July 8th.—Engaged a fourteen-oared pinnace, a woolāk of 900 mŭns, a pataila of 600, and a small cook-boat, to take us down to Calcutta.
20th.—We quitted dear old Prāg at 6 A.M. under heavy rain and a contrary wind. I bade adieu to a place in which I had spent so many happy days with much sorrow, and without any prospect of ever revisiting the spot.
22nd.—Anchored at Rāj ghāt, Benares: the ghāts have lost much of their picturesque beauty from the height of the river, the water having covered the steps. The Hindū temples that have partially fallen merely show their spiral domes above the waters; and the Ganges is as full of mud as a river may well be; the water is quite thick, of a muddy colour, and a small quantity in a tumbler gives a most marvellous sediment.
24th.—A heavy wind against us; the waves were so high on the Ganga, and the boats rolled so violently, that the natives on deck were quite overcome by sea-sickness, and I was also suffering from mal de mer.
31st.—Picked up a large heavy chest afloat from some wreck. It contained fifty boxes of G. Davis’ Chinsurah cheroots, and was marked Jan Mahomed Shah, in the Persian character: the cheroots were all destroyed from having been in the water. Soon afterwards we picked up another chest of the same size and description, with the bottom stove in; also a box of cigars that was floating by the side of it, evidently from the same wreck. Lugāoed off the bāstī of Tipperiah, in the midst of an expanse of water. About 8 P.M. the strong easterly wind, which had been blowing all day, veered and sunk; a deep silence fell around—the whole canopy of heaven was covered with a pall of black clouds: there was not a gleam of light excepting on the horizon in one part, where there was one low gleam of whitish pale light, in form like a bow. The muddy colour of the interminable river assumed an inky blackness, and united with the horizon all around: a few minutes afterwards the light on the horizon disappeared, and all was intense darkness,—a rushing sound then arose, and the rain fell in torrents, the drops were of great size, it more resembled the fall of sheets of water; soon afterwards the lightning blazed over the river, and some peals of thunder like the roar of cannon and the sharp discharge of fire-arms, added to the stormy scene. During this time the wind rose, and suddenly changed to the opposite quarter of the heavens. I made the dandīs look well to their moorings, as we were fastened on a wet field, covered by the river, so that there was a fear the bamboos would be torn out of the wet earth by the force of the wind acting on the vessel, and that she would be carried down the fierce stream; however, she stood it well, being in rather slack water, therefore I went to bed and slept quietly through the gale, after I had sufficiently enjoyed the first part of it.
August 1st.—The rock of Dolepaharry, with its temple and beautiful trees standing far distant inland and of very great height, was a beautiful object—it is near Janghīra—the latter rock sank into insignificance and appeared very low, in consequence of the height to which the Ganges had risen. The whole country is overflowed—the river appears like one vast sea with a number of fine trees in it—their trunks rising out of the water, and the earth completely hidden.
Passed Sultangunge and anchored on a wet bank, just on the entrance of that branch of the river that leads to Bhagulpūr. The Hindūs must go without their dinners to-night; they will not cook on board, and in the wet swamp they cannot make a fire: this is a wretched anchorage, and here comes the rain in torrents again. Stolen goods cannot be digested, or never thrive, and so it proved with a boy employed to pull the pankha. He stole a great quantity of Indian corn; it was not ripe, but of full size; abounding in milk, sweet, and tempting to eat when raw; but when fried in butter, with pepper and salt, it is delicious. In spite of the caution given by an old havildār, to whom the field belonged, the boy ate a great quantity—his body swelled, he became in great pain, and is now ill with fever.
3rd.—Last night the distant roar of the waters as they rushed past the rocks of Colgong lulled me to sleep. This morning, about 7 A.M., we came up to the rocks, the stream was rushing past at a fearful rate, and forming very large and powerful whirlpools. Two large patailas were on before us; the first was twirled round by the eddy and carried back against the other; they became entangled, and both were carried back with great velocity for about three hundred yards. Our pinnace was flying along aided by the cars on board, and also by the towing of her little boat; but the powerful eddy turned the vessel straight across the stream, and there she was stopped, the eddy pulling one way and the men the other—just at this moment an immense pataila of about two thousand mŭns, heavily laden with gram, was coming down upon us with full force, borne on by the violent stream; it was a disagreeable sight, it appeared as if the shock must sink the pinnace: fortunately a woolāk was between us and the monster vessel; she came with great force first upon the woolāk, and drove her against the pinnace in front of herself; the pinnace reeled with the shock, but it saved us greatly, and the large vessel, disengaging herself from us, went on shoving our stern right round in her impetuous course. I ran on deck, having a dislike to be drowned in a cabin, but escaped with only a fright. The dandīs recommenced their exertions, and in a short time we were out of the eddies and whirlpools around the rocks, and in calm water. Colgong is very beautiful, both during the rains and the cold weather, and this is perhaps the most beautiful part of the Ganges. At 11 A.M. passed the Terīyāgalī Hills. The dandīs say there are fine ruins in the jangal on the largest hill, but no road to them; and they speak of the immense doorways—entrances; I should like to explore the place.
8th.—At 1 P.M. passed Nuddea, eighty-two and a half miles from Calcutta; at this spot the Jellingee unites with the Bhagirathī, and they flow forward under the name of the Hoogly: the tide is perceptible at Nuddea, it just comes so far.
9th.—Anchored at Nyaserai to prepare anchors for the tide, which detained us one hour and a half. Nyaserai is on the entrance of the old Damooda river, over which there is a light iron suspension bridge. An Up-country boy who was pulling the pankha told me it made his blood run cold to see the people crossing on such a slight bridge; that his father had never visited Calcutta, nor he himself, but that his grandfather had made the voyage. He was charmed with some Ooria singers on the bank, and thought they would make their fortunes if they were to visit Prāg:—what a budget of wonders the boy will have to unfold on his return to the Up-country! Moored off the residence of a friend at the powder-works at Eeshapūr.