After two days at Bombay Richard and I set sail in the British Indian Steamship Company’s Rajpootna for distant and deserted Goa, a thirty-six hours’ passage. It was a calm, fine evening when we started, but intensely hot. The next day there was a heavy swell, and many were ill. I went to bed thoroughly tired out, expecting to land the next morning. About five o’clock, as the captain told me overnight not to hurry myself, I got up leisurely. Presently a black steward came down, and said:
“Please, ma’am, the agent’s here with your boat to convey you ashore. The captain desired me to say that he’s going to steam on directly.”
I was just at the stage of my toilet which rendered it impossible for me to open the door or come out, so I called through the keyhole:
“Please go with my compliments to the captain, and beg him to give me ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, and tell my husband what is the matter.”
“I will go, ma’am,” he answered; “but I am afraid the captain can’t wait. It is his duty to go on.”
“Go!” I shouted; and he went.
In two minutes down came the negro again.
“Captain says it’s impossible; in fact the ship’s moving now.”
Well, as we were tied to time and many other things, and could not afford to miss our landing, I threw on a shawl and a petticoat, as one might in a shipwreck, and rushed out with my hair down, crying to the steward:
“Bundle all my things into the boat as well as you can; and if anything is left, take it back to the hotel at Bombay.”