We were charmed with the Suez Canal. It is a great work, simply but effectually done. We saw the powerful dredgers busily engaged in maintaining its depth; we passed steadily through it without a hitch; we saw with interest the little stations; the white town of Ismailia, with its water-works and railway station; the two bitter lakes, no longer dry; the cuttings through low hills of limestone and gypsum; and at length entered the green Bay of Suez at its southern end. Anchored between the “Fountains of Moses” on the eastern shore, and the “Rock of Deliverance” on the west, we witnessed one of the most golden sunsets I have seen in the Eastern world. This easy passage from the Red Sea to the Mediterranean has revolutionised the carrying trade of the East. The great fleets of sailing ships which in former years rounded the Cape with the silk and tea of China, with the indigo and jute, the sugar and tea, the silk and cotton of India, the Ariel and Taeping, the Hotspur, and Renown, and City of Calcutta, and their companions, of which the mercantile world was justly proud, have passed away, and have given place to lines of steamers which swarm in every port of the Indian seas, and which at small expense bring home their precious cargoes without hindrance through the simple green lane of the Suez Canal. There is, however, one drawback to the satisfaction with which the new arrangement is carried out,—the fee paid for the passage. The “little bill” presented to the Amazone for its seventeen hours’ work amounted to £1400!
The Red Sea is proverbially hot in June, July, and August, and we found it hot indeed. For five days the thermometer ranged between eighty-seven degrees at night and ninety-eight degrees by day; but the heat was tempered by pleasant winds; and no one seemed distressed by it, except those who drank large quantities of claret and water to keep them cool. Under circumstances peculiarly favourable, our noble steamer pressed forward with perfect steadiness, and after a run of four days and a half from Suez, anchored on Friday morning in Aden harbour.
The general verdict of Indian visitors respecting Aden, is that it is a “horrid hole.” Certainly the scenery is not brilliant, it is deficient in verdure; and in the middle of the year, with wild west winds, the thermometer stands nearer one hundred degrees than ninety degrees. Nevertheless Aden has an interest of its own; and associations of deep interest cluster around it. The peninsula of Aden, which cuts off from the sea a wide landlocked harbour is formed by an immense volcano, a mile wide in the interior and having huge walls and buttresses of cindery lava all around it. It is a weird-looking place; but it has for many ages been a helper to the commerce of the world. An outpost of India, well governed, it has long been the protector of the overland trade and a good coaling station. Its importance has increased with the opening of the Canal; and at times several steamers call every day for water, ice, and coal. Beyond this Aden was, next to Zanzibar, the principal station of the most ancient commerce of the world. The Phenicians knew and used it before the days of Hiram. The fleets of Solomon called there on their way to Cochin and Malabar, whence, after their three years’ voyage, they bore to Judea “the ivory, ebony, apes, and peacocks” described by their Indian names in the sacred records. To Solomon are attributed the cutting and completion of the great water tanks, which were rediscovered, cleansed, and enlarged by the government of India only eight years ago. From Aden went forth whole fleets of Phenician vessels, to the coasts of India and Africa; and in the middle ages it was one great stay of the eastern trade from which Europe had been entirely cut off.
After a three days’ delay in Aden, on board the Dupleix, the corresponding steamer to which we had been transferred, we again started for a fortnight’s voyage down the Indian Ocean to Mauritius. The Gulf of Aden we found hot but quiet; but the moment we passed the great limestone promontory of Cape Gardafui, though the thermometer fell fifteen degrees, we ran into a rough sea, which completely upset us all. For three days Mr. Pillans and I scarcely appeared on deck. To lie still and listless was most pleasant; we ate nothing, drank nothing, except water, and did nothing. But at the end of three days we grew accustomed to the motion, and life went on quietly as before. Mrs. Pillans suffered far more than we. The season of the south-west monsoon is well known in all the eastern seas, for its strong winds and wild waters. It is singular that the wind blows hardest near the African coast; no vessels going down that coast can face it with advantage; the steamers therefore shape their course far out in the direction of Ceylon, and bend round toward the south, when the wind and sea fall lighter. In this way we crossed the line, skirted the Calvados reef, made acquaintance with the south-east trade wind, and in due time anchored at Port St. Denis, in the Island of Bourbon. Here we received a hundred and forty-five passengers, who were going over to Mauritius to see the races. We had a very rough night, and they were all violently ill; the appearance of many next morning was pitiable, and looking at the results, I doubt not many would ask whether the “game” was worth the “candle” paid for it. The next morning we reached Port Louis.
I cannot dwell on our little visit to the Mauritius; the island is well known and has only recently been well described. We found many friends and received the kindest hospitality and help at their hands. We travelled along the railways; saw the charming bits of scenery with which this volcanic island abounds; and visited the Pamplemousse Gardens, in which I found many old Indian friends. The fan palm and the betel-nut, the talipot of Ceylon, the poinsettia, the Ponciana regia, and the Bouganvillier creeper were represented by fine specimens. More pleasant still was it to visit the market, full of the Indian grains and vegetables; to handle once more dàl and rice; to see the huge melons, the cucumbers and tomatoes, of which the people of India are so fond; and to talk Hindustani to the coolies and traders, while asking of their welfare and the whereabouts of their Indian homes. Most pleasant of all was it, to meet on the Sunday a little congregation of Indians at the station of the Church Missionary Society, and preach to them in Bengali, the tongue with which I had been most familiar during the years of my Indian life. The week passed rapidly away; and as one of the regular “liners” was about to cross to Madagascar, we prepared to take our passage in her.
The vessels which regularly run between Port Louis and Tamatave are termed “bullockers.” They bring from Madagascar the rice, hides, and india-rubber, which are usual articles of trade: but their principal freight is live bullocks, intended to supply the meat market of Mauritius, and the quarter of a million coolies who purchase their supplies therein. I had often heard of these bullockers, and read about them. I remembered the story of the amiable captain, who having quarrelled with Mr. Ellis’s orchids, directed his boy to pour over them a kettle of boiling water. My colleague and myself visited two of these vessels, in the harbour of Port Louis, and found them an interesting study. The absence of all paint, the rusty iron work, the damaged rigging, the rotten steering-gear, and the filthy cabins, fully justified the warnings of our friends against accepting a passage in them, even if accompanied by a handsome remuneration. One of them had its living freight on board, and we were witnesses to the astonishment and indignation with which the dumb creatures, after their long confinement, found themselves suddenly dropped into the water and compelled to swim ashore for their lives. To style a ship like this “a horrid hole,” is not really disrespectful. To say that as an abode for human beings, it is a disgrace to civilisation, is mild and moderate language compared with the facts. The bullock trade must be the Botany Bay or the Cayenne of the shipping world; and on the vessels employed in it no Committee of inquiry need sit long.
In a bullocker we must go: but happily the vessel about to sail was one of the safest of her class; and the owners and officers endeavoured to make us comfortable. Had they had time to paint the saloon and cabin, they would probably have been of some definite colour: at all events the boy assured us that he had washed them out; but over their condition in general, and that of the cabin-table in particular, let us draw the veil of silence. We managed well, as Englishmen can do anywhere. Captain Gilman was kindness itself; a smart sailor, a genial companion, and a most attentive nurse to the sick, he did his best to render our passage safe and pleasant. With a fair wind and moderate sea, the little barque sped on her way over the six hundred miles of water; and sixty-nine hours after leaving Port Louis, on Thursday, August 14th, we anchored behind the reef at Tamatave.
We received a hearty welcome from both English and native friends, who had heard of our coming, and were soon provided with a comfortable home. The native officers in charge of the Custom-House were most courteous and attentive on the subject of our baggage; and early on the following day it was cleared and under our command. Within twenty-four hours, more than half of it, not required for our own journey, was on its way to the capital; and we had leisure to attend to a few matters of importance, which it was well for us to examine. For this promptitude we were largely indebted to the agents of the Society, Messrs. Procter & Co., who assisted us in every way.
Much has been written about Tamatave, almost the only safe and sheltered port on the east coast of Madagascar. Every traveller describes it: it is the place at which he receives his first impressions, and makes his first acquaintance with the Malagasy people. I will therefore pass over it briefly, as we saw in it nothing new.
Tamatave is built on a long spit of sand, four hundred yards wide, which joins the main land to a fine coral reef off the coast. The reef is long and massive; and the wild sea, driven onward by the strong trade winds, was bursting over it in great creamy waves and clouds of spray. In the centre of the reef is a somewhat narrow opening, which would render entrance and exit difficult, were it not that shifts of wind and breezes from the land, as well as from the sea, give friendly assistance to those who bring their vessels to the port. Once in, a ship finds a complete shelter in the curved bay which the reef and the sand combine to form. The town presents to the eye nothing striking or beautiful. Approaching it from the sea, a long line of misty hills is seen in the background, throwing forward many spurs and lower ridges into the narrow plain. The shore is fringed with wood and brush, conspicuous in which are seen a few mangoe trees and some fine specimens of the pandanus; while along the line the feathery fronds of the cocoanut tree stand clear against the sky.