In the evening we had a delightful concert by amateurs, violin playing by a young lady, parts of the "Bohemian Girl" and other operas being rendered in a superior manner.
The ship slowed up so as not to get to Madras before morning, and it was literally sailing on a summer sea; the moon sank down behind the waters in a glow, presenting a beautiful appearance. I had a good sleep all night, and at seven in the morning looked out and saw we were at Madras, between two long break-waters. Soon breakfast was over, and we all entered a big row-boat, propelled by ten bare-backed Hindoos; the ship was surrounded by a dozen of these boats, the crews chattering and shouting, and on one occasion a boy got overboard, but he did not mind, swam about a short time and then got aboard, none the worse for his ducking.
We could see that there was a heavy surf beating on the beach, but when our boat struck the sand, I was lifted ashore by two strong black men, followed by the ladies of the party, conveyed in a similar manner. We took carriages and drove about the city, which is said to be the hottest in India, but we did not find it so; on the contrary, it was very comfortable. We went through the natives' quarters, and evidently they had seen white people before, for they paid no attention to us, not so much as we to them, as we were looking upon a race new to us. They had marks on their foreheads, showing the caste to which they belonged. We visited the markets, and saw that the banyan tree was quite common in the squares and along the streets, and passing on to the great fort, we looked at the big guns; then we entered St. George's Church, where there were many statues of famous soldiers who had served in India and died here. We called at the post-office, a large and beautiful building, remarked on the fine roads, the handsome appearance of the women dressed in bright-colored robes with silver ornaments in their noses and on their toes, and then we passed on to the ship, well pleased that we were not to stop any longer in such an unattractive place.
Sunday, December 29, 1889.
We reached the steamer at noon yesterday; the deck was crowded with native merchants trying to sell mats and all kinds of curios, but presently they were driven off to their boats, and at noon the ship was put upon her course, due north, everybody comfortable and happy, the sea as smooth as an inland lake. This morning we had a delightful service on deck, read from the English Prayer Book by the Captain, assisted by one of his officers; the singing, by young ladies, was particularly fine, and now and again I could detect the sweet tenor of my friend from Manchester.
Before the service the crew were mustered and reviewed by the Captain. There were nearly one hundred of them, mostly Lascars, dressed in white with colored turbans and presenting a very picturesque appearance.
Last evening I was interested to see a lady reclining on a steamer chair on deck, and reading by the light of a portable electric lamp fastened to the back of her chair. I interviewed her husband this morning, and he informed me that it was one of Edison's inventions, and that they were now common in London, and cost twenty dollars each. They are four inches in diameter, and can be carried in the coat pocket. This one he charges from one of the lights on the ship, and it will last fifteen hours.
December 30, 1889.
We are still rushing on over a placid sea at a moderate rate, as the ship has never made more than 288 miles a day. The thermometer marks seventy degrees, with a light breeze from the north, and warm woollen clothing is comfortable. This is a great country for learning practical temperance, none of our party having tasted liquor for a month, previous experience having shown that they were much better without it.
I noticed two young men at dinner to-day who drank two large bottles of champagne, but they will doubtless find out by experience that such indulgences do not pay in this climate. We are only 12,500 miles from New York now, and it seems quite like nearing home.