Mr. Cadet Francis Gernon, anxious to discover a Royal Bengal Tiger, falls in with a Bear
The scene at this moment, to one unacquainted with these tropical visitants, though rather alarming, was singularly wild and magnificent. All around, to the verge of the horizon, the sky was of the deepest indigo hue, whilst dark masses of rolling clouds, like hostile squadrons, were slowly marshalling over head to the thunder’s deep rumble and the lightning’s flash, which shot like the gleaming steel of advancing combatants across the dun fields of death. From the setting sun, a few long rays, like rods of gold, shot through openings of the clouds, streaming brightly over sea and land, bringing forth the lustrous green of the mangroves, and touching, as with a dazzling pencil of light, the distant sail, or milk-white seabird’s wing.
At length, the sough of the coming tempest was heard mournfully sweeping through the shrouds, and a few heavy drops fell on the deck. The ladies’ scarves and shawls began to flutter, and one two hats were whisked overboard, on a visit to the sharks. This was a sufficient hint for the majority of the idlers, and they forthwith dived below. I lingered awhile, and casting my eyes over the stem at this moment, beheld the storm driving towards us—spray, screaming gulls, and tumbling porpoises heralding its approach. In a moment it was upon us. Sheets and floods of driving rain burst on the ship, as on she hissed through the frying waters. Buoy after buoy, however, was safely passed, though it was once or twice “touch and go” with us; and ere long, to the infinite joy of all on board, we dropped anchor in safety off Kedgeree.
Never did I listen to more pleasant music than the rattle of the chain-cable, as it brought us up safe and sound, or rather unsound, in this harbour of refuge. Here, in the mouth of the Hooghly river, was comparative calm and tranquillity, and as we cast our eyes seaward, and saw the dark brown turbulent sea (for here it is not green) heaving and tossing, with the surrounding tempestuous sky, and night closing in, and contrasted our position with that of several far-off vessels, some of them hull-down, struggling under a press of canvas to reach the safe berth we had gained, before night and the falling tide might leave them “outside,” environed by perils, we could not help indulging in very agreeable self-congratulations. ’Tis a sad reflection that our joys should often derive so much of their intensity from the foil of others’ misfortunes; but, alas! so it is.
Here a fresh supply of fruit, and vegetables, and fish, from the shore; a batch of Calcutta papers; and sundry other little matters, made things very pleasant. All were “alive” and cheerful, and at ten o’clock I turned in and rose in the morning like “a giant refreshed,” full of agreeable anticipations of the scenes on which I was about to enter.
CHAPTER VII.
The morning after our arrival at Kedgeree I arose early, and, on coming on deck, found the weather perfectly calm, and presenting a striking contrast to its appearance on the previous day. A burning Bengal sun, however, shone around in all its glory, and was reflected with painful and dazzling brightness from the now unruffled surface of the Hooghly. Boats, to me of singularly novel and picturesque forms—some thatched, others open, and all with long galley-like prows and sterns—were moving here and there, mingled with market-boats, laden with fruit and vegetables, and light and graceful dingies, or fishing-canoes, floating down with their outspread nets and dusky crews on the gentle undulations of the falling tide. Near us, ships of various descriptions were riding at anchor, from the stately Indiaman of those days, with her double tier of ports, and looking like a seventy-four, to the Arab grab and country-coaster.
This was a day of considerable bustle and excitement. The passengers were looking up their baggage, getting out their letters, or despatching special messengers to their friends in Calcutta. Boats from the presidency were continually arriving alongside, freighted principally with baboos or circars, good-looking fellows for the most part, with huge green or yellow curly-toed shoes, and flowing muslin robes, as light as the gossamer, and white as swans’-down. Some came to secure constituents; others were deputed by merchants or parties interested in the ship or passengers; and not a few keen-witted fellows, like my friend Ramee Sawmee Dabash, were on the look-out for “pigeons.” With all these arrivals, our deck began to assume a very lively and animated appearance.
I could not help being forcibly struck with the marked dissimilarity between the two races, who, here respectively the subjects of a common power, and from the antipodes, were engaged in objects of mutual interest, or busy in the exchange of friendly greetings. There stood the sturdy Englishman, with his ruddy face, iron muscles, and broad shoulders, strong in his straightforward hyperborean honesty; before him, like some delicate spaniel, or Italian greyhound, coaxing a bluff old Jowler of a mastiff, were the wily Asiatics, chattering and salaaming, fearful to offend, their slender and supple limbs all in motion, and supplying by quickness and address the want of energy and boldness.
The family union, which had now for five months so pleasantly subsisted between our party on board, was about to be dissolved, and already were their thoughts and feelings on the wing, impatient for other scenes and objects. The cup of pleasure is seldom unalloyed, and with mine, at that moment, mingled a drop of bitterness, as I thought that an important scene of my life was about to close for ever, and that many of the actors in it, with whom I had so pleasantly “strutted my hour,” I might never see again. To think that we are leaving even an inanimate object for ever is a painful thought, but it acquires almost a solemnity when man, “the mind, the music, breathing from his face,” is the being we are now about to quit. Honest McGuffin, methought, have I heard your broad Scotch for the last time? Grinnerson, my merry wag, will you roast me no more? Gillans, bluntest of seamen, will thy hoarse voice, in the midnight watch, never again startle my ear, when through the shrouds (rudest of Æolians) the rough winds pipe their wild accompaniment? And, oh! Jemmy Ducks, thou Pariar of the Rottenbeam Castle, thou great conservator of chickens, shall I never again see thee scramble over the hen-coops, or be more enlivened with a pleasant vision of thy tarred and ragged breeks? Sic transit gloria mundi!