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.