We found little difficulty in persuading the officer to whose care and skill the charge of our precious health was committed, to report that we were fit for duty long before the expiration of the term of leave granted at Bombay; so we prepared at once for a return-trip per steamer—it would require æs triplex indeed about the cardiac region to dare the dangers and endure the discomforts of a coasting voyage, in a sailing vessel, northwards, in the month of September—“over the water to Charley,” as the hero of Scinde was familiarly designated by those serving under him.
We started our luggage yesterday on bullock and coolie back. The morning is muggy, damp, and showery: as we put our foot in stirrup, a huge wet cloud obscures the light of day, and hastens to oblige us with a farewell deluging. Irritated by the pertinacious viciousness of Pluvian Jove, we ride slowly along the slippery road which bounds the east confines of the lake, and strike off to the right hand, just in time to meet, face to face, the drift of rain which sails on the wings of the wind along the skirt of that—Dodabetta. Gradually we lose sight of the bazaar, the church, the Windermere, the mass of bungalows. Turning round upon the saddle, we cast one last scowl upon Ootacamund, not, however, without a grim smile of joy at the prospect of escaping from it.
Adieu ...! Farewell ... land of ...! May every ...! May ...! And when ..., so may ... as thou hast ... ourselves!
To the industry of an imaginative reader we leave the doubtlessly agreeable task of filling up the hiatus in whatever manner the perusal of our modest pages may suggest to his acuteness and discernment. As some clue to the mazy wanderings of our own ideas, we may mention that we were, during the solemn moment of valediction, exposed to such weather as has rarely been the fate of man with the exception of Deucalion and other diluvian celebrities, to experience in this stormy world.
FOOTNOTES
[1] “Ducks” are the Bombayites in general: “Dingies” is the name popularly given to the smaller specimens of native craft. The Dun and the Drab are probably familiar to the reader’s ears.
[2] Bombahia, the Portuguese P. N. of the town: it was probably suggested by “Momba-devi,” as the place was called by the Hindoos after the patron goddess of the spot.
[3] The Nabob is the European, the Nawwáb the Asiatic, grandee.
[4] Note for readers geographically disposed.
This region, the Ariake of the Greeks, Kemkem of the Arabs, Kukan of the Hindoos, Concan of the present possessors, and, as Vincent says, “the pirate coast of all,” is well adapted for its ancient occupation by a multitude of small ports, uninterrupted view along the coast, high ground favourable to distant vision, and the alternate land and sea breezes that oblige vessels to hug the shore. Moreover, the ports, besides being shallow, are defended against large ships by bars; a defect from which even Goa is not exempt, although Tavernier calls it “one of the finest harbours in the world, rivalling those of Toulon and Constantinople.” The pirates were protected by the strength of the inland country, and, like the Greeks, had only to lie secure in port until they discovered their prey. During the Monsoon they cultivated the ground, or lived peaceably at home: when the fine weather set in, they launched their boats, and set out in quest of adventure. Pliny notices the depredations they committed on the Roman East India trade, and our early travellers are full of horrible tales about them.