CHAPTER IV.
In the last chapter I left theRottenbeam Castlejust arrived in the roads of Madras, and the frigate’s boat alongside. Our commander, with a grave look, advanced to meet the officer, who, saluting him in an easy and off-hand manner, announced himself as lieutenant of H.M. shipThunderbolt, and desired him “to turn up the hands.” Captain McGuffin was beginning to remonstrate, declaring that some of his best sailors had been pressed a few days before (which was the fact), and that he had barely sufficient to carry the ship round to Bengal, &c., when the lieutenant cut him short, declaring he had nothing to do with that matter; that his orders were peremptory, and must be obeyed.
“I shall appeal to the admiral,” said our skipper, rather ruffled.
“You may appeal to whom you choose, sir,” replied the lieutenant, somewhat haughtily, and giving his hanger a kick, to cause it to resume its hindward position; “but now, and in the meantime, if you please, you’ll order up your men.”
These were “hard nuts” for McGuffin “to crack;” on his own deck too, where he had reigned absolute but a few minutes before—
The monarch of all he survey’d,Whose right there was none to dispute.
The monarch of all he survey’d,Whose right there was none to dispute.
The monarch of all he survey’d,Whose right there was none to dispute.
The monarch of all he survey’d,
Whose right there was none to dispute.
But he felt that the iron heel of a stronger despotism than his own was upon him, and that he had no resource but submission. He consequently gave the necessary orders, and straightway the shrill whistle of the boatswain was soon heard, summoning the sailors to the muster.
“Onward they moved, a melancholy band,” slouching and hitching up their trousers, and were soon ranged in rank and file along the deck. The lieutenant stalked up the line (he certainly was a noble-looking fellow, just the man for a cutting-out party, or to head a column of boarders), and turned several of them about, something after the manner in which a butcher in Smithfield selects his fat sheep, and then putting aside those he thought worthy of “honour and hard knocks” in his Majesty’s service, he ordered them forthwith to bring up their hammocks and kits, and prepare for departure. Amongst those thus unceremoniously chosen to increase the crew of theThunderbolt, were two or three ruddy, lusty lads, who had come out as swabs, or loblolly boys, and were making their first voyage, to see how the life of a sailor agreed with them, little thinking, a few days before, of the change that awaited them. I think I see them now, blubbering as they descended the side, with their hammocks and small stocks of worldly goods on their shoulders, waving adieu to their comrades, and thinking, doubtless, of “home, sweet home,” and what “mother would say when she heard of it.” On one old man-of-war’s man of theRottenbeam Castle, whom I had often noticed, the lieutenant, keen as a hawk, pouncedinstanter; his experienced eye detecting at once in the long pigtail, corkscrew ringlets, and devil-may-care air of honest Jack, the true outward characteristics of that noble but eccentric biped, a downright British tar, and prime seamen. “You’ll do for us,” said the lieutenant, taking him by the collar of his jacket, and leading him out. “There’s two words to that there bargain, sir,” said Jack (who had hadquantum suff.of the reg’lar sarvice), with the air of one who knew that he stood on unassailable ground. So squirting out a little ’baccy juice, and rummaging his jacket-pocket, he produced therefrom a tin tobacco-box, of more than ordinary dimensions, from which, after considerable fumbling (for Jack was evidently unused to handling literary documentsof any kind), he extracted a soiled and tattered “protection,” which, deliberately unfolding (a ticklish operation, by the way, the many component parallelograms being connected by the slenderest filaments), he handed it over to the lieutenant. Having so done, he hitched up his waistband, with his dexter fin, tipped his comrades something between a nod and a wink, as much as to say, “I think that’ll bring him up with a round turn,” and stroking down his hair, awaited the result. The officer cast his eye over the thing of shreds and patches. It contained a “true bill,” so he returned it; and Jack, having carefully packed and re-stowed his “noli me tangere,” gave another squirt, and rolled off in triumph to the forecastle. The only fellow glad to go “to sarve him Majesty”—I blush whilst I record it—was Massa Sambo, a good-humoured nigger, and a fine specimen of the mere animal man, who, having received more of what is vulgarly termed “monkey’s allowance” on board theRottenbeam Castlethan suited him, left us in a high glee, grinning, capering, slapping his hands and singing “Rule Britannia” in regular “Possum up a gum-tree” style, to the great amusement of us all.
Madras, from the roads, wore to me a very picturesque and interesting appearance; the long ranges of white verandahed buildings, the noble fort, with England’s meteor standard floating from the flag-staff, the beach, the blue sky, the cocoa-nut trees, the white wreaths of breaking surf, the shipping, the Massoolah boats, the native craft, all constituted a novel and strikingcoup d’œil, which fully realized what in imagination I had pictured it. Looking over the side, shortly after we had anchored, I perceived to my astonishment, a naked figure walking apparently on the surface of the sea, and rapidly approaching us. This was a catamaran man, the bearer of a despatch from the shore. His diminutive bark, three or four logs, half submerged, and on which he had ploughed through the surf, was soon alongside, and thebrown and dripping savage (for such he looked) scrambling on board. He sprung upon the deck, as a favourite opera-dancer bounds upon the stage, confident of an applauding welcome, and, making a ducking salaam, proceeded, in a very business-like manner, to disengage from his head a conical salt-basket sort of hat, from which, secured under a fold of linen, he produced his letters safe and dry; these with the words, “chit, sahib,” spoken in tones as delicate as the frame of the speaker, he immediately delivered to the captain. The arrival of this messenger caused a considerable sensation, and the griffs of all descriptions gathered round him, conning the strange figure with open mouths and wondering eyes. The ladies, too (stimulated by curiosity), rushed to the cuddy door to have a peep at him, but made a rapid retreat on perceiving the paradisiacal costume of our hero. I shall never forget Miss Olivia’s involuntary scream, or Miss Dobbikins’ expression of countenance, on suddenly confronting this little swarthy Apollo:—
Horror in all his majesty was there,Mute and magnificent without a tear.
Horror in all his majesty was there,Mute and magnificent without a tear.
Horror in all his majesty was there,Mute and magnificent without a tear.
Horror in all his majesty was there,
Mute and magnificent without a tear.
Our admiration of the catamaran man had hardly subsided when a far more extraordinary character made his appearance. “Avast there, my hearties!” sounded the rough voice of a seaman, “and make way for the commodore.” As he spoke, the crowd of sailors and recruits opened out, and his Excellency Commodore Cockle, chief of the catamarans, was seen advancing in great state from the gangway. This potent commander, who, by the way, had performed his toiletin transitu, after passing through the surf, was attired in an old naval uniform coat, under which appeared his naked neck and swarthy bosom; a huge cocked-hat, “which had seen a little service,” a pair of kerseymere dress shorts, without stockings, and a swinging hanger banging at his heels, made up as strange a figure of the genus scarecrow as I ever remember to have seen out of a cornfield.
“By the powers, Pat, and what have we here?” said Mick Nolan, one of the recruits, to his comrade Pat Casey.
“Faith,” says Pat, “and myself can’t tell ye, unless ’tis one of themInginerajahs, or ould Neptune himself, that should have been after shaving us off the line.”
“Devil a bit,” rejoined Mick; “I’m thinking it’s something of anAisternGuy Fawkes, that’s going to play off some of his fun amongst us.”
Thus speculated the jokers, whilst the commodore, fully impressed with a sense of his importance, swaggered about the deck with all the quiet pride of a high official, putting questions, and replying to the queries of old acquaintance. Alas! poor human nature! thou art everywhere essentially the same. Dear to thee is a little power and authority in any shape, and thou exhibitest thy “fantastic tricks” as much in the bells and feathers of the savage, as under the coif of the judge, or the ermine of the monarch! The “Commodore,” to whom the English cognomen of “Cockle” had been given, exercised his high functions under a commission furnished him by some wag, but of which he was quite as proud as if it had emanated from royalty itself. It was couched in the properlingua technicaof such instruments, and commenced in something like the following manner: “Know all men by these presents, that our trusty and well-beloved Cockle is hereby constituted Commodore and Commander of the Catamaran Squadron, and duly empowered to exercise all the high functions thereunto appertaining. The aforesaid Cockle is authorized to render his services to all parties requiring them, on their paying for the same. All captains and commanders of his Majesty’s and the Honourable Company’s ships, and of all other ships and vessels whatsoever, are hereby required and directed to take fruit, fish, eggs, &c., from the said Cockle (if they think fit), on their paying him handsomely in the current coin of the realm, &c.”
The next day the passengers went ashore; officers full fig; ladies, civilians, and cadets, all in their best attire, crowding the benches of the Massoolah boat, and balancing, and holding on as best they could. Of all sea-going craft, from the canoe of the Greenlander to the line-of-battle-ship, the Massoolah boat is, perhaps, one of the most extraordinary. Imagine a huge affair, something in shape like one of those paper cock-boats which children make for amusement, or an old-fashioned tureen, or the transverse section of a pear or pumpkin, stem and stern alike, composed of light and flexible planks, sewn together with coir, and riding buoyant as a gull on the heaving wave, the sides rising six feet or so above its surface, the huge empty shell crossed by narrow planks or benches, on which, when seated, or rather roosted, your legs dangle in air several feet from the bottom: further, picture in the fore-part a dozen or more spare black creatures, each working an unwieldy pole-like paddle to a dismal and monotonous chant—and you may have some idea of a Massoolah boat and its equipage; the only thing, however, that can live in the tremendous surf that lashes the coast of Coromandel.
“Are you all right there, in the Massoolah boat?” shouted one of the ship’s officers.
“Ay, ay, sir,” responded a little middy in charge of us.
“Cast her off then,” said the voice; and immediately the connecting rope was thrown on board, and off we swung, gently rising and falling on the long undulations, which were soon to assume the more formidable character of bursting surges. As we advance, I honestly confess, though I put a bold face on it, I felt most confoundedly nervous, being under serious apprehensions that one of the many sharks I had just seen would soon have the pleasure of breakfasting on a gentleman cadet,cote-lettes à la Griffin, no doubt, if gastronomy ranks as an art amongst that voracious fraternity. On approaching the surf, the boatmen’s monotonous chant quickened toa wildulluloo. We werein medias res. I looked astern, and there, at some distance, but in full chase, advanced a curling mountain-billow, opening its vast concave jaws, as if to devour us. On, on it came. “Ullee! ullee! ullee!” shouted the rowers; smash came the wave; up flew the stern, down went the prow; squall went the ladies, over canted the major, Grundy, and the ex-resident, while those more fortunate in retaining their seats held on with all the energy of alarm with one hand and dashed the brine from their habiliments with the other. The wave passed, and order a little restored, the boatmen pulled again with redoubled energy, to make as much way as they could before the next should overtake us. It soon came, roaring like so many fiends, and with nearly similar results. Another and another followed, till, at last, the unwieldy bark, amidst an awful bobbery, swung high and dry on the shelving beach; and out we all sprung, right glad once more to feel ourselves onterra firma, respecting which, be it observed,en passant, I hold the opinion of the Persian, that a yard of it is worth a thousand miles of salt-water.
Here then was I at last, in very truth, treading the soil of India—of that wondrous, teaming, and antique land, the fertile subject of my earliest thoughts and imaginations—that land whose “barbaric pearl and gold” has stimulated the cupidity of nations down the long stream of time, from Sabæan, Phœnician, Tyrian, and Venetian, to Mynheer Van Stockenbreech, and honest John Bull himself—whose visionary luxuries have warmed full many a Western poet’s imagination, and whose strange vicissitudes have furnished such ample matter to adorn the moralist’s and historian’s pages.
As I gazed on the turbaned crowds, the flaunting robes, the huge umbrellas, the passing palankeens, the black sentinels, the strange birds, and even (pardon the climax) the little striped squirrels, which gambolled up and down the pillars of the custom-house—sights so new and strange to me,—I almost began to doubt myown identity, and to think I had fallen into some new planet. Assuredly, of all the sunny moments which chequer the path of life’s pilgrimage here below, there are few whose brightness can compare with those of our first entrance on a new and untrodden land. What music is there in every sound! What an exhilarating freshness in every object! The peach’s bloom, the butterfly’s down, or the painted bubble, however, are but types of them. Alas! as of all sublunary enjoyments, they vanish upon contact, or at best, bear not long the grasp of possession.
My feelings were still in a state of tumultuous excitement, when, gazing about, I observed a native, in flowing robes and large gold ear rings, bearing down upon me. With a profound salaam, and the smirking smile of an old acquaintance, he proceeded to address me:
“How d’ye do, Sare?” said he.
“Pretty well, thank you,” said I, smiling; “but who are you?”
“I, Ramee Sawmee Dabash, Sare, come to make master proper compliment. Very glad to see master safe on shore; too much surf, I think, and master’s coat leetle wet.”
“Not a little,” said I, “for we have all had a complete sousing.”
“Oh, never mind souse, Sare; I take to Navy Tavern there makee changee—eat good dinner. Navy Tavern very good place—plenty gentlemen go there.”
“Where you please,” said I; “I am at your service.”
“Ver well, Sare; but (in a tone of entreaty) you please not forget my name, Ramee Sawmee Dabash—master’s dabash—I amverhonest man; too much every gentleman know me.”
Here Ramee Sawmee unconsciously spoke the truth, as I had afterwards full occasion to discover. I was soon besieged with more of these gentry offering their services; but Ramee Sawmee, having the best right to pluck me, by reason of prior possession, ordered themoff indignantly; and not to incur risks by unnecessary delays, he called a palankeen, and requested me to get into it. In I tumbled, wrong side foremost, and off we started for the Navy Tavern. He ran alongside, not wishing to lose sight of me for a moment, pouring his disinterested advice into my ear in one voluble and continuous stream.
“Master, you please take care; dis place,” said he, “too much dam rogue, this Madras; plenty bad beebee, and some rascal dabash ver much cheatee gentlemen. I give master best advice. I ver honest man.”
I thought myself singularly fortunate, in the simplicity of my griffinish heart, in having fallen in with so valuable a character; but, in the sequel, as has been before hinted, I discovered what, I dare say, many a griff had discovered before, that Ramee Sawmee had a little overestimated himself in the above particular article of honesty.
Sweltering through a broiling sun, and abundance of dust, we reached the Navy Tavern, a building somewhat resembling, if I recollect rightly, one of our own green verandah’d suburban taverns, in which comfortable cits dine and drink heavy wet in sultry summer evenings. Here I found a vast congregation of naval and military officers, red coats and blue; mates, midshipmen, pursers, captains, and cadets; some playing billiards, some smoking, and others drowning care in bowls of sangaree, in which fascinating beverage, by the way, with guavas, pine-apples, &c., I also indulged, till brought up, some time after, by a pleasant little touch of dysentery, which had nearly produced a catastrophe; amongst the dire consequences of which would have been the non-appearance of these valuable Memoirs. From the Navy Tavern, Grundy and I went the next day to the quarters appointed for young Bengal officers detained at Madras. These consisted of some tents pitched in an open sandy spot, within the fort, and presented few attractions; besides some small ones for dormitories, there was alarger one dignified with the appellation of the mess-tent. Here, at certain stated hours, a purveyor, denominated a butler, but as unlike “one of those gentlemanly personages so called at home as can well be imagined, placed breakfast, tiffin, and dinner, on table at so much ahead. For two or three days I revelled in the delights of sour Madeira, tough mutton, and skinny kid, with yams, and other miserable succedanea for European vegetables. An Egyptian plague of flies, and a burning sun beating through the single cloth of the tent, made up the sum of the agreeables to which we were subjected. My faith in the “luxuries of the East” had received a severe shock, and I was fast tending to downright infidelity on that head, when a big-whiskered fellow, with turban, badge, and silver stick, put a billet into my hand, which was the means of soon restoring me to the pale of orthodoxy. It was from an eccentric baronet, to whom I had brought letters and a parcel from his daughter in England, and ran thus:
“Col. Sir Jeremy Skeggs presents his compliments to Mr. Gernon, and thanks him for the care he has taken of the letters, &c., from his daughter. Mrs. Hearty, Sir J. Skeggs sister, will be happy to see Mr. G., and will send a palankeen for him.”
I packed up my all (an operation soon effected), got into an elegant palankeen, which made its appearance shortly after the note, and escorted by a body of silver-stick men (for Mr. Hearty was “a man in authority”), I bade adieu to the tents, and leaving Grundy and some other cadets, though with a strong commiserative feeling, to struggle with the discomforts I have mentioned, was conveyed at a slapping pace to my host’s garden residence, on the Mount Road. This was a flat roofed building, in the peculiar style of the country, of two stories—a large portico occupying nearly the whole length of the front. It was approached by a long avenue of parkinsonias, and surrounded, and partly obscured, by rich masses of tropical foliage, in which thebright green of the plantain contrasted pleasingly with the darker hues of the mango and the jack. Beyond the house stretched a pleasant domain, slightly undulating, dotted with clumps, and intersected by rows of cocoa-nut trees. Here it constituted one of my chief pleasures to saunter, to chase the little striped squirrels up the trees, or to watch the almost as agile ascent of the toddyman, as he mounted by a most simple contrivance the tall and branchless stems to procure the exhilarating juice; or to pelt the paroquets, as they clung screaming to the pendent leaves. To possess a parrot of my own, in England, had long constituted one of the unattainable objects of my juvenile ambition. I had longed so much for it, that an inordinate idea of the value of parrots had clung to me ever since. To see them, therefore, by dozens, in their wild state, was like in some measure spreading out before me the treasures of Golconda.
Mr. Hearty met me at the entrance, shook me very cordially by the hand, and taking me into the apartment where his wife and several other ladies were sitting, he presented me to the former, by whom I was very graciously received.
“Mr. Gernon, my love,” said he, “whom your brother, Sir Jeremy, has been so kind as to introduce to us.”
“We are very glad indeed to see you,” said the lady, rising and taking my hand, “and hope you will make this house your home whilst the ship remains.” I profoundly bowed my thanks.
“Mr. Hearty, my dear, will you shew Mr. Gernon his room—he may wish to arrange his things—and then bring him back to us?”
This was cordial and gratifying. I am apt to generalize from a few striking particulars. So I set the Madrassees down at once as polished and hospitable in the extreme—a perfectly correct inference, I believe, however precipitately formed by me on that occasion. Mr. Hearty was a fine, erect, fresh old gentleman, of aristocratic mienand peculiarly pleasing address. His manners, indeed, were quite of what is termed the old school, dignified and polished, but withal a little formal; far superior, however, to modernbrusquerie, and that selfishness of purpose which, too often disdaining disguise, sets at nought the “small courtesies” which so greatly sweeten existence. His wife, much his junior, was a handsome woman of eight-and-twenty, gay and lively, and apparently much attached to her lord, in spite of the disparity of their years. He, in fact, was one of those rarely-seen well-preserved old men, of whom a young woman might be both proud and fond. My host lived in the good old style of Indian hospitality, of which absence of unnecessary restraint, abundance of good cheer, and the most unaffected and cordial welcome, constituted the essential elements.
In India, from various causes, perhaps sufficiently obvious, the English heart, naturally generous and kind, has or had full room for expansion; and the “luxury of doing good,” in the shape of assembling happy faces around the social board, can be enjoyed, without, as too frequently the case here, the concomitant dread of outrunning the constable, or trenching too deeply on the next day’s quantum of hashed mutton. Certainly, our close packing in these densely populated lands may give us polish, but it rubs off much of the natural enamel of our virtues.
Mr. Hearty’s house was quite Liberty Hall, in its fullest meaning. Each guest had his bedroom, where he could read, write, or doze; or if he preferred it, he could hunt squirrels, shoot with a rifle, as my friend, the Scotch cadet, and I did; sit with the ladies in the drawing room and play the flute, or enjoy any other equally intellectual amusement, between meals, at which the whole party, from various quarters, were wont to assemble, rubbing their hands, and greeting in that warm manner, which commonly results where people have been well employed in the interim, and not had too much of eachother’s company. Mr. Hearty’s house was full of visitors from all points of the compass.
There was a captain of cavalry and lady, from Bangalore; a very dyspeptic-looking doctor from Vizagapatam; a missionary, bent on making the natives “all samo master’s caste,” through the medium of his proper vernacular; a strapping Scotch artillery cadet, before alluded to, some six feet two, and who was my particular friend and crony, with several others, birds of passage like myself. Amongst these, to my great delight and astonishment, I found the lovely Miss Olivia and her sister. Now, then, reader, prepare yourself for one of the most soul-stirring and pathetic passages of these Memoirs. Shade of Petrarch, I invoke thee! spirit of Jean Jacques, impart thy aid, whilst in honest but tender guise I pour forth my “confessions.” Yes, as an honest chronicler of events, I am bound to tell it—the candour of a griffin demands that it should out. I fell over head and ears in love—’twas a most violent attack I had, and I think I was full three months getting the better of it. It would be, however, highly derogatory to the dignity of that pleasing passion, were I to trail the account of its manifestations at the fag end of a chapter; I shall, therefore, reserve my confessions of the “soft impeachment,” and my voyage to Calcutta, for the next.