We followed the Sinde coast for four or five days, passing all the mouths of the Indus, eleven in number, the principal of which we entered and examined, without even the observation of the inhabitants. There was little indication of our being near the estuary of so great a river, for the water was only fresh a mile off shore from the Gora, or largest mouth of the Indus; and the junction of the river water with that of the sea was formed without violence, and might be now and then discovered by a small streak of foam and a gentle ripple. The number and subdivision of the branches diminish, no doubt, the velocity as well as the volume of the Indus; but it would be supposed that so vast a river would exercise an influence in the sea far from its embouchure; and, I believe, this is really the case in the months of July and August, during the inundation. The waters of the Indus are so loaded with mud and clay, as to discolour the sea for about three miles from the land. Opposite its different mouths numberless brown specks are to be seen, called “pit” by the natives. I found them, on examination, to be round globules, filled with water, and easily burst. When placed on a plate, they were about the size of a shilling, and covered by a brown skin. These specks are considered by the pilots to denote the presence of fresh water among the salt; for they believe them to be detached from the sand banks, by the meeting of the sea and the river. They give a particularly dirty and oily appearance to the water.
Anchor on the Indus.
At night-fall on the 28th, we cast anchor in the western mouth of the Indus, called the Pittee. The coast of Sinde is not distinguishable a league from the shore. There is not a tree to be seen, though the mirage sometimes magnifies the stunted shrubs of the Delta, and gives them a tall and verdant appearance; a delusion that vanishes with a nearer approach. From our anchorage, a white fortified tomb, in the Bay of Curachee, was visible north-west of us; and beyond it lay a rocky range of black mountains, called Hala, the Irus of Nearchus. I here read from Arrian and Quintus Curtius the passages of this memorable scene in Alexander’s expedition, the mouth from which his admiral, Nearchus, took his departure from Sinde. The river did not exceed 500 yards in width, instead of the 200 stadia (furlongs) of Arrian, and the twelve miles, which more modern accounts had assigned to it, on the authority of the natives. But there was still some resemblance to the Greek author; for the hills over Curachee form with the intervening country a semicircular bay, in which an island and some sand-banks might lead a stranger to believe, that the ocean was yet distant. “Alexander sent two long galleys before the fleet, towards the ocean, to view a certain island, which they called Cillutas, where his pilots told him he might go on shore before he entered the main ocean; and when they assured him that it was a large island, and had commodious harbours, besides plenty of fresh water, he commanded the rest of the fleet to put in there, while he himself passed out to sea.” The island, as it now exists, is scantily covered with herbage, and destitute of fresh water. In vain I sought an identity of name in the Indian dialect, for it was nameless; but it presented a safe place of anchorage; and, as I looked upon it, I could not but think it was that Cillutas where the hero of Macedon, “drawing up his fleet under a promontory, sacrificed to the gods, as he had received orders from Ammon.” Here it was, too, that Nearchus caused “a canal to be dug, of about five stadia in length, where the earth was easiest to remove; as soon as the tide began to rise they got their whole fleet safe through that passage into the ocean.” The Greek admiral only availed himself of the experience of the people; for it is yet customary among the natives of Sinde to dig shallow canals, and leave the tides or river to deepen them; and a distance of five stadia, or half a mile, would call for no great labour. It is not to be supposed that sand-banks will continue unaltered for centuries; but I may observe, that there was a large bank contiguous to the island, between it and which a passage like that of Nearchus might have been dug with the greatest advantage. “Having sailed from the mouth of the Indus, Nearchus came to a sandy island, called Crocola, and proceeded on his voyage, having the mountain Irus on his right hand.” The topography is here more accurate: two sandy islands, called Andry, lie off Curachee, at a distance of eighteen miles from the Indus; and it is worthy of remark, that that portion of the Delta through which the Pittee runs, is yet denominated “Crocola” by the natives.
Ebb and flow of the tides.
But the ebb and flow of the tides were an object of the greatest surprise to Alexander’s fleet, and we could soon discover the cause of their astonishment, for two of our boats stranded at a spot where, half an hour previously, there had been abundance of water. The tides inundate the country with great impetuosity, and recede as rapidly, so that if a vessel be not in the channel, she will be left on shore. Arrian observes, that “while they continued in that station, an accident happened which astonished them; namely, the ebbing and flowing of the waters, like as in the great ocean, inasmuch that the ships were left upon dry ground, which Alexander and his friends never having perceived before, were so much the more surprised. But what increased their astonishment was, that the tide returning a short while after began to heave the ships, so that * * * some of them were swept away by the fury of the tide, and dashed to pieces, and others driven against the bank, and destroyed.”[2]
Quintus Curtius’s description of Alexander’s disasters.
A graphic and animated description of these disasters of the Greeks has been likewise given by Quintus Curtius, and is nowhere more remarkable than in the allusion to the “knolls” rising above the river like “little islands,” for at full tide the mangrove shrubs present exactly that appearance; but let the author speak in his own words:—
“About the third hour, the ocean, according to a regular alternation, began to flow in furiously, driving back the river. The river, at first, resisted; then impressed with a new force, rushed upwards with more impetuosity than torrents descend a precipitous channel. The mass on board, unacquainted with the nature of the tide, saw only prodigies and symbols of the wrath of the gods. Ever and anon the sea swelled; and on plains, recently dry, descended a diffused flood. The vessels lifted from their stations, and the whole fleet dispersed; those who had debarked, in terror and astonishment at the calamity, ran from all quarters towards the ships. But tumultuous hurry is slow. * * * Vessels dash together, and oars are by turns snatched away, to impel other galleys. A spectator would not imagine a fleet carrying the same army; but hostile navies commencing a battle. * * * * Now the tide had inundated all the fields skirting the river, only tops of knolls rising above it like little islands; to these, from the evacuated ships, the majority swam in consternation. The dispersed fleet was partly riding in deep water, where the land was depressed into dells; and partly resting on shoals, where the tide had covered elevated ground; suddenly breaks on the Macedonians a new alarm more vivid than the former. The sea began to ebb; the deluge, with a violent drain, to retreat into the frith, disclosing tracts just before deeply buried. Unbayed, the ships pitched some upon their prows, others upon their sides. The fields were strewed with baggage, arms, loose planks, and fragments of oars. The soldiers scarcely believed what they suffered and witnessed. Shipwrecks on dry land, the sea in a river. Nor yet ended their unhappiness; for ignorant that the speedy return of the tide would set their ships afloat, they predicted to themselves famine and death. Terrifying monsters, too, left by the waves, were gliding about at random.” Our little fleet did not encounter such calamity and alarm as that of Nearchus; for, in Q. Curtius’s words,—“by a gradual diffusion, the inundation began to raise the ships, presently flooding all the fields, set the fleet in motion.”
Reflections.
I shall not now dwell on these subjects, though eminently interesting; but, in the course of my narrative, I shall endeavour to identify the modern Indus with the features of remoter times. If successful in the enquiry, we shall add to our amusement, and the interest of the chronicles themselves. It is difficult to describe the enthusiasm one feels on first beholding the scenes which have exercised the genius of Alexander. That hero has reaped the immortality which he so much desired, and transmitted the history of his conquests, allied with his name, to posterity. A town or a river, which lies on his route, has acquired a celebrity that time serves only to increase; and, while we gaze on the Indus, we connect ourselves, at least in association, with the ages of distant glory. Nor can I pass over such feelings without observing, that they are productive of the most solid advantages to history and science. The Scamander has an immortality which the vast Mississippi itself can never eclipse, and the descent of the Indus by Alexander of Macedon is, perhaps, the most authentic and best attested event of profane history.