In this way we continued for months staring at each other, but in the meantime we made ourselves more comfortable by covering all our tents with matting, which protected us not only from the rains and heavy dews which are common there, but also from the heat and glare of the sun during the day, and we occasionally enjoyed ourselves by exploring and picnic parties in the men-of-war’s armed boats up the river; for we were always on the most happy and intimate terms with the officers of our little navy, dining with them now and then and having them as our guests repeatedly. In a word, our sojourn at Moulmein was a very happy and jolly one. We never knew positively the cause of the enemy’s hesitation in making an attempt to attack us, but we heard that one or two flags of truce had been sent from our Government at Calcutta up the Irrawaddy with dispatches to Ava for the Burmese Government, and we concluded that terms of amity and peace had been proposed and perhaps agreed to, and this became the more probable when, early in March, 1842, orders were received for the immediate return of the 50th Regiment to Calcutta.

We were indeed sorry to leave Moulmein—the climate was so much cooler and better than India; and we had made so many kind and agreeable friends that to part with them—perhaps for ever—was far from pleasant. A more than usual intimacy took place between our men and the soldiers of the Madras Native Infantry, and they were frequently seen walking and chatting together. Most of these fine-looking men knew and served repeatedly under their own “General Anderson”—and they soon saw by our strong family likeness that I was his brother, and whenever any of them passed me they not only saluted but gave me a warm recognizing smile. When I first saw them I was struck by their fine manly and soldier-like appearance, superior in every way to the Bengal native troops and evidently under better discipline, and now the best proof of this is that when the whole of the Bengal native troops, cavalry, artillery, and infantry, mutinied, and murdered their English officers in cold blood, not one single corps of the Madras native army wavered for a minute. They remained faithful and true to their salt and to their colours, although it was well known, and beyond all doubt, that the leaders of the Bengal mutiny had sent many emissaries and appeals for aid to them.

CHAPTER XXVII
VOYAGE UP THE GANGES

Return to Calcutta—Much illness in regiment—Boat journey of three months to Cawnpore—Incidents of the voyage—Death of Daniel Shean

I CANNOT at this moment recollect how we left Moulmein, and here, for the first time since I commenced this narrative, my memory fails me, but I think it was in sailing ships, for I remember that on our arrival off Fort William we were transhipped into country boats next day, and proceeded with the tide up the Hooghly and landed at Chinsurah. There we found Colonel Woodhouse, from Sydney, and a large detachment of recruits and young officers from England under Captain Fothergill, and, what was far more acceptable to me, letters from my dear wife with cheering accounts of herself and my dear children.

I now as a matter of course gave over the command of the regiment to Colonel Woodhouse, and for a time I was, comparatively speaking, an idle man. He, being a full colonel and of so many years’ standing, was entitled by the orders of the army in India to the local rank of major-general, and to a separate command. Therefore I felt sure of getting the regiment again before long. We now got into the month of April, and the heat was great and most cruelly trying. We spoke much of the delightful climate of Moulmein, and of the dear friends whom we had left behind us there. The heat and the change of climate soon produced much sickness amongst our officers and men. Fever and cholera prevailed, and we lost many men and Assistant-Surgeon McBean from the latter fearful malady. He was quite well and dined at the mess the night of his death. He sat opposite to me and was in high spirits, and I observed he ate heartily and stayed at table for an hour or two afterwards. On retiring to his room he was suddenly seized with cholera at about two o’clock in the morning, and died in agony soon afterwards. He was buried the same day.

In June we had a fearful storm, or rather a hurricane, lasting two days and nights. Much damage was done, and many ships and river craft driven on shore and totally lost, but it cleared and purified the air, and sickness and cholera disappeared for a time.

Early in July orders were received to hold the regiment in readiness to proceed in country boats to Cawnpore, and about the middle of the month all the arrangements were completed by the commissariat, and a fleet of about 80 or more boats had arrived at Chinsurah for our embarkation. The officers were granted (according to rank) a liberal money allowance to provide their own boat, and they generally got first-rate budgerows, with accommodation for two or three officers, for less than the money allowed by Government, so that the officers of each company might go together or hire a budgerow for each individually, as they liked. These boats were very comfortable, and had each two good cabins and a bath-room; and the officers’ personal furniture of tables and chairs, beds, and chests of drawers left nothing wanting. All the boats were covered with canvas awnings. Each budgerow was attended by two small boats—one fitted with a clay oven and fireplace for cooking, and the other carried the luggage and servants, who kept close to their masters, and came on board without delay or difficulty whenever they were wanted. The men’s boats were large, clumsy craft, with matting awnings, and calculated to accommodate from twenty to thirty soldiers, with their arms, accoutrements, and knapsacks. These had each a cooking boat attached, with cooks and assistants. There were also at least a dozen commissariat boats, with live stock and bullocks, sheep and poultry, as well as spirits and wine for the voyage, and there were hospital-boats, where none but the ailing and sick were admitted. The commissariat had also bakers’ boats, so that we had fresh bread daily. Before we started each company was furnished with distinguishing flags; mine was distinct, a St. Andrew’s Cross on a red ground; and in addition to the commissariat provisions, the officers had their own private stock of poultry, hams, and wines.

With all these means, good accommodation, and creature comforts one might hope for a pleasant change and merry trip on the rivers Hooghly and Ganges, but in course of this voyage we were disappointed. Notwithstanding much variety and fun, we had occasionally to encounter great difficulties. At last we got under way from Chinsurah about the end of July, with strict orders to the boats of each company to keep as much as possible together, and to be guided by their respective distinguishing flags. Any neglect of this arrangement was at once visible and checked. We had our advance and rear guards—the first an officer’s budgerow, to point out any difficulties in the river to the advancing fleet, and the rear guard consisting of the captain and subaltern of the day, and one of the men’s boats from each company in succession daily. Their duty was to assist any of the boats of the fleet which got into distress from accident or bad management. When the winds favoured the whole fleet made sail, and when they were against us the boats were towed along the banks of the river, or from the shallow sandbanks by the whole of the crews, by means of ropes tied to the top of the mast. This was very slow and fatiguing work against the strong currents. In this way we some days made fifteen to twenty miles, but generally not more than six.