The education of a paroquet is a long and a serious affair; a native will take his bird on his finger daily, and repeat to it incessantly, for an hour or two at a time, the name of the deity he worships, or some short sentence, until the bird—hearing the same sounds every day for weeks or months together—remembers and imitates them. If in a cage, it is covered over with a cloth, that the attention of the birds may not be diverted from the sounds: sometimes a native will let the bird down a well for an hour or two, that it may be in darkness, while, lying on the top of the well, he repeats the daily lesson.
Many birds are worshipped by the Hindūs, of which the principal is Gŭroorŭ, whose feathers are of gold, with the head and wings of a bird, and the rest of his body like a man, the vahan of Vishnŭ, who rides on his back; and at times, the bird god, in the shape of a flag, sits on the top of Vishnŭ’s car,—the lord of the feathered tribe, the devourer of serpents. When the Hindūs lie down to sleep they repeat the name of Gŭroorŭ three times, to obtain protection from snakes.
The bird Jŭtayoo is the friend of Rama, and is worshipped at the same festival with him.
The Shŭnkŭrŭ Chillŭ, the eagle of Coromandel, the white-headed kite, commonly called the Brahmanī kite, is considered an incarnation of Dūrga, and is reverenced by the Hindūs, who bow to it whenever it passes them.
Khŭnjŭnŭ, the wagtail, is a form of Vishnŭ, on account of the mark on its throat, supposed to resemble the Shalgrama. The Hindūs honour it in the same way they do the eagle of Coromandel.
The peacock, the goose, and the owl, are worshipped at the festivals of Kartikŭ, Brŭmha, and Lukshmēē. If, however, the owl, the vulture, or any other unclean bird, perch upon the house of an Hindū, it is an unlucky omen, and the effect must be removed by the performance of an expiatory ceremony.
8th.—A heavy gale with squalls,—it continued three days; we were under storm-sails, the sea washing over the guns. It was a beautiful sight, the waves were like a wall on one side of the ship, the wind was contrary, and the wearing round the vessel in a heavy sea was extremely interesting to me, from not having been at sea so long. While the storm was blowing I thought of all the idols in the hold,—of Ganesh, and Ram, and Krishnjee, and felt a little alarm lest the “Madagascar” in a fit of iconoclastic fury, should destroy all my curiosities. In such a gale, to appear on deck in the attire usually worn by an English lady was impossible—delicacy forbad it; therefore I put on my Pahārī dress, and went out to enjoy the gale. As I passed on to the poop I overheard the following remarks: “I say, Jack, is that ere a man or a woman?” to which the sailor replied, “No, you fool, it’s a foreigner.” On another man’s asking “Who is it?” he received for answer, “That ere lancer in the aft-cabin.” The black velvet cap, somewhat in appearance like a college or lancer cap, perhaps inspired the bright idea, as the dress itself is particularly feminine and picturesque, and only remarkable on account of its singularity.
11th.—The gale abated, leaving a strong contrary wind and a heavy sea. We passed a small vessel,—merely a large boat battened down; she was from Lisbon, bound to London; the men wore high leather boots reaching above their knees; every wave broke over her, and ran out on the other side,—it was a fearful sea for such a little vessel. Four men were on board; they hailed us to know the latitude and longitude, and found their calculations erroneous. The captain invited the master on board; they threw overboard a cockle-shell of a boat, in which the master and one of the men came alongside: it was beautiful and fearful to see that little boat on the waves,—they were still so tempestuous. The two men came on deck; the master was the finest specimen of the veteran sailor I ever beheld,—a strong, fine man, weather-beaten until his face looked like leather, frank and good-humoured,—he pleased us all very much. They had been beating about where they then were for the last fortnight, and had had hard work of it. We exchanged spirits and tobacco for delicious Lisbon oranges, and all parties were pleased. The old sailor returned in the cockle-shell to the larger boat, and we all watched his progress with interest; they pulled her in, and we soon bade adieu to the orange vessel.
13th.—For some time we had been busy arranging for going on shore, which I determined to do if possible at Plymouth; therefore my packages of curiosities were got up,—at least as many as I thought I could take with me, being nine chests; and all the buffalo and stags’ horns were in readiness. About thirty-five miles from Plymouth a pilot vessel came alongside, and we calculated on landing in her in four hours. At 5 P.M., having taken leave of the captain, who had shown us the greatest attention during the voyage, we went—a large party—on board the pilot vessel: no sooner did we enter her than the wind changed, the rain fell, it was very cold; we were forced to go below into a smoky cabin, the children squalled, and we all passed a most wretched night.
14th.—We arrived at 6 A.M. May-flowers and sunshine were in my thoughts. It was bitterly cold walking up from the boat,—rain, wind and sleet, mingled together, beat on my face. I thought of the answer of the French ambassador to one of the attachés, who asked why the Tower guns were firing,—“Mon ami, c’est peut-être qu’on voit le soleil.”