I don't know how long I had slept, but suddenly I awoke. There was considerable hubbub aloft, and somehow I felt that we were dragging our anchor and drifting out to sea. Rushing up on deck, I found the wind was blowing so hard that, instead of an anchor, we were using a bit of a sail, and that after all I had needlessly left the warmth below. Soon after daybreak we saw a tug coming towards us, but, alas! were unable to vent our wrath on our last night's pilot, for this one proved to be another tug. This quickly brought us alongside the Nanchang, where we were at first pointed out as being two Russians, but further acquaintance with the hardy and kind-hearted skipper and hospitable officers soon dissolved their first opinion. The Nanchang had comfortable quarters for two passengers, with a liberal table. The cargo consisted of Chinese wine, nuts and bones, which latter are utilised for some process in refining sugar. We ourselves never approved of the process, for on a roughish day the odours from these bones were not always welcome.
The following morning, the 6th December, we rose to find ourselves almost blocked in with white drifting masses of ice—quite a Nansenic scene. It seemed as though we could have walked for miles over the sea. Our weather-beaten skipper far from cheered us when he began to narrate how, a year or two ago, he had been caught by the winter just in the same way, and his ship had been blocked for some months. He graphically told us how they used to walk to shore, and of the jolly parties they had at the Taku Hotel! Our heads, however, were turned in a different direction; we were bound to return to India with the least possible delay, and we shuddered to think of our fate. Providentially the weather changed, our last cargo of bones was brought on board, as well as a third and welcome passenger, Mr. Carville, of the Consulate Service. By 5 p.m. we were once more under weigh, steaming some ten knots an hour.
Here, again, Esau and Lassoo began to enjoy a new experience, for they had never seen a big boat. Shahzad Mir had certainly seen one, though he had never made a voyage. Amongst other topics, on cold, still nights, on that vast expanse of unknown land, we had told them of the big ships, and their faces had brightened up as they pictured the leisure, comfort, and ample supply of everything that was in store for them. But, alas! the next morning, with a beam sea on, the three men lay prone, miserable, and unable to eat, while around lay the box of cigars we had provided them with. Poor fellows! they wished they were back again on the Chang, even along the shore of one of those dreary salt lakes. Though smiling at their unfortunate plight, we sincerely pitied them, and felt that it was but a poor return, after all the troubles and privations they had undergone for us. We were heartily glad to find the beam sea was of but short duration, and with its abatement our three men revived sufficiently to enjoy the remainder of the voyage to Hong Kong.
LASSOO AND ESAU.
Landing at Quarry Bay at daybreak on the 12th of December, we then embarked on a small steamer, which speedily carried us up the beautiful harbour to one of the wharfs. From thence we made our way to the Hong Kong Hotel, and learnt there was a boat, the Suisang, leaving for Calcutta that very day at noon. All thoughts of visiting Canton were put aside—before even we had managed to fit ourselves out for this last stage of our travels, we had embarked on board this fine boat; but whatever requirement we had been unable to procure during so short a time our generous skipper, Captain Galsworthy, was only too anxious to provide. Our voyage was as pleasant as it is possible for a voyage at sea to be.
On the 18th of December we touched at Singapore, where we thoroughly enjoyed the ever-ready hospitality of the 1st Battalion Rifle Brigade, who were quartered there. A dinner at mess, a stroll afterwards in the magnificent gardens, as we listened meanwhile to the music of their fine band, told us only too surely that our journey was drawing to a close.
On the 21st we touched at Penang, of well-known beauty, where the hospitality of the detachment of the Rifle Brigade quartered there was only equalled by that we had enjoyed at Singapore.
On Sunday, the 27th December, about 8 a.m., we were waiting for a pilot to come and take us safely up the Hoogly. As we gingerly glided up this changeable river we passed several boats outward bound. From each we endeavoured, by shouting, to learn the latest news, namely, who had won the Viceroy's Cup. Finally, a sportsman from some cargo boat, determined that we should know, shouted out as few men can, for we just heard "Patiala's Sprightly." At evening we had come to anchor, and early the next morning were once more back in India.