As we passed the residence of Rājā Budannath Singh, he came out with his family on three elephants to pay his respects, thinking my husband was on board. The ladies were peeping from the house-top. The pinnace passed in full sail, followed by ten immense country boats full of magazine stores, and the cook boat. Being unable at night to cross those rivers, we anchored on the Oude side. I did not much admire being in the domains of the King of Lucnow instead of those of the Company; they are a very turbulent set, those men of Oude, and often pillage boats. The vicinity of the Rājā’s house was some protection. Rām Din had the matchlocks of the sipahī guard fired off by way of bravado, and to show we were armed; the lathīs (bamboos) were laid in readiness, in case of attack: the watch was set, and, after these precautions, the mem sāhiba and her dog went to rest very composedly.
22nd.—Not a breath of air! a sun intensely hot; the river is like a silver lake; but over its calm the vessel does not glide, for we are fast on a sandbank! Down come the fiery beams; several of the servants are ill of fever. Heaven help them; I doctor them all, and have killed no one as yet! My husband will fret himself as he sits in the coolness of the house and thinks of me on the river. The vessel was in much difficulty this morning; the conductor of some magazine boats sent forty men and assisted her out of it. Lucky it was that chance meeting with the conductor in this Wilderness of Waters! One is sure to find some one to give aid in a difficulty, no doubt through the power of the satī, whom they still continue to adorn with fresh flowers.
25th.—After a voyage of fifteen days and a half I arrived at Cawnpore; coming up the reach of the Ganges, in front of Cantonments, a powerful wind was in our favour. The Seagull gallantly led the way in front of the twelve magazine boats: a very pretty sight for the Cawnporeans, especially as a squall overtook us, struck us all into picturesque attitudes, and sunk one of the magazine boats, containing 16,000 rupees worth of new matchlocks. When the squall struck the little fleet, they were thrown one against another, the sails shivered, and the centre boat sank like a stone. Being an eye-witness of this scene, I was afterwards glad to be able to bear witness, at the request of the conductor, to his good conduct, and the care he took of the boats, when called upon by the magistrate of the place.
28th.—Anchored off Bittoor on the opposite side. I regretted being unable to see the place and Bajee Row, the ex-Peshwā, who resides there on an allowance of eight lākh per annum. In 1818, he submitted to the Company, abdicated his throne, and retired to Bittoor for life. It would have given me pleasure to have seen these Mahrattas; but the channel of the stream forced me to go up the other side of the river.
The Government wish the Bāiza Bā’ī to live at Benares on six lākh a year; but the spirited old lady will not become a pensioner, and refuses to quit Fathīghar. She has no inclination, although an Hindoo, to be satisfied with “A little to eat and to live at Bunarus[11],” especially as at this place she is no great distance from her beloved Gwalior.
Sept. 2nd.—A day of adventures. Until noon, we battled against wind and stream: then came a fair wind, which blew in severe squalls and storms. Such a powerful stream against us; but it was fine sailing, and I enjoyed it very much. At times the squalls were enough to try one’s courage: We passed a vessel that had just broken her mast: the stream carried us back with violence, and we ran directly against her; she crushed in one of the Venetian windows of the cabin, and with that damage we escaped. Two men raising the sail of another vessel were knocked overboard by the squall, and were carried away with frightful velocity, the poor creatures calling for help: the stream swept them past us, and threw them on a sandbank—a happy escape!
Anchored at Menhdī ghāt; the moon was high and brilliant, the wind roaring around us, the stream, also, roaring in concert, like a distant waterfall; the night cold and clear, the stars bright and fine; but the appearance of the sky foretold more wind and squalls for the morrow. I had no idea, until I had tried it, how much danger there was on the Gunga, during the height of the rains; in this vessel I think myself safe, but certainly I should not admire a small one. All the vessels to-day were at anchor; not a sail was to be seen but the white sails of the Seagull, and the dark ones of the cook boat, the latter creeping along the shore, her mānjhī following very unwillingly.
My sarang says the quantity of sail I oblige him to carry during high winds, has turned “his stomach upside down with alarm.”
3rd.—For some hours the next morning the gale continued so violently, we could not quit the bank; a gentleman came on board, and told me, by going up a stream, called the Kalī Nadī, I should escape the very powerful rush of the Ganges; that I could go up the Nadī twenty miles, and by a canal, cut in former days, re-enter the Ganges above.
I asked him to show me the ruins of Kannouj; we put off; it was blowing very hard: at last we got out safely into the middle of the stream. About a mile higher up, we quitted the roaring and rushing waters of the Ganges, and entered the placid stream of the Kalī Nadī. Situated on a hill, most beautifully wooded, with the winding river at its feet, stands the ancient city of Kannouj; the stream flowing through fine green meadows put me in mind of the Thames near Richmond. In the Ganges we could scarcely stem the current, even though the wind, which was fair, blew a gale; in the Nadī we furled every sail, and were carried on at a good rate, merely by the force of the wind on the hull of the vessel, and the non-opposition of the gentle stream. My friend told me he had once thrown a net across the Kalī Nadī, near the entrance, and had caught one hundred and thirty-two great rhoee fish. On the hill above stands the tomb of Colonel ⸺; who, when Lord Lake’s army were encamped here on their road to Delhi, attempted on horseback to swim the Nadī, and was drowned.