What Goa has done may serve as a lesson to us. She compelled or induced good Hindoos and Moslems to become bad Christians. The consequence has been the utter degeneracy of the breed, who have been justly characterized by our House of Commons as “a race the least respected and respectable, and the least fitted for soldiers of all the tribes that diversify the populous country of India.”
In conclusion, we have only to inform our reader that the opinions thus boldly proposed to him are, we believe, those entertained by many of the acutest judges of native character and native history. It is easy to understand why they are not more often offered to public attention.
After addressing a note to the Secretary for permission to leave Goa, we set out in quest of a conveyance; and deeply we had to regret that we did not retain our old pattimar. The owners of vessels, knowing that we must pay the price they asked, and seeing that we were determined to migrate southwards, became extortionate beyond all bounds. At last we thought ourselves happy to secure a wretched little boat for at least double the usual hire. After duly taking leave of our small circle of acquaintances, we transferred ourselves and luggage on board the San Ignacio awaiting the pleasure of the Tindal—a hard-featured black Portuguese—to quit the land of ruins and cocoa trees. Before preparing for rest we went through the usual ceremony of mustering our crew, and ascertaining the probable hour of our departure: we presently found, as we might have guessed, that they were all on shore except a man and a diminutive boy, and that consequently we were not likely to weigh anchor before 2 A.M., at least five hours later than was absolutely necessary. As we felt no desire to encounter the various Egyptian plagues of the cabin, we ordered a table to be placed under the awning, and seated ourselves upon the same with the firm determination of being as patient and long-suffering as possible.
The night was a lovely one—fair and cool as ever made amends for a broiling and glaring April day in these detestable latitudes. A more beautiful sight, perhaps, was never seen than the moon rising like a ball of burnished silver through the deep azure of the clear sky, and shedding her soft radiance down the whole length of the Rio. The little villages almost hidden from view by the groves of impending trees, whose heads glistened as if hoar-frost had encrusted them; the solemn forms of the towering churches, the ruins of Old Goa dimly perceptible in the far distance, and nearer, Panjim, lying in darkness under the shadow of the hills, all looked delightfully tranquil and peaceful. Besides, we were about to bid adieu to scenes in which we had spent a pleasant hour or two, and they are epochs in the traveller’s life, these farewells to places or faces we admire. Will then the reader wonder if we confess that, under the circumstances of the case, we really had no resource but to feel poetically disposed? And, as happens in such cases, the Demon of Doggrel emboldened by the presence of those two kindred spirits, the naughty Herba Nicotiana and the immodest “Naiad of the Phlegethontic Rill Cogniac,” tempted us so long and sorely, that he at last succeeded in causing us to perpetrate the following
LINES.
Adieu, fair land, deep silence reigns
O’er hills and dales and fertile plains;
Save when the soft and fragrant breeze