Sept. 1st.—At 8 A.M., while we were in tow of the steamer, the “Essex” ran upon a sandbank; she fell over very disagreeably on her side, was thus carried by the violence of the tide over the obstacle, and righted in deep water; the accident broke the hawsers that united the two vessels. After some little difficulty and much delay we proceeded on our voyage. The pilot was much surprised, as a fortnight before that part of the river was all clear; he said we had run upon the end of the tail of the “James and Mary” sandbank, which had become lengthened, and he despatched a notice thereof to Calcutta. Where the Hoogly is joined by the Roopnarrain at Hoogly Point, a very large sheet of water is formed, but it has many shoals; and as it directly faces the approach from the sea, while the Hoogly turns to the right, it occasions the loss of many vessels, which are carried up the Roopnarrain by the force of the tide. The eddy caused by the bend of the Hoogly has, at this place, formed a most dangerous sand, named the “James and Mary,” around which the channel is never the same for a week together, requiring frequent surveys. The Bore commences at Hoogly Point. The musquitoes were very troublesome; we found it cooler than on shore, but nevertheless very hot.
2nd.—Passed Mud Point, and felt rather nervous on the occasion; the heat was intense, and there was not a breath of air. Employed myself writing farewell letters to friends in India, which were sent to Calcutta by the Saugor dāk boat. This evening the tide ran with such violence that after the vessel had anchored, it was necessary for a man to remain at the helm. This steering an anchored vessel had a curious and novel effect.
3rd.—The pilot quitted us at the Sandheads, and took my husband’s official letters with him. A calm came on, and we were just preparing to anchor again, when a breeze sprang up and carried us out to sea.
4th.—A number of native sailors (khalāsīs) came down the river with us to assist the men on board the “Essex.” Seven of the English sailors are ill from fever; no marvel with extra grog and hard work under such a terrific sun: the musquitoes and prickly heat alone, are enough with such intense heat to bring on fever.
I saw a waterspout—it commenced like a great funnel hanging from a dark cloud that was the basis of a fine white one: the point of the funnel having descended about half way attracted the sea-water, which bubbled and rose up in a point until it united with the end of the spout; having accomplished this union, the spout thickened, and became of the same size from the top to the bottom. After a time it appeared to become lighter, for it bent with the wind and formed a slight curve. The spout became still less and less, and eventually so thin that the wind carried it along almost horizontally. It appeared to sever from the sea, and having become as thin as a ribbon, disappeared. It was of a dull rainy colour—some bright blue sky was above the white cloud formerly mentioned, and the whole had a vapoury appearance.
8th.—The weather cooler; for the last few days we have had heavy squalls, accompanied with thunder, lightning, and rain in torrents. Ill from mal de mer: I know not when I have suffered so severely; the ship has a cargo of sugar, which is packed in hides: the rain has fallen in torrents, in sheets of water, as rain only falls, I think, in the bay of Bengal, a perfect deluge:—the hatches having been closed in consequence, a horrible effluvium has ascended to the cuddy: how people can live below deck is a miracle, in the heat and steam of those sweating hides! fortunately, no passengers are below, and sailors, poor fellows, endure and shrink not. An huppoo was seen to-day making its way to the ship, but weary from its long flight, and overpowered by the strong squall, it sank in the waters screaming. A flying-fish came on board, and one of the most elegantly-formed birds I ever saw, which they called a whale-bird, was caught in the rigging; its head beautifully marked, the body slight, its slender and powerful wings very long.
11th.—Off Madras.
13th.—Opposite Centinel Island in the Andamans,—very little wind. It is remarkable, with the exception of a few squalls, how calmly we have come down the Bay; at this time of the year we expected to encounter fierce weather. The weather still hot, although very different from what it was before,—nevertheless it renders any exertion a great toil.
14th.—The moonlight evenings on the poop are beautiful. A fine breeze, with a steady ship; she is deeply laden, goes on quietly and steadily, and seldom rolls at all. What a contrast to that wretched “Carnatic!” Apropos, I am told she was condemned in Calcutta as not sea-worthy; therefore I had a good escape in her.
15th.—We are anxious to get to the western side of the Bay, but the winds force us in a contrary direction; we are near the Nicobars, running down the side of the islands. I should like to go on shore to see Lancour, and the rest of my friends, the Carnicobar-barians, once more.