THE SOUTHERN CROSS.
10th.—Lat. S. 35° 54′, long. E. 79° 28′. I was called on deck at 10 P.M. to witness an extraordinary appearance at the rising of the moon: it was very dark,—a heavy black cloud spread along the horizon, in the midst of which the half-moon on the edge of the sea shone forth of an ominous dark red colour in the fog, and was reflected on the waves. One solitary bird alone broke the darkness of the sea. Above, in the deep blue sky, the Southern Cross shone in beauty; the Pointers in Centaurus were brilliant, and the black Magellan cloud was distinctly visible between the stars in the Cross, looking like a hollow in the sky. Alluding to the Cross of the South:—“Una croce maravigliosa, e di tanta bellezza,” says Andrea Corsali, a Florentine, writing to Giuliano Medicis, in 1515, “che non mi pare ad alcuno segno celeste doverla comparare. E sío non mi inganno credo che sia questo il crusero di che Dante parlò nel principio del Purgatorio con spirito profetico, dicendo,
“Io mi volsi a man destra, e posi mente
All’ altro polo, e vidi quattro stelle
Non viste mai, fuor ch’alla prima gente.
Goder pareva’l ciel di lor fiammelle.
O settentrïonal vedovo sito,
Poichè privato se’di mirar quelle!”
It is still sacred in the eyes of the Spaniards: “Un sentiment religieux les attache à une constellation dont la forme leur rapelle ce signe de la foi planté par leurs ancêstres dans les déserts du nouveau monde.”
A lantern was held for me by the chief officer while I took the sketch, to enable me, as he said, to see the stars.
THE SOUTHERN CROSS.
Sketched on the spot by فاني پارکس
20th.—The thermometer 81° in my cabin, and 84° in the stern cabin above. The new moon was most beautiful. Venus looked of surprising size, and threw her light across the sea like a moon light.
21st.—The trade wind blows calmly and sweetly; we only make about 100 knots a day, and the heat is oppressive; but the starry nights are brilliant, and the air at that time is most luxuriously cool, fresh, and soft.
23rd.—Thermometer 82°—A calm—the boats were lowered, and a purse made for a boat race for the native crew, which afforded amusement—the heat at night was intense.
25th.—Calm again—how much patience is requisite during a voyage at sea!
29th.—A dead calm—the heat excessive, quite overpowering, far beyond the heat of India. Heavy rain, a waterspout seen—a little breeze in the evening—re-crossed the line during the night.
March 1st.—The heat renders all exertion, mental or bodily, almost impossible. A heavy squall at noon, with powerful thunder and lightning followed by a calm. No sooner are we refreshed by a breeze, than torrents of rain fall and the calm returns. When shall we pick up the monsoon?—we creep along at a weary pace.
3rd.—The evening brought the north-east monsoon; it blew very gently, the air was soft and sweet, and the ship in perfect quietude moved beneath the soft moonlight; it was one of those delicious evenings peculiar to the trade winds.
4th.—Almost perfectly calm—the boat was lowered, and a blue shark was caught; it measured nine feet and a half,—a most ferocious-looking beast. This shark was most curiously caught in a noose by the third mate. The captain had a bait over the boat, of which the shark was shy; but seeing the naked arms of the mate in the water, he darted towards him and was caught in the noose he had laid for him. After the sailors had dined, a man of the name of Stewart having had too much grog, went in the boat to catch another shark with the third officer and some cadets. The shark took the bait, Stewart gave him a pull towards the boat, the beast gave a spring, Stewart renewed his pull, and into the bows of the boat plunged the shark headlong. The cadets had fired four balls into him, which was fortunate, the creature was rather stunned, but Stewart held him, with the hook in one hand, the fingers of the other hand in his eye, and the body of the fish between his legs! In this fearful position the drunken man and the fish struggled together, the man calling out, “Poor creature, don’t hurt him!” however, in spite of his outcry, the mate chopped off the tail of the shark, which disabled him, after which they pitched him out of the boat and towed him to the ship: he measured six feet. Several sucking fish fell off the shark into the boat: this scene I saw from my port, the boat was but a stone’s throw from the ship. Thermometer 86°—not a breath of air, and a dead calm—a lovely moonlight, and we were cheered at night by the freshening of the monsoon.
10th.—Anchored off Madras about 11 A.M.—On approaching Madras, a range of low hills are first seen, the land lies very low; after a time the town appears at a distance. On the left the church in the fort is visible, the signal staff and the old lighthouse, beyond which is the new lighthouse, and in front of the latter is the evening drive on the beach. A post-office Masulla boat, with her flag flying, was coming off to the ship for the letter bags. The sea was as calm as possible; hundreds of katmirams, or as they are usually called catamarans, were in every direction out fishing. The appearance was most singular; the catamarans sunk in the water were invisible from a distance, and the natives on them appeared to be standing or sitting on the sea—reminding me of the mahout as he appeared when swimming his elephant in the Ganges, standing erect on his back, and guiding him by the strings in his ears.
Some of the catamarans contained only one man, some two; their dark bodies were almost perfectly naked, and their heads adorned by a white or red cloth bound around them.
Three or four rough logs lashed together is all that forms a catamaran: in some a few bits of wood fastened in front form a low bow—very original and simple concerns. Sometimes these singular contrivances carry a triangular sail stuck on a pole. Very good models of Masulla boats and catamarans are to be purchased on the shore at Madras. The Masulla boat is a large high unwieldy boat consisting of thin planks sewed together with cocoa-nut fibres, and the seams filled up inside with the same: they offer little resistance when run on shore through the surf. The crew consists of twelve men. Rafts are employed to bring off carriages to vessels. The accommodation boat, a superior sort of Masulla boat, is fitted up with seats in the stern, and an awning to protect passengers from the surf when landing, as well as from the sun. The crew do not encumber themselves with too much attire; their dresses are generally white, ornamented with some gaily-coloured edging, a vandyke of red or blue. The boats are unsightly, awkward concerns, standing high and clumsily out of the water.
The half-revolving light of the new lighthouse is splendid, flashing and twinkling, appearing in great brilliancy, and then dying away to a speck, then bursting forth again in all its radiance. A light no mariner could mistake.
12th.—A number of boats are alongside with curiosities for sale; the deck is covered with a marvellous collection of extraordinary things, shells, monkeys, parroquets, and ill-stuffed fishes; and there is a great noise created from landing horses and discharging cargo.
13th.—Our friend Mr. R⸺ came in an accommodation boat to take us on shore. The day was quite calm, but the surf, even little as there was of it, was surprising to a stranger; nothing would form a better subject for a picture than landing in the surf at Madras. The Masulla boat went bumping on shore, and her side having been hauled to the beach, the passengers were put into chairs, and landed by the men. The drives are good, and there is much open space around Madras. At the end of three miles, we reached our destination—most glad was I to be out of the ship! The house appeared to rock for some hours after our arrival, which was singular, as the ship we had quitted was perfectly still, and at anchor. Here we enjoyed the luxury of fish, cucumbers, and fresh butter. At Madras they appear only to use the pankha at the time of meals. The fresh sea breeze comes in most agreeably, nevertheless, a pankha constantly going would be very acceptable.
14th.—The evening drive round the island, as it is called, and along the sea-shore, is pleasant; the fine cool sea breeze carries off all the languor produced by the heat of the day. The statue of Sir Thomas Munro, on the Mount road, in the island, is a handsome object: the roads are never watered at Madras, and the carriages appear inferior to those in Calcutta.
16th.—Visited the Mint, and was much interested in the process of coining and assaying. We quitted our friends after sunset, and were taken in a Masulla boat very cleverly through the three ranges of surf, perfectly unwetted, to the “Robarts.” The days are very hot, the evenings cool and delicious: to-night there is not a ripple on the sea.
The fresh sea breeze blowing in upon me made me sleep delightfully, and I was free from the annoyance of musquitoes, whose bites worried me on shore. When we reach Calcutta, how much we shall miss the evening breeze from the sea, which is so delightful at Madras!
17th.—Sunday,—crowds of natives on board, Sunday being the great day of business with them: they brought grapes, which were delicious. I purchased a saw-fish, a sting-ray, or bat-fish, a sea-porcupine, a halfmoon-fish, and some others.
“Mem want some she-asses?” “What?” “She-asses, Mem; many got, Mem buy, I bring she-asses.” They turned out to be sea-horses, which appear to be abundant at Madras, as well as all sorts of monstrous and queer fish. A juggler on board was displaying some of his tricks. He finished by sitting down on the deck, when he passed the blade of a sword down his throat, as far as the hilt, and during the time the blade was in his body, he let off fireworks, which were on the four corners of two pieces of wood that were fixed in the form of a cross on the hilt of the sword, and which spun round upon it. It was a disgusting sight, and an unpleasant one, as it sometimes causes the death of the juggler. Some of the passengers, on their return to the “Robarts,” complained much of the heat, and of the musquitoes on shore, also of the badness of the inns, which are not sufficiently good to aspire to the name of hotels. The daunās or donies, as we call them, are numerous at Madras; they are country vessels, coasters, and traders, and are commanded by a sarhang, who wears the undress of the katmiram men; the crews are native—the vessels are short, thick, clumsy, and marvellously ugly.
It is interesting to trace the descendants of Milton; his grandson was parish-clerk of Fort St. George, at a very remote period. Milton’s youngest and favourite daughter Deborah married a Mr. Clarke; she is said to have been a woman of cultivated understanding, and not unpleasing manners; known to Richardson and patronized by Addison, who procured a permanent provision for her from Queen Caroline. Her only son Caleb Clarke went to Madras in the first years of the eighteenth century, and it appears from an examination of the Parish Register of Fort St. George that he was parish-clerk there from 1717 to 1719, and was buried there on the 26th of October of the latter year.
22nd.—Captain Elder, finding the wind would not answer for getting out beyond the shipping, turned the head of the “Robarts” in shore, and cut through a crowd of donies, country vessels, in great style. We sailed from Madras with a delightful breeze, and were glad to resume our voyage. The captain brought me a present of a remarkably large globe-fish, a globular fish, covered with very sharp prickles; it has the beak of a parrot, and is, I understand, also called the parrot-fish.
23rd.—The ship going nearly ten knots an hour, and as steady as if she were at anchor: how I enjoy the sea breeze! what health, strength, and spirits it gives me!
24th.—At sunset we passed close to Vizagapatam, the range of distant blue mountains was very beautiful, contrasted with the red volcanic-looking hills on the sea-shore.
25th.—Anchored off Pooree: the view of the station from the sea is remarkable: on the left the temple of Jaganāth stands a high and conspicuous object. The houses are built along the shore on the sands, and close to the beach, where the surf rolls for ever with great violence. It is a beautiful sight to watch a Masulla boat rising and sinking as she comes over and through the surfs, of which there appear to be three regular ranges, and which roll with greater violence than the surf at Madras. Few vessels ever anchor at Pooree. I think they told me a ship had not been there for three years. The “Robarts” anchored there to land Colonel and Mrs. G⸺; they went on shore in a Masulla boat, their carriage and horses were landed on a raft.