross skims along in the most dignified style.
23rd.—Lat. S. 33° 56′, Long. E. 29° 6′. A most stormy sunset: the sun, of a burning gold colour, descended behind a heavy bank of dark clouds,—its rays were fiercely bright: shortly afterwards a few spaces of deep fiery red alone remained visible, surrounded by heavy black clouds; on every side the grey clouds rose thick and foggy from the horizon, without any break,—dull and ominous. We were off Cape Hood, Cape of Good Hope. A strong gale arose, accompanied by sharp squalls; there was an immense swell upon the sea, the heavy waves rolled up with great violence, their heads covered with foam, breaking and roaring as they dashed against the ship, and the wind blew in furious gusts. The “Essex” was about two hundred miles from the land when the gale began,—it continued all night without intermission; the dead-lights were put into the poop stern windows, and into all the ports. Early in the morning I saw that my husband had quitted his couch in the stern cabin, and was sitting in a chair, apparently unable to cross the cabin, from the violence of the pitching; he had left his couch because it had become unsafe, the lashings and the cleets having given way. I assisted him into my cabin, and he lay down on the sofa; he was quite ill,—so cold and wretched, from exposure during the night. His kindness and consideration had prevented his calling me, being unwilling to awake me, imagining I was asleep, and unconscious of the heavy gale that was raging around us. My ayha, who usually got up before daybreak, to smoke her hooqŭ in the galley, made an effort to quit the cabin; I desired her not to attempt to move, or she would be thrown down from the pitching and rolling of the vessel; but the moment my eye was off her away she went: she met another ayha in the passage, who said, “Are you mad, that you want to go and smoke in such a gale as this?” My ayha, who would sell her soul for half a dozen whiffs of tobacco, persisted in going; she had not got half way through the cuddy when she fell, and I heard a violent scream. The cuddy servants ran to her assistance, and found she had broken her leg just above the ankle; the bone was through the flesh, and the wound bled very much. The medical man set her leg, and with great difficulty we had her removed into the stern cabin, where we secured her as well as we were able, but not until some time had passed, as the large heavy toon-wood couch in the stern cabin had started from its moorings, and, turning over topsy-turvy, had dashed across the cabin, breaking and throwing down the table, and carrying away the trunks. Never was there such confusion as the furniture made in the cabin, pitching from side to side with the roll of the vessel. At length the carpenter secured the frisky couch, bound up the wounds of the table, and relashed them all. By this time the sea was breaking over the stern windows, and dashing into the cabin, in spite of the dead-lights, and into the quarter-gallery; much damage was done on the poop. The medical man, knowing that leeches sold at the Cape for half-a-crown apiece, on account of there being none but those that are imported, on which a heavy duty is paid, took 10,000 of them from Calcutta, secured in large earthen pots (gharās) full of soft mud, which were all placed on the poop, in a small boat called “Little Poppet.” The water cistern gave way, and dashing against “Little Poppet,” upset her, broke all the gharās, and the sea-water killed the leeches. The cutter that hung over the quarter was turned up on one side by the force of the wind, dashed against the side of the “Essex,” was greatly injured, and rendered utterly useless; three of her oars fell into the sea, and were borne away, but the sailors secured the boat.
By noon on the 24th (Lat. S. 33° 45′, Long. E. 28°), the current had carried the vessel one hundred and twenty miles nearer the land, which was now only eighty miles distant; we were driving almost under bare poles, the violence of the wind not allowing any sail but one small one; another, which they wished to set, was twice blown to pieces, and could not be carried. The waves were striking the vessel in the most frightful manner, roaring in concert with the gale, and jostling and rolling against the ship as if they were ready to engulf her. Nevertheless the “Essex” bore bravely on; her captain put her about, and we ran down the side of the land for some distance. To sleep—to rest, with so furious a gale blowing, was impossible; and how the time passed I hardly remember, for day and night it was the same—pitch, pitch, roll, roll,—and the same roar: all night long two seamen were baling out the water from our cabins,—the waves poured constantly into the cuddy ports on one side, and rolled out on the other. We sat down to dinner, a plate of food was brought to each person, and we held on and ate as we could; every now and then an officer came down for ten minutes, took his food as hastily as possible, and returned instantly to the poop,—it was an anxious time.
“But where of ye, O tempests, is the goal?
Are ye like those within the human breast?
Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest?”
About 4 P.M. on the second day, the thunder rolled heavily, the lightning was very vivid, and hail fell in heavy showers. The chief officer, having caught up a handful of the large hail, gave it to me in a plate at the cuddy door, where I amused myself with eating it, and watching the scene. About this time the situation of the vessel became critical: the first officer desired the captain to observe what was coming down on the weather side; he could not tell what it was, never having seen any thing of the kind before. The foam of the sea was caught up by the wind, and whirled round and round in thick masses like smoke; it blew heavily, and the spray beat with such violence into the faces of the officers, that at times they could not see. Not a minute elapsed ere the whirlwind struck the vessel on her weather side, and the blast was perfectly hot! The captain called to the men to hold on; they were prepared,—and well for them they were so: with a tremendous roll the vessel was pitched over almost on her beam-ends; the thing was so sudden, and the officers were so blinded by the spray and wind, that they could not tell whether the whirlwind passed by the stern or the head of the vessel. Almost as quickly as the wind struck her on the weather side it was round to the other, and the ship was taken aback, or brought by the lee.
The mountainous waves were foaming, breaking, and dashing against her; one great sea broke off the knees of the vessel, drew out two or three of the long iron bolts, and loosened the cutwater. The thunder rolled, the lightning flashed, and every five minutes the hail beat on the decks like the pitching down of myriads of marbles. At length the horizon cleared, and the gallant ship, rising over the surge, went on her way rejoicing. Still the original gale continued with unabated violence, and the heavy swelling sea was a glorious although an appalling sight. A lesson of composure might have been read from a trifling circumstance: during the time that the wind was blowing furiously, and the waves were mountains crested with foam, on the lee side of the vessel I saw a stormy petrel, ever such a little wee bird, floating on the billows, rising and falling with them so quietly, calmly, and composedly, it appeared wonderful that the wind did not tear it off the wave and sink it in the waters; but there the little bird floated and floated, and rose and sank, and was too wise to unfold her wings for a second, or to attempt to fly.
25th.—We beat out to sea in the face of the north-wester; it was trying work both for the ship and the men; they succeeded in getting a proper distance from the land, and we tacked opposite Algoa Bay. The wind moderated, the sea went down, merely a long swell continued,—the palpitation of the bosom of the ocean after the rage into which she had been pleased to throw herself[55].
Unless in mountains like the Himalaya there is nothing in nature so beautifully grand as a storm at sea.
How much delight may be experienced during a storm! How animating, how beautiful is the scene! Who can gaze on swiftly flying clouds, or on rushing waves crested with foam, without emotions of pleasure? Who can breathe the pure and bracing air of a stiff gale, and not feel their spirits rise within them? All those feelings, commonly ridiculed as romantic, which, shrinking from the eye of the world, hide themselves in the depths of the heart, are called forth during such a scene. The memory presents all that is charming in poetry, all that delights in song, all that best suits with the wild weather: the spirits rise, and there is perhaps nothing in this world that can be more fully enjoyed than a storm at sea.
The confidence sailors have in their own skill and resources, their patience, good spirits, and good humour in days of trial, impart a portion of their own spirit to those in their society. I felt more inclined to enjoy the gale than to fear it when on deck with the officers, but when at night, in the darkness of my own cabin, with the water dashing in, and the wax-light dimly burning, I must acknowledge I thought what a wretched sensation the first dash into one of those roaring waves would give me, the cold plunge, and the jaw of the shark!
We were in His hands who stilleth the raging of the waves; I thought of the composure of the little bird, and never allowed any expression of fear to find its way to my lips, or to appear on my countenance. The officers were now able to get a little rest; they must have been exhausted, as they had scarcely quitted the poop for a moment night or day; their eyes were red and starting,—how they must have slept when they were able to turn in! I could have enjoyed the storm, but that my unfortunate ayha distressed me,—with her broken leg, it was a fearful thing to be tossed about in such a gale, although every care and attention was given her. I did not suffer from mal-de-mer, and was moving about all day and night.
26th.—This was a day of calm, and of repose for the wearied; also a day for the repair of the damage done by the gale. And deep I believe was the gratitude felt by all on board for the protection afforded us during the storm.
27th.—Our course regained, the “Essex” sailed quietly on.
28th.—At sunrise I was summoned in haste to the poop, to see a remarkable effect in the sky. Just above the spot where the sun was struggling to appear from behind a bank of reddish grey clouds, there was thrown across the bright blue sky a long white cloud, exactly in shape and twist like an Archimedes screw; I added it, with the sunset of the night before the gale, to my collection of “Sketches at Sea.” Should I ever live to be old—or rather, older, how pleasantly these sketches will recall the memory of the past!
CHAPTER LXXI.
SKETCHES AT SEA—MOUNTAINS OF AFRICA—THE FAREWELL.
“An adieu should in utterance die,
Or if written but faintly appear;
Only heard in the burst of a sigh,
Or seen in the drop of a tear.”
The Buffalo—The Quoin—Cape Aguilhas—Hangclip—Capo-del-Tornados—Robbin Island—Table Bay—Cape Town—Green Point—The Lion Mountain—St. Helena—Flying-fish—Blue-fish—Island of Ascension—Funeral at Sea—A Sailor’s Grave—A Chinese Calculation—Waterspouts—The Western Isles—St. Michael’s—Pico—Fayal—Christmas Eve—The good Ship “Essex”—Arrival in England—The Pilgrim’s Adieu.
1845, Oct. 29th.—At 9 A.M. I was called on deck to look at the mountains of Africa. The Buffalo, or rather its high peak, soared black and distinct over the white clouds that rolled below, covering the whole length of the mountains: here and there a summit might be distinguished, and the land and hummocks below the clouds were tolerably clear. The sky was of the brightest, purest tint of cobalt blue, the white clouds were crossing it in all directions; the clouds themselves were borne along by the wind to the right, while their tops were carried back towards the left, as if they encountered a contrary current of air aloft. Soon after I had sketched the Buffalo’s most peculiar black peak, a mist spread over the mountains, the wind changed, we went further out to sea, and the line of mountains became too indistinct to afford subject for the pencil. The deep sea line brought up small shells in considerable quantity.
Nov. 1st.—The Quoin lay distant twelve miles from the “Essex,” E. by N., ½ N., and fifty-seven miles from the Cape—Sandy Bay lies between the two points. The Gunner’s Quoin is three or four leagues from Cape Aguilhas, which it resembles. Cape Aguilhas, or Lagullas, was called by its discoverers, the Portuguese, Aguilhas, or Needle’s Cape, because the magnetic needle had no variation there at the time:—the Portuguese name has been corrupted by the English sailors into Lagullas, or Lagullus. Hangclip was the next remarkable object. Horsburgh remarks, “False Bay is formed by the Cape of Good Hope on the west side and Cape False to the eastward, the latter being a steep Bluff, resembling a Quoin, which may be seen at eight leagues’ distance, and appears to lean over to the west when viewed from the southward, from which, probably, it was called Hangclip by the Dutch, but sometimes Hottentot’s Point.”
The outline of the Mountains of Africa was very peculiar as we approached the Capo-del-Tornados, or Cape of Storms, as the Cape of Good Hope was called by its first discoverers, the Portuguese, who afterwards changed the name to that of Capo del Buon Esperanza. At the distance of sixteen miles we beheld the Capo-del-Tornados itself, next to it was the Peak; the high land in False Bay was remarkable, and in the distance, between these points, you caught a view of the back of Table Mountain. The scene was very interesting as we sailed along the range of Mountains, and the fineness of the day allowed us to see them to advantage. Hout’s Bay was very picturesque; deep shadows were around the base of the mountains, and the warm light of the setting sun gilded their summits.
Sunday, 2nd.—At sunrise the scene was beautiful; we gazed on the Lion Mountain opening Green Point,—the Table Mountain was of a very dark plum colour, in strong contrast with the glowing brilliancy of the rising sun, and a dark cloud hung upon the flat surface of the mountain-top. On the opposite side, as we entered Table Bay, lay Robbin or Penguin Island, with breakers to the left,—the Whale also, a sunken rock over which the waves constantly break. The dark Blueberg Mountains to the right finished the picture.
Anchored in Table Bay during a deep cold fog at 10 A.M.—took apartments in an hotel in the Heerengracht,—found the rooms intensely hot at night, and very disagreeable after the pure sea air. We drove in the evening to a friend’s house in the Camp Ground, and gathered a beautiful bouquet from his garden.
My first thought on arriving in Southern Africa was of the Mountain, the next of the flowers. A strelizia was brought to me; it is an indigenous bulb in Africa, and as one flower dies away another bursts forth. On our return to the ship, I took the strelizia on board, and watched the bursting forth of the fresh flowers for some days. A very good sketch of Cape Town may be taken in the Heerengracht, just below Messrs. Dickson and Burnie’s; it gives George’s Hotel, now kept by a man of the name of Duke, the large trees in front, the Dutch Reform Church, and the Table Mountain beyond. Another good point is the Market Square, with its pump in the centre, St. George’s Church, the Town Hall, and the Dutch and Hottentot venders of fruit and vegetables at their stands in the Green Market, as they call it.
Mr. Robertson, a stationer in the Heerengracht, has some admirable water-colour drawings for sale, portraits of the natives of Africa.
7th.—Drove to Green Point with the captain of the “Essex,” to see the lighthouse. I climbed up to the roof through a narrow pigeon-hole, and was well rewarded for my trouble by the beauty of the view. The beach was covered with shells, broken into the smallest fragments by the rolling surf. The view from the rocks, at the end of Green Point, looking over Camp’s Bay, is very beautiful.
10th.—Visited my ayha, whom I had been obliged to send to the hospital on account of the accident which she met with on board, and found her quite comfortable. The poor woman was very glad to see me, and I arranged for her return to Calcutta. I bought a kaross of eighteen heads, as it is technically called, the sole garment worn by the Kafirs, for four pounds; it is very large and handsome, consisting of skins of the red jackal. With the exception of the kaross the Kafir is entirely unincumbered with clothing; these skins are much sought after by officers on service, which is perhaps the reason they are so expensive in Cape Town.
The “Essex” was detained at the Cape in consequence of the repairs that were necessary on account of the damage she received during the gale; to-day, on her being reported fit for sea, we repaired on board.
11th.—At 10 A.M. the “Essex” quitted Table Bay. It was a beautiful day—the white clouds from a south-easter that was blowing were rising over the Table Land,—the sea was a bright transparent green, with white breakers on every wave, and the sky was the colour of the purest cobalt blue.
As you pass Robbin or Penguin Island, the Lion Mountain assumes in a considerable degree the form of a lion reposing, from which appearance it derives its name:—the rump of the lion is formed of the mountain on which the telegraph stands. The scene would have made an excellent sketch, representing the back of the Table Mountain, with the Devil’s Peak to the right, the Lion in front; and Robbin Island at the side. The latter is a low, long, sandy island, with some few houses upon it, and it looks very desolate. Made a run of two hundred and nine miles.
18th.—Rolling down to St. Helena with a fair breeze in most agreeable style.
21st.—A most beautiful and brilliant day. Went on deck about 11 A.M. to see St. Helena in the distance: sketched the island from the forecastle, and paid for my footing. The island then lay N.N.W. distant eight miles: Diana’s Peak, two thousand six hundred and ninety-two feet high, appeared to be nearly in the centre: the Needles and Speery were very distinct, as was also Sandy Bay Point.
St. Helena was discovered by the Portuguese in 1508, on the festival of St. Helena, the mother of the Emperor Constantine the Great. It was taken from the Dutch in 1674 by Admiral Munden, and presented to the East India Company by Charles II.; and it was given up by the Hon. Company to the English Government for the residence of the Emperor Buonaparte. Length of the island, ten miles and a half; breadth, six and three-quarters; circumference at the water’s edge, thirty miles; twelve hundred miles west of Africa, and eighteen hundred east of America. Whales are found off the island. It contains four thousand inhabitants, and thirty thousand acres of arable and pasture land. The air is salubrious, the valleys are fruitful, and flocks of wild goats browze on the hills.
The island rises a mass of rocks from the sea; the only two points for landing are at St. James’s Town, the capital, and at Sandy Bay. When St. Helena lay five miles S.W. the view presented was particularly good: you could see George’s Island, as well as Hercules Island, the flag—staff, Barn Point, the Sugar-loaf Hill, and the plantation at Longwood. The pointed summits of the rocks in the distance, whose peaks turn from each other, are very remarkable.
There is another good view of the island when in front of Barn Cliff, so called from its fancied resemblance to a great barn. Sugar-loaf Hill derives its name from its conical shape. I was told that Sandy Bay was well worth visiting, its scenery being beautiful,—which I can well imagine, from the wild form of the rocks around it, when viewed from a distance.
Opening St. Helena Bay, at the base of the Sugar-loaf, are three batteries, called Buttermilk and Bank’s Upper and Lower Batteries, at a small distance from each other. We came to anchor off James’s Town, near the high perpendicular rock of Ladder Hill, surmounted by its battery and telegraph, above which, in the distance, High Knoll is to be seen. Diana’s Peak, the highest point in the island, is two thousand six hundred and ninety-two feet high; High Peak, or High Knoll, a conical hill, south-west, is about fifty feet less elevated than the former. The rock rises eight hundred feet perpendicular from the sea, with a heavy battery of guns upon it, that command the south-west entrance to the valley and anchorage. James’s Valley is also protected by a high wall and strong line of cannon close to the sea. The Ladder contains six hundred and seventy steps. The flag-staff is in the Government gardens, above the battery. Munden’s Fort and Batteries command the side of James’s Valley, and Rupert’s Battery is at the bottom of a valley of that name.
We anchored a little before 5 P.M.: it was very cold, from the wind rushing down the valley directly upon the anchorage. The sunset was fine, in the midst of dark clouds, contrasted with others of a burning crimson; and to the right the dark rock of St. Helena rose abruptly from the sea. The more I gaze on this desolate-looking and rocky island, the deeper becomes my pity for, and the interest I feel in, the fate of Buonaparte.
The young officers are in high glee, fishing off the poop; they have just caught two small silver mackarel. The gun fires at 9 P.M., after which time no boat will quit the island, and no person is permitted to land. I fear I shall be unable to visit Sandy Bay, on the other side of the island; an officer of the “Winchelsea” told me not to miss seeing that bay on any account; he gave us sixty-two days from the Cape to England, and eleven to St. Helena; we arrived here in ten days and a quarter. The captain of the “Essex” came on deck just before we anchored, he appeared very, very ill,—in my opinion, fearfully so.
22nd.—A rainy and cold morning; it cleared about noon, when I went on shore, and climbed the steps of Ladder Hill for some distance,—they are almost perpendicular; want of time prevented my ascending to the summit of the six hundred and seventy steps. Admired the pretty church just within the gateway, and visited the market; beef and mutton, ten pence to one shilling per pound; grapes, just in, at two shillings and sixpence per pound; the peaches are bad, the loquats the same, and but few vegetables; beet-root and cabbage good; articles of every sort very dear.
A good sketch of the town may be taken from the upper end of the principal street, looking towards the sea. Walked over the Government gardens, in which is a cenotaph, in memory of the officers and men who died in the “Waterwitch” off different parts of the coast of Africa. In a hut near the beach I saw a dried flying-fish, sixteen or eighteen inches in length,—offered the man a shilling for it, which he refused; they are found now and then in the boats off the rocks, into which they sometimes happen to fly or fall; the largest found at St. Helena are twenty-four inches in length, and are very delicate food.
Went down to the foot of the cliff under Ladder Hill, where the breakers were dashing over a fine reef of rocks that run out into the sea in most picturesque style; an old anchor was cast on one of them, and beyond it lay a cannon,—the effect of the anchor cast away on the rocks was good. Several boys were fishing there; they brought me some blue fish, which are very beautiful, of a brilliant deep purplish blue colour, interspersed with crimson streaks,—they are considered great delicacies. They showed me some beautiful fish, spotted with red,—these are also very good for food. I picked up some black sea eggs, young crabs, and limpets; the latter are eaten by the French. Returned on board, much against my will,—I could have spent the day very happily on the rocks which jut out below the great cliff on which the Ladder is built. At 5 P.M. the “Essex” fired a gun; the anchor was raised, which appeared to be hard work in such deep water, and we once more set sail for old England.
23rd.—The captain dangerously ill.
26th.—Since we quitted St. Helena we have made excellent runs daily in a direct line for Ascension, and the vessel has been so steady we have scarcely felt any motion.
27th.—Passed Ascension about 6 P.M.: the island has the appearance of a cluster of mountains of a conical form. One small eminence, Cross Hill, is so called from the cross that surmounts it. Green Mountain is the highest point in the island,—viewed from some points it has a double peak.
30th.—Divine service. Crossed the line with a seven and a half knot breeze. One of the officers reminded me that he was in the “Madagascar” with me when we re-crossed the line under reefed topsails.
Dec. 1st.—A fine favourable breeze. The captain is very ill; I fear he is sinking into his grave. He was in delicate health before the gale, and the exertion he underwent at that time was too much for him; there is but faint hope of his recovery.
5th.—Picked up the north-east trade. The captain’s illness increased at night, and about ten o’clock he expired.
6th.—At 10 A.M. the funeral took place: the corpse having been sewed up in canvas was placed on the main hatch, with the colours spread over it: when the ceremony of the burial of the dead commenced, the body was placed with the feet to the open gangway, on a plank, in a sloping position; the colours had been thrown over it, but you could trace the form of the corpse through them. When the words, “We commit this body to the deep,” were pronounced, the men who stood by the corpse launched it forwards into the sea, and it sank immediately. The chief officer read the service,—he was deeply affected; the captain had been his friend, and he had attended him during his illness with the greatest solicitude; he read the service in a broken and trembling voice,—the tears rolling down his cheeks,—he could scarcely master his agony. It is a fearful sight to witness such a struggle in a firm and powerful man. He was performing the request of his departed friend: a few days before, when he informed the captain of his danger; the latter looked surprised, and said, “Well, B⸺, my good fellow, I have but one request to make,—give me a sailor’s grave.” The next day he arranged his worldly affairs, and was employed in devotion. Mr. B⸺ bore up during the life of his friend, but to part with him,—to commit his body to the deep,—to read the service over him,—must have been a bitter trial. The crew were all present, and tears ran down many a hardy sunburnt face; the captain was greatly beloved both by the officers and men. The passengers appeared in mourning at the funeral. The day was a most lovely one,—the bright waves flew by the ship as the trade wind bore her onwards, and the breeze tempered the heat of the sun. I thought of the festering and air-poisoning churchyards of London, and felt, as far as I am concerned, how much I should prefer a sailor’s grave,—the bright wave dashing o’er me, and the pure air above, to the heavy sod and the crowded churchyard.
WATERSPOUTS.
Sketched on the Spot by فاني پارکس
7th.—And now once more for England. Saw a schule of whales—the fin-back; one of them was near the ship, blowing up the water, about six feet high; the large Greenland whale spouts much higher.
A Chinese calculation was shown us in the evening, which is worthy the trouble of discovering: take a pack of cards,—the ace counts as one, knave, queen, king, as ten each; look at the top card (suppose it be an ace), lay it with its face upon the table, and add to it as many cards as will make the number twelve,—that is, eleven cards on the back of the ace; then take the next card from the pack (suppose it be a knave), place it face downwards, count it as ten, and add to the back of it two cards, which will make it twelve; then take the next card (suppose it a four), place it in the same manner, and add eight cards to it, which will make it twelve, counting each card as one. In this manner dispose of the whole pack; there may be some cards over, lay them aside. The conjurer will then see the number of the packs, and the number of cards remaining over, and will be able by calculation to tell the amount of the pips on the bottom cards, which he has not seen, that are with their faces downwards on the table. This calculation is ingenious, and may be discovered by algebra.
14th.—The nine-knot breeze continues, which we have had for the last two days; and the “SX” pitches so much I can scarcely write.