Upon which we arose, scraped the ground thrice, with all the laboriousness of Indo-Portuguese politeness, promised compliance in our best phraseology, and rapidly disappeared, resolving never to near the Caza de Misericordia again.
CHAPTER VII.
SERODA.
After an unusually protracted term of isolation and friendlessness, we were agreeably surprised by meeting Lieutenants L⸺ and T⸺, walking in their shooting-jackets, somewhat slowly and disconsolately, down the dusty wharf of New Goa.
It is, we may here observe, by no means easy for a stranger—especially if he be an Englishman—to get into Goanese society: more difficult still to amuse himself when admitted. His mother tongue and Hindostanee will not be sufficient for him. French, at least, or, what is more useful, Portuguese should be well understood, if not fluently spoken. As the generality of visitors pass merely a few days at Panjim, call at the palace, have a card on the secretary, rush to the ruins, and then depart, they expect and receive little attention. There are no messes to invite them to—no public amusements or places of resort, and private families do not easily open their doors. Besides, as might be expected, the Goanese have occasionally suffered severely from individuals terming themselves “British Officers.” It were well too, had the offenders been always of the male sex: unfortunately for our national reputation, such is by no means the case. However, a stranger may be sure that with his commission, some knowledge of languages, and any letter of introduction, he will be most hospitably received in society, such as it is.
The unlearned in such matters may be disposed to inquire whether there are no resident Englishmen at Goa.
Certainly, there are a few; but they are, generally speaking, of that class who have made Bombay too hot for them. Once in the Portuguese territory, they may laugh at the bailiff, and fearlessly meet the indignant creditor. The cheapness of the locality is, to certain characters, another inducement; so that, on the whole, it is by no means safe to become acquainted with any compatriot one may chance to meet at Goa.
Now it so happened that all three of us had been reading and digesting a rich account of Seroda, which had just appeared in one of the English periodicals. We remembered glowing descriptions of a village, inhabited by beautiful Bayaderes, governed by a lady of the same class—Eastern Amazons, who permitted none of the rougher sex to dwell beneath the shadow of their roof-trees—high caste maidens, who, having been compelled to eat beef by the “tyrannical Portuguese in the olden time,” had forfeited the blessings of Hindooism, without acquiring those of Christianity,—lovely patriots, whom no filthy lucre could induce to quit their peaceful homes: with many and many etceteras, equally enchanting to novelty-hunters and excitement-mongers.
We unanimously resolved to visit, without loss of time, a spot so deservedly renowned. Having been informed by our old friend John Thomas, that we should find everything in the best style at Seroda, we hired a canoe, cursorily put up a few cigars, a change of raiment, and a bottle of Cognac to keep out the cold; and, a little after sunset, we started for our Fool’s Paradise.