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.