As we approached her, two or three bronzed faces, surmounted by straw hats, rose above the side, and were directed expectantly towards us, whilst the whistling pipe of the serang, or native boatswain, announced the skipper’s approach alongside. We mounted through a bevy of the sable crew, and soon stood on the deck of the country ship, just arrived from a voyage to the Eastern Islands.
“Welcome on board the Rohomany, gentlemen, where I hope you will make yourselves at home and comfortable,” said Captain Grogwell. “My first officer, Mr. Dobbs, gentlemen,” he continued, presenting a tall, brawny, and fine-countenanced man. Mr. Dobbs made his best leg; was glad to see us on board.
The lascars now began to weigh the anchor to a wild and not unmusical chant, with an agreeable chorus of Ya Ullahs! All was soon bustle, the anchor a-peak, and the mates shouting forth their commands in the most extraordinary lingo that ever grated “harsh music” on my ears.
“Trinkum Garvey de man,” said one; “Garvey brass trinkum de man,” roared another; whilst Mr. Dobbs, in a tremendous fury (why I knew not), and stamping like a madman, sung out “Chop and string your goosey, and be d——d to you all.”
These are a few specimens. On hearing the last, I certainly was inclined to think that the death-warrant of one of those capitol birds who feed on our commons, and on whom our commons feed (excuse the double pun), had been pronounced. I wish some Oriental philologist would give us a history of this nautical jargon, which, I take it, is a sort of olla podrida of Portuguese, Bengalee, and heaven knows what dialects besides—the lingua franca of the Indian seas. On we glided; passed the “silver tree,” a singular vegetable production, composed of brick and mortar; “Diamond Harbour,” another misnomer, but very Golcondahish in the sound; and finally, a stiff wind setting in dead ahead, found it impossible to get round a certain peninsula, sometimes called “Hooghly Point,” but amongst sailors, rejoicing in the less euphonious appellation of “Point Luff and be d——d.” There was no help for it, so down went the anchor, and there seemed every prospect of our having to conjugate the verb ennuyer till a fresh flow of tide and shift of wind should enable us to pass this most troublesome part of the river, and the dangerous shoal of the James and Mary. The reader must understand that all this was before the days of steam.
Leaving the white tavern of Fultah, where the Calcutta bon vivant eats mango-fish—the whitebait of India,—we soon passed Budge Budge, the scene of the sailor’s unique exploit—a story too well known, I fancy, to need repetition here—and in a short time after, on turning “Hangman’s Point” (where once stood an outpost of civilization), found ourselves opposite “Garden Reach,” the sylvan vestibule of Calcutta. I have seen few sights in my wanderings more beautiful and imposing than the approach to this Petersburgh of the East, this magnificent capital of our Eastern empire. On the left was the Botanical Garden, with its screen of tall dark cypress trees; on the right, a long succession of beautiful villas, situated amidst verdant lawns and park-like pleasure-grounds, sloping gently down to the water’s edge. Here the eye was caught by some pretty kiosk or summer-house, like the lust-haus of a Dutch retreat, or such as we sometimes see in the stately gardens attached to some mansion of the olden time here at home. There it rested on a ghaut, or flight of steps leading to the water, with urns or balustrades, before which, in the mellow chiar-oscuro of some overhanging banyan-tree, lay moored the elegant covered pleasure-boat of the owner—hurrying through the grounds, a palankeen would appear, with its scampering bevy of attendant bearers and running peons, the huge red chattah or umbrella to shield the master from the sun, when making his exits and entrées, bobbing up and down—standing before many a porticoed mansion, gigs, or other equipages would appear in waiting, to take the Sahibs to town, or on their rounds of morning visits, and mingling in pleasing contrast with the Europeanized character of these beautiful domains, the lofty palm or kujjoor would here and there raise its head, the perch of a knot of solemn vultures; or parting the grounds one from another, lofty fences of the graceful and pensile bamboo, might be seen drooping in rich clusters, like plumes of ostrich feathers. Numerous boats glided up and down the river, with here and there a vessel like our own, obeying the whirling impulses of the tide, and rapidly approaching its destination—all, in fact, bespoke the close vicinity of a great capital.
The reach nearly past, the proud citadel of Fort William broke in view, its grinning batteries opening upon us, one after the other, and affording a lively idea of the sort of gauntlet which an enemy might reasonably expect, should one sufficiently hardy ever dare to confront them. Here and there on the long-extended rampart, the sentry “walked his lonely round,” his musket and bayonet gleaming brightly in the noontide rays, whilst crowds of natives, passing palankeens, and stately adjutant birds stalking “in grey attire” on the banks, gave life and animation to the scene—a few minutes more, and a long forest of shipping, with masses and lines of stately mansions reposing under the still calm sky, like some Grecian capital of old, bespoke the City of Palaces, the proud metropolis of British India.
Here was a sight at which a Briton might honestly exult, and, young as I was, I gazed with pride on this magnificent creation of my country’s civilization and power—the point from which she governs the countless millions of the dependent Empire which Providence, for the wisest of purposes, has submitted to her benignant sway. Old England! mighty heart! long may thy vigorous pulsations be thus felt to the utmost bounds of our earth! Nations, like individuals, have their stages of existence—their infancy, their manhood, and their decline; some fall into premature decrepitude and dissolution, and leave but the memory of evil deeds behind them; whilst others sink in glorious maturity, under the weight of years and honours, leaving the fruits of a well-spent life behind them, to be embalmed for ever in the hearts of a grateful posterity. May such be thy lot, O my country!
CHAPTER VIII.
We dropped anchor off the city, amongst a crowd of shipping and a swarm of boats, with which the river seemed actually alive; some of them home along by the headlong “freshes,” and athwart the bows of the vessel, with fearful and dangerous velocity. I was all anxiety to get on shore; so, without waiting for Marpeet and Grundy, who had some small toilet-matters, &c., to arrange, I put my boxes and bags into a paunchway—a native boat of a particular description, several of which lay alongside—and, after shaking Captain Grogwell and his mate by the hand, thanking them cordially for their hospitality, and expressing a hope that I should see them again before I left Calcutta, I descended the side, and was soon on my way to the shore.