Mr. Crawford, the Commissioner, appeared about eight o'clock, with several carriages, and kindly insisted upon our spending the day at his house, which, I need scarcely say, was a very pleasant plan. He first took us for a drive round the city to the Government House, called Ganesh Khind, where the Governor of Bombay lives for several months in the year. It was delicious to stroll about the charming grounds, but it was equally pleasant to return to breakfast at the Commissioner's bungalow, which stands on the banks of the Mula River. Mr. Crawford is a great horticulturist, and has surrounded his dwelling with a beautiful garden, filled with a profusion of all sorts of acclimatised plants, flowers, trees, and fruits. The crotons, dracaenas, and ferns seemed particularly fine, and two arcades of bamboo trellis leading from the house to the river-bank made very pretty features in the sylvan scene.

A poultry-yard stands next to the garden, filled at this moment by a great many fowls, all ready for the Poultry Show next week. I had heard of this Show a few weeks ago, and was much pleased to see some of my own birds, which I had sent for from the yacht, holding their own against fine specimens from all parts of the world. They had, of course, originally been brought from England for the prosaic purpose of forming an addition to our larder, a fate from which they have happily escaped, as they will not now return to the 'Sunbeam.' There was also a miniature zoological-garden, containing a numerous collection of deer and smaller animals, including a sweet little monkey, with which the children, of course, immediately fell in love.



At breakfast we had the unexpected pleasure of meeting our old friends Major and Mrs. Hannay. He is now aide-de-camp to the Duke of Connaught, and, directly our meal was over, he had to hurry off to look after the preparations for the ball which is to be given by H.R.H. to-night in honour of the Jubilee. The date of this ball was only fixed twenty-four hours ago, and there is naturally a great deal to be done, though people in India seem to take these sudden arrangements quite as a matter of course. The Duke and Duchess of Connaught had graciously telegraphed to Hyderabad to ask us to stay at Poonah for the ball; so, though difficult to manage, we have decided to remain for the earlier part at any rate, and to leave by the 11 P.M. train, which will bring us to Bombay early to-morrow morning.

After the usual siesta and five o'clock tea, I went with the Commissioner to attend a meeting of the ladies' committee of the Poultry Show, held in a tent on the spot where the Show is to take place. All the arrangements seemed excellent, and there was nothing for me to do but to express warm approval. We then went for a short drive through the principal streets of Poonah, which includes a picturesque native town, besides charming suburbs where the bungalows are half buried in gardens. The well-known Bund Road, surrounded by hills, has been so often and so well described that it would be absurd for me to attempt to say anything about it after the hasty glimpse caught during the pleasant drives of this morning and afternoon.

Directly after dinner we went in an open carriage to the ball at the Gymkhana. The bright lights and lamps of a long row of carriages waiting outside made a pretty and animated scene as we drove up. The guests were received at the entrance to the ball-room by the Duke and Duchess of Connaught. H.R.H. danced the first quadrille with me, and the next two with Mabelle and Maude Laurence. We were pressed to prolong our stay until to-morrow; this was, unfortunately, impossible, for we are already overdue in Bombay. At a quarter to eleven I left the ball-room, and the young ladies followed shortly afterwards. We went straight to the station, and, re-entering the train, were again shunted on to the main line, starting at last on the final stage of our journey to Bombay.



CHAPTER III.

BOMBAY.

I looked out of the carriage window for some time upon the distant ghauts, and the nearer and fantastically shaped rocks with their tropical vegetation, now bathed in moonlight, until at last I happily dropped off to sleep, and remember nothing more until we reached Bombay at 7 A.M.

There we found Mr. Kindred and the men from the yacht waiting to meet us. Leaving them to look after the luggage, the Doctor and I got our two invalids into gharries, and drove at once to Malabar Point to stay with the Governor and Lady Reay. Tom shortly afterwards appeared and surprised us by his description of the unprecedentedly quick run of the 'Sunbeam' from Kurrachee. Then Lady Reay and Captain Hamilton came to welcome us, having just returned from their morning ride. Breakfast over, the rest of the morning was busily spent in writing and in getting things into order.

In the afternoon we drove with Captain Hamilton along the Breach Candy road to the famous Towers of Silence, or Parsee cemetery, where we were met by Sir Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy's secretary, who conducted us over this most interesting place and explained fully the Parsee method of disposing of their dead and the religious motives which led to its adoption. Much as the explanation interested me, I will not repeat it here; but I must notice the beauty of the view from the Prayer-rooms, and the solemn stillness of the garden below, where the relatives of the departed come to talk peacefully over their memories. However admirable the arrangement may be from a sanitary point of view, I never could get reconciled to the presence of the vultures, though they were not at all unpicturesque, for their unwieldy copper-coloured bodies contrasted well with the massive and brilliant foliage.

From the Towers of Silence we drove in a kind of quadruple dog-cart, with four seats facing alternately outwards, forwards, and backwards, and drawn by a fiery pair of horses, through the native town to the yacht. The view from the road, cut, as it is, in the side of the Malabar hill, was both beautiful and striking. It looks down upon a perfect sea of palm-leaves, gently waving in the breeze, which conceal, save where the tower of some tall building peeps forth, a city of more than 800,000 inhabitants.



Four o'clock of the morning of February 16th found me in the verandah outside our bungalow, listening to the roaring of the cannon, which ushered in the day on which was to be celebrated in India the Jubilee of Victoria, its Queen and Empress. The hours are early here, and at a quarter to eight Lady Reay, Captain Gordon, Tom, and I started to 'assist' at the grand ceremony at the Town Hall, followed later by the Governor and his aides-de-camp. As we neared the city the crowd became greater, everyone being dressed in holiday attire, and all apparently in a great state of enthusiasm and excitement. It looked like a many-tinted bed of flowers; for the Parsee ladies, unlike their Mahomedan and Hindoo sisters, have no dislike to display their toilettes in public, and are always clad in the gayest colours, arranged with perfect taste. The only specially distinctive mark in their costume is a rather unbecoming white band drawn tightly over the brow. In many cases, however, this had been judiciously pushed back so far as nearly to disappear under the bright-coloured silk sari which only partly concealed their jet-black and glossy tresses. Every Parsee has to wear the sacred shirt of cotton gauze, and the Kusti, or cord of seventy-two woollen threads, representing, like the divisions of the Towers of Silence, the numbers of the chapters of one of the sacred books.

Near the Town Hall the scene became still more animated, and the applause of the multitude, though much more subdued in tone than the roar of an English crowd, was quite as enthusiastic. The men from H.M.S. 'Bacchante' lined the approaches to the building, and the Bombay Volunteers acted as a guard-of-honour. We were ushered into the gallery, where chairs were placed for Lady Reay and myself close to the Governor's throne. The sight from this 'coign of vantage' was indeed imposing. Immediately in front stretched a fine flight of steps, covered with red cloth, and crowded with European and native officials in every variety of costume. The approach to the steps was through a pretty garden, where the wealth of tropical vegetation was set off by flags and gaily coloured banners. A dense crowd of natives ringed this enclosure round, whilst lofty houses, their gaily draped balconies and windows filled with bright and happy faces, made a brilliant background. Presently the Governor was seen approaching, escorted by his own bodyguard and a company of mounted volunteers (now called the Bombay Light Horse), who looked very picturesque and soldierlike as they dashed through the crowd. All dismounted at the west entrance to the garden, where a procession was formed, at the head of which the Governor advanced and, amid a flourish of trumpets, took his stand in front of the throne to receive the addresses and telegrams presented by, or on behalf of, various classes of the community in the Bombay Presidency. No less than fifty-eight congratulatory telegrams from public bodies in the Mofussil had been received, and, after leave asked and granted, a number of deputations were introduced, who presented their documents enclosed in handsome caskets or in kincob bags. Almost the first telegram came from his Highness Aga Sultan Mahomed Shah, a potentate who is regarded by his followers with great awe and reverence. Then followed a message from the Rao of Cutch, enclosed in a beautifully embroidered bag, succeeded by many others. Fortunately all save two were 'taken as read,' the exceptions being the address presented by the inhabitants of Bombay and by the Senate of the University. The presentation of the caskets, some of which were quite works of art, occupied a long, long time. One casket seemed to be covered with a sort of lacework of ivory and ebony, and was still further ornamented by wreaths studded with gold and exquisitely modelled figures of elephants and wild beasts. Others, again, were of ebony profusely inlaid with silver.



The Governor's replies to the addresses were most happy, and evidently touched the feelings of his hearers. As he uttered his final words two young middies, perched on a dangerous-looking corner of the parapet, scrambled on to the roof, and, at a given signal, smartly unfurled an immense Royal Standard, amid the thunder of an imperial salute of 101 guns. The effect of the whole scene was deeply impressive, as well as suggestive. I have seen many ceremonies both at home and abroad, but never one more picturesque or of more thrilling interest.

From the town hall we went, still in procession, to the cathedral, which stands close to the Elphinstone Garden, where a musical service was held. 'God save the Queen' was magnificently rendered, and the two specially written verses which were added to the National Anthem were most effective.

After service the Governor and Lady Reay, with their aides-de-camp, in one carriage, and we in another, returned to Malabar Point, where we were only too glad to put off our finery and rest quietly indoors until half-past four, precisely at which hour we had to resume our war-paint and go, again in procession, to Parel, to meet their Royal Highnesses, the Duke and Duchess of Connaught. The road lay through the poorer part of the city, but was made gay and interesting by the crowd of people through which we passed, and by the preparations which all were busily making to take part in the Jubilee.

Parel is the official residence of the Governor of Bombay; much larger than, but not nearly so agreeable as, the house at Malabar Point; however, each successive Governor appears to entertain a different opinion on this subject, and Lord Reay's predecessor preferred Parel. The garden, with its fine trees and luxuriant vegetation, is pretty, but not very private; for a Hindoo house, much used for marriages, stands on one side of the tank which borders it, while the tramway almost touches it on the other. The house itself, originally a Portuguese chapel and monastery, is three-storeyed, and contains some fine spacious rooms. The present Governor intends to give up Parel for the use of the Victoria Technical Institute till a more suitable building can be found.

In the adjoining bungalow a substantial tea, with all sorts of cooling drinks, was temptingly arranged among masses of flowers and greenery. The servants from Malabar Point seemed to have arrived by magic, and their picturesque liveries added much to the brilliancy of the scene. The refreshments proved not to be by any means useless, for the Duke and Duchess of Connaught had commenced the day at Poonah by inspecting the troops on horseback at 7 A.M.; and this was closely followed by the opening of the Poultry Show and several other functions, to say nothing of a railway journey of six hours in the heat of the day from Poonah to Bombay.

In a pleasant, informal way, we were then told off to carriages from which to see the illuminations, an escort of cavalry and of the bodyguard being provided to prevent, as far as possible, our small procession being broken up by the crowd. In the suburbs the illuminations were general but simple in design. There was a more pretentious display in front of the Veterinary Hospital, consisting of transparent pictures of horses and cows. This hospital was established by Sir Dinshaw Manockjee Petit, one of the largest mill-owners of Bombay, who has received the honour of knighthood as a Jubilee gift.



Presently the crowd became more numerous, and began to run alongside the carriages, shouting, and carrying blue lights, a compliment with which we could well have dispensed; for the smoke, the clouds of powder which they occasionally threw into the air, the dust raised as they rushed along, and the general heat and want of air in the narrow streets, had a stifling effect. The illuminations were not only artistically beautiful, but afforded a proof that members of every religion and class had united to do honour to their Sovereign. Among the most striking buildings were a Mahomedan Mosque, the lines of which were clearly defined against the starlit sky by rows of pure white lanterns; a Hindoo temple, where court within court was lighted in a simple and effective manner by butties filled with cocoa-nut oil; and several Jain temples brightly illuminated with coloured lights. In the native quarter the houses were lighted up in the peculiar Indian fashion by chandeliers suspended from the windows or across the streets—perhaps the most wonderful part of the scene.

After driving through the crowded streets we proceeded to the Apollo Bunder—now officially called the Wellington Pier—to witness the illumination of the harbour and the grand display of fireworks. The harbour, with its thousands and thousands of twinkling lights, was a sight to be remembered. Even the little 'Sunbeam,' though somewhat overshadowed by the huge 'Bacchante,' displayed with good effect a row of coloured lights from stem to stern.

As we drove home we much admired the illumination of the public gardens on the Malabar Hill. The name 'Victoria' was written in lines of fire on its steep slopes, and was reflected with beautiful effect in the still waters of the bay.

Just before reaching home the horses in our carriage took to jibbing, and after nearly being precipitated over a wall and down an embankment we thought it better to get out and walk, which made us rather late for dinner. We were not alone in misfortune, however, for another of the carriages had collided with a tramcar; and a horse in yet another vehicle, in which the A.D.C.'s were driving, severely injured itself.

The next morning (Thursday, February 17th) we were all rather late—that is to say, for this part of the world. Personally, I began to work between seven and eight o'clock, and consequently got through a good deal before breakfast. Afterwards a succession of visitors arrived, friendly, complimentary, and on business, among the latter being many tradesmen, anxious to press their wares upon us. The verandah was soon crowded by box-wallahs, who squatted in the midst of their piles of brilliantly coloured silks, gauze, and muslins, or arrived laden with specimens of heavy lacquered-work, carved ivory, sandal-wood, Poonah inlaid work, arms, and jewels. A verandah at the back of the chief bungalow, containing the reception-rooms, had meanwhile been completely filled by a long table, on which was displayed a magnificent collection of jewels belonging to a well-known jeweller and diamond merchant. Brilliants of the size of walnuts were there by the dozen, side by side with huge emeralds; bracelets composed of hundreds of shining gems; a tiara of diamonds formerly belonging to the Empress of the French; rings with precious stones of such dimensions that none but a large finger could wear them; and altogether such a mixture of Oriental and European splendour, and ancient and modern fashions, as one would scarcely have imagined it possible to collect together. We made no purchases, but the wealthy jeweller was quite pleased to have the opportunity of displaying his splendid wares. A compliment from the Governor seemed to satisfy him completely; and before we had been five minutes at lunch the whole of his valuable stock was stowed away in two or three common-looking little boxes, tied up in cloth, and so transported back to his strong box. I do not profess to be a judge of jewels, but those who knew more of such things than I did estimated the value of the collection at over a million sterling.

Early in the afternoon I had to hurry off to the yacht to receive a large party on board. In the evening a ball was given by the Governor at Malabar Hill. It was a brilliant entertainment in celebration of the Jubilee.



Everything had been well arranged: the drawing-room with its perfect floor formed a beautiful ball-room, whilst in both verandahs stood plenty of sofas and lounges. On each side of the house the garden paths leading to the water's edge were illuminated, fireworks being discharged from boats at intervals. The ships in the harbour were also dressed with fire instead of bunting. Above all, the air felt deliciously cool. On one side of the house bountiful supper-tables, decorated with large baskets of flowers, had been laid out under awnings spread beneath the trees. The band was perfect, and though the ball was by no means over at that hour, it must have been quite three o'clock before we all retired.

On Friday, February 18th, we had another busy morning, making various arrangements for sea. Mr. McLean had been pronounced well enough to go home by to-day's P. & O. steamer, which he was anxious to do, for he is to row in the Oxford Eight. Pratt, the steward, who has been with us during our journey through India, has been unwell for some time past, and is therefore recommended by the Doctor to return at the same time. We had always intended to send home my dear and clever poodle 'Sir Roger' from Bombay; his place on the steamer had been secured, and all his little belongings sent on board. Mabelle and I went off to the yacht in the morning. About three o'clock Tom arrived, and at once went off with Mr. McLean and Pratt. They found 'Sir Roger' already established on board the steamer, but looking so utterly miserable that, knowing well how sorry we were to part with him, Tom insisted on bringing him back again. The poor dog has seemed quite crestfallen for some days past, and yesterday, instead of remaining quietly in my room at Government House, as he always does when I go out without him, he escaped and hid himself under the Governor's chair, only giving occasional notice of his presence by a short, nervous bark.

After the departure of the steamer Mabelle and I had only just sufficient time to reach Government House to be present at Lady Reay's purdah party, to which only ladies are admitted. The entertainment derives its name from the purdah, or curtain, behind which Mahomedan and Hindoo ladies are supposed to live, veiled from the sight of men. Lady Reay's visitors were all dressed in their best, and seemed full of delight at this pleasant incident in their monotonous life; but their ways of showing enjoyment were various and amusing. Some wanted only to look on; others were glad to talk to any English lady who could converse with them, while others again were much taken up with the sweetmeats and ices. The behaviour of two ladies amused me immensely. Their servant having awkwardly upset and broken a glass, spilling the contents on the floor, they immediately flew at her and slapped her so hard that the sound of the blows could be plainly heard all over the room. The woman did not seem to resent this treatment in the least, for she only laughed and proceeded to pick up the pieces.



Several of these ladies asked me to allow them to go on board the yacht; and when the others found that I had promised to try to make arrangements to preserve the purdah properly, they all wanted to come. I found, therefore, there was nothing for it but to give a large party on the only vacant day left to us before our departure from Bombay. Mrs. H. Ali was specially interested in the matter when she found that we intended to call, if possible, at Jinjeera on our way to Ceylon, and to see the Nawab, who has married her youngest daughter as his second wife.



Some of the dresses were quite gorgeous, and would take long to describe. The Parsees looked slim and graceful as Greek girls, their saris of bright satin or silk hanging in light folds and showing the strips of delicate narrow embroidery with which they were ornamented. The Hindoo ladies draped their saris around them; while the Mahomedans, with their bright-coloured trousers, skirts, and yashmaks, made a vivid contrast to the other guests. The skirts of some of the ladies were so full that they stuck out further than any crinoline ever seen, and must, I am sure, have had more than a hundred yards of satin in them. When it was time to leave, it was curious to see how closely all the ladies veiled. Some of the attendants were provided with bundles which proved to be immense veils. These they threw over their mistresses, shrouding completely both face and figure.

When this reception was over I had to dress and hurry down to the yacht to receive a party of my own friends, after which we all returned to Malabar Point to dinner.

The Byculla Club Ball, at which their Royal Highnesses the Duke and Duchess of Connaught were present, took place in the evening; a splendid affair, held in spacious well-arranged rooms.



Next morning early the children went for a ride with their father and Captain Hamilton, and after breakfast there arrived a continuous stream of box-wallahs and visitors until midday. The Guicowar of Baroda called to see the Governor, while Lady Reay and I sat in the verandah chatting with Captain Elliot, who has been till recently the Prince's tutor. The Guicowar speaks English well, not only correctly and fluently, but idiomatically. He is loyal to British rule, and the object of the present visit was to obtain a further supply of arms for his soldiers; it having been considered desirable policy to encourage him to form a large force of cavalry, which might be found valuable as auxiliaries. His adopted mother, too, is a remarkable woman. During the last Russian scare she offered to equip a band of Amazons for service in the field.

After this visit many preparations had to be made for resuming our voyage; but they were finished in time to allow Tom and me, accompanied by Mrs. Keating, Captain Hamilton, and the children, to drive down early in the afternoon to see the annual race-meeting at Byculla. The races are almost entirely in the hands of Arabs, and are as a rule well worth seeing.

One of the most interesting sights to me was a group of horse-dealers from Arabia and the Persian Gulf. They have handsome faces and clear olive complexions, soft silky hair and moustache, and beautifully trimmed beards. These picturesquely attired men import large quantities of horses into India, and easily sell them, either singly or in batches, to other dealers.

From the racecourse we drove to the Oval, where 15,000 schoolchildren were to be feasted in celebration of the Jubilee. Being rather late, we met many of them coming away singing hymns and songs.



After this short glimpse of the children's festival we hurried on board to receive the Duke and Duchess of Connaught at dinner, and the Governor and Lady Reay. Captain Moore kindly sent the band of the 'Bacchante' to play to us, and after dinner several middies from the flagship joined our little party. It was truly delightful to sit on deck in the cool evening breeze and listen to the sweet strains of the music. At half-past ten we embarked in the steam-launch to look at the fireworks and the illumination of the shipping.



February 20th.—Attended the beautiful evening service in the cathedral. The crew of the 'Sunbeam' accompanied us. The cool drive back to charming Malabar Point was most refreshing, and we enjoyed our quiet dinner and pleasant chat afterwards in the verandah, notwithstanding the sad reflection that it was our last evening with our dear and kind friends.

February 21st.—This morning the children went out early with a large riding party. After breakfast I had to hurry on board to make the final arrangements for the visit of the purdah ladies, and for our start this evening. It was rather a difficult matter to get our visitors on board the big steam-launch and other boats without visible masculine assistance; but all was accomplished safely and satisfactorily, and they mustered in great force. I think they all enjoyed this little expedition, with its novel experiences, greatly.

As soon as the last lady had departed we hurried off to attend the St. John's Ambulance Meeting at the Secretariate, at which the Governor kindly presided. I earnestly hope it may be the means of reviving in Bombay some interest in the rather languishing local branch of a very useful institution. Many influential people were present, including doctors, large mill-owners, railway and police officials, and employers of labour generally, all of whom appeared warmly disposed to support the movement.

Directly after this meeting, Tom, who had intended to go on board the yacht with Lord Reay, was carried off by the bishop to see the Sailors' Institute. I therefore returned to the 'Sunbeam' alone, to see to various matters, and, later on, went back to Government House, where, as is nearly always the case, we had to dress for dinner in a desperate hurry. There was a large party assembled, among others being Sir Lepel Griffin.

All too soon came the last parting; and, in a long procession of barouches, phaetons, tandems, and dog-carts, we drove down to the Bunder, descending the steps for the last time with Maude Laurence (who is shortly returning to England), Captain Hamilton, Mr. Herbert, Major Gilchrist, and several other friends who had come to see us off. It was a sad business.



CHAPTER IV.

BOMBAY TO GOA.

February 22nd.—We had been told that Jinjeera was seventy miles distant from Bombay. Our rate of progress being rather slow, we did not consult the chart until late in the afternoon, when we found great difficulty in making out the place at all. At last we discovered it, marked in the smallest of letters, close to the mouth of the Rajpoori River; Khassia, now in ruins, being on the opposite or north side. Instead of seventy, it proved to be only thirty-five miles from Bombay; so that we had actually overrun it. Knowing that we were expected, there was nothing to be done except to beat our way back against the wind during the night. It would have been a pleasant sail had it not been for the annoying loss of time which it involved.

Just before daybreak we saw the Rajpoori light, and the one at Kennery, twelve miles south of Bombay. About 9.30 A.M. the Nawab's brother came on board, and soon afterwards we proceeded to land. After rowing more than half round a curious island-fort, we arrived at the gateway, a small opening in the thick walls, where we were met by the Nawab himself, dressed in European costume, but wearing a red and gold turban, and surrounded by his native bodyguard.

The landing was rather difficult, for, owing to want of space, the boat had to be pushed in stern foremost. When this feat had been accomplished, some of the Nawab's followers brought chairs, and hoisted us with great dexterity to the top of the steps, where it was no easy matter to alight with the dignity proper to the occasion. Having received the salaams of the Nawab and returned his hearty welcome, we took a long walk all round the curious old fort of Jinjeera, built five hundred years ago. It contains many narrow passages designed for security, for they are entirely independent of the bastions, each of which is provided with its own little water-gate for the admission of supplies or the escape of the garrison in case of necessity. I found the walk very fatiguing owing to the heat, and so did many of the others.

The temperature would indeed have been unbearable but for an occasional puff of cooler air which reached us through the embrasures. Some of the guns were of Spanish manufacture, dated 1665, but most of them were lying useless on the ground. In no case would they avail much against modern ordnance; but the fort, owing to its natural advantages, would be difficult to attack. The present Nawab is of ancient descent, and one of his ancestors was an Admiral in the service of the Grand Mogul. At the time of the disruption of the Kingdom of Delhi the Nawab's State became independent, and has remained so ever since. He has about 70,000 subjects, in whose welfare he appears to take great interest. He has a shrewd face, is very English in appearance, and seems quite capable of looking after his own interests.[1]

[Footnote 1: The Nawab of Jinjeera is of Abyssinian descent, and is popularly called the Seedee or Hubshee, generic terms applied by natives of India to Africans. One of the Nawab's ancestors laid siege to Bombay Castle in 1688-9, and the English, being unable to dislodge him, were compelled to seek the intervention of the Emperor Aurungzebe to secure the withdrawal of his forces.]



It was delightfully refreshing to be able to rest in a spacious bungalow after our tour of the fort was over; and still more delicious was a curious sort of punkah, peculiar to the district, which fanned us pleasantly. The Nawab accompanied us on our return to the yacht, and afterwards sent us a most acceptable Nazir, or present, of two huge bunches of bananas, as well as other fruits and vegetables, besides milk and ghee.

The Nawab's second wife, whose mother we had met at Bombay, is a pretty little girl of about thirteen. She came on board to see us, but many precautions to preserve the purdah had to be taken. It was necessary to observe this custom in deference to the prejudices of her people rather than to those of her husband. She had never been on board a yacht before, and was naturally much interested in all she saw.

Soon after twelve we resumed our voyage to the southward before a deliciously cool breeze, which lasted for a considerable time. Further on, the coast seems to consist of a series of plateaux, varying in height from 200 to 600 feet, occasionally interrupted by a peak or a narrow strip of white beach, with here and there a small straggling town. At sunset we were off Ratnagiri, an ancient Mahratta fort connected with the mainland only by a narrow sandy neck. Its southern extremity is nearly 300 feet above the sea level, thus forming a headland, surmounted by a line of fortifications and bastions of great strength. The complete isolation of its position has doubtless caused it to be chosen as the place of detention of King Theebaw, who can have but little chance of escape. The entrance to the river lies to the eastward of the fort, and the intermediate space is covered with a luxuriant growth of cocoa-nut palms. The European station is to the northward, for the southern shore is rugged, and ends abruptly in cliffs and huge boulders. Small coasting steamers maintain as well as they can communication with the fort; but the approach is always difficult, and is almost impracticable during the south-west monsoon.



Mr. Crawford, who was formerly Commissioner here, had kindly given notice of our probable visit; for we had been anxious to land if possible to see something of King Theebaw, and to inspect the excellent industrial school established here. The district used formerly to be the great recruiting-ground for the Bombay army; but the young men now prefer entering the school, which, from one point of view, seems a pity. It was with much regret that, after having made preparations for landing, we were obliged to abandon the idea of doing so; for it became both late and dark, thus adding too much to the difficulties, and even dangers, of the proposed expedition. We therefore sailed slowly past, throwing up rockets at long intervals, to indicate that we were proceeding on our course.

As the evening wore on the breeze dropped, and during the night we made but little progress.

February 25th.—A calm and somewhat sultry night. Daylight brought a delicious and welcome sea-breeze, before which we sailed rapidly on our southward course. The morning was devoted to a general tidying up, preparatory to settling down for our long voyage.

Over the memory of the latter portion of this day I wish that I could draw a veil; but, sad as is the story, and little as I desire to dwell upon it, it must be told.

Travelling, visiting, and sight-seeing had so completely occupied our time in India, that I had found upon my return to Bombay a vast accumulation of letters from England and elsewhere requiring attention; and as it was far beyond my strength to deal with them without assistance, I considered myself fortunate in securing the services, as temporary secretary, of a gentleman whom we had met at Bombay, and who had been strongly recommended to us. Mr. Frank White was at that time engaged on the staff of the 'Bombay Gazette,' and, as Special Correspondent, had accompanied the present as well as the former Governor of Bombay upon their official tours. Now, however, he was about to leave India in order to take up an appointment on the staff of the 'Melbourne Argus,' and we, as a matter of mutual convenience, offered him a passage to Australia in the 'Sunbeam,' which he accepted, apparently, with delight. These brief facts will account for his presence on board the 'Sunbeam.'

At luncheon to-day Mr. White was cheerful and full of conversation, giving us an interesting description of the annual migration of the members of the Bombay Government to Poona during the season of rains and monsoons. We had, as usual, coffee, cigarettes, and a little gossip on deck before recommencing our quiet occupations of reading or writing. Mr. White strolled aft, and I soon became immersed in my book. Suddenly I perceived a change in the vessel's movement, as if the helmsman were neglecting his duties, and directly afterwards heard the thrilling cry of 'Man overboard!' Of course a great commotion ensued, the men rushing up from below, all eager to render assistance. I ran aft, whence the cry had proceeded, seizing a life-buoy as I passed, but found that one had already been thrown over by the man at the helm, who exclaimed, 'That gentleman,' meaning poor Mr. White, 'has jumped overboard.' A boat was lowered, a man was sent up to the cross-trees, another on to the deck-house to keep a look-out, and the ship was put about in an incredibly short space of time. In the meanwhile hasty preparation of hot bottles, blankets, and other remedies was made on board, in case the boat should happily be successful in her search. But although she rowed over the exact spot many times, and picked up Mr. White's helmet and the life-buoy, nothing more could be discovered.



The agonised interest with which that little boat was watched by all on board will always live in my memory. Two men had jumped into her just as they had rushed on deck, without shirts or hats to protect them from the burning sun. Another was preparing to spring overboard when he was forcibly restrained by Tom, who saw that it would by this time be utterly useless. All on board worked with a will to get the vessel round and to lower every stitch of sail; no easy matter with every kite set, and the yacht running from ten to twelve knots before the wind.

From letters left behind it was painfully clear that a determination of many days past had just been accomplished. It appeared that Mr. White had questioned the doctor—who little suspected his object—as to how long it would take to stop the vessel when running with studdingsails set before a strong breeze. The unhappy man had constantly complained of inability to sleep, and he had been seen on deck the previous night long after everyone else had gone to bed. Of the motive for the rash act it is impossible to form an opinion. Borne down by physical and mental suffering, he must have been overcome by a temporary aberration of intellect, which rendered him for the moment irresponsible for his actions. I need not dwell on the terrible shock which the dreadful catastrophe caused to our hitherto happy little party. The evening was a sad one, and not even the excitement of making the lights off Goa, bringing the ship up, and anchoring for the night, or the prospect of an interesting excursion to-morrow, could raise our spirits or dissipate the depression caused by the sad event of the afternoon.

February 26th.—Orders had been given for steam to be ready in the launch by six o'clock, so that we might get ashore soon after daybreak, and thus avoid the heat of the midday sun, which is now becoming quite a serious matter. But the painful duty of collecting and packing up all poor Mr. White's things to be sent back to Bombay had first to be performed, and it was nearly half-past seven before we were ready to land.



Just as we were starting, Mr. Norman Oliver, the Assistant Delegate at Goa, arrived alongside in his pretty little schooner yacht, of native design and build, but of English rig. He brought with him a very kind letter from Mr. H.D. Donaldson, the assistant engineer of the new Portuguese Railway, now in course of construction, to connect Goa with the English lines northward to Bombay and eastward to Madras. If only the inhabitants of Goa will make use of the new railway, it ought to be of the greatest value to them. Such, however, is their conservative disposition and so great is their pleasure in obstinately creating and maintaining, in the form of customs-duties, obstacles to commerce and free circulation, that it is considered probable that the railway will have to be continued some fifty miles to the southward, as far as the British port of Carwar, before any perceptible increase in the export of produce can be looked for. The line to Goa is now nearly completed, and will, it is hoped, be opened after the rains. Mr. Donaldson kindly proposed a tempting trip over it to the summit of the Sahyadri Mountains, or Ghats, which form the eastern boundary of the Portuguese territory. Unfortunately we are already so much behind our time that we shall have to press forward as quickly as wind and waves will allow, if we mean to adhere to the original plan of our voyage with anything like punctuality.

So many difficulties are thrown in the way of would-be visitors to the churches of Goa, that although Mr. Oliver had kindly sent his sepoy on to announce our arrival, and had written to the Administrador to ask leave, we were recommended to wait for an hour or two on board, to allow time for the necessary forms to be complied with. A refreshing sea-breeze was blowing, and at ten o'clock we decided to brave the sun and to proceed under the double awnings of the gig (towed by the steam-launch) across the bar and up the river towards Old Goa.

From the sea, the Portuguese settlement looks like a series of promontories, each crowned by a fort, with the river Mandovi in the centre, running up into the interior between richly wooded banks. Its coast-line is some sixty or seventy miles long from north to south, and its greatest breadth about thirty miles. The entire territory is hilly, and intersected by numerous rivers, of which the Mandovi is the most important. Both the ancient and modern cities of Goa have been built on its banks. The promontories of Bardez and Salsette protect a fine harbour, capable of accommodating vessels of the largest tonnage during the greater part of the year. The climate of Goa is generally healthy, though smallpox and cholera have from time to time broken out there with great virulence.



Never was any place so totally unlike what I had expected—in fact, it did not in the least correspond to the idea which any of us had formed about it. The palace of the Governor (who was for over three centuries called the Viceroy) stands in the city of Pangim, or New Goa, which, as I have already said, has been built on the river Mandovi, about five miles from its mouth. Curiously enough, the present Governor of Goa is our old friend Captain da Carvalho, who commanded the corvette 'Affonso Albuquerque' when she brought the King of Portugal to Plymouth last year, and lay alongside us for a fortnight in lovely Barn Pool, under the shadow of the Mount Edgcumbe trees. As we steamed over the bar and, aided by a strong flood-tide, quickly ascended the river, we next came to the pretty village of Raibandar, passing between low reedy banks fringed with cocoa-nut palms and other vegetation. The distant Ghats formed a fine background to the picture, which included several white-spired English-looking churches, perched here and there on convenient knolls. The inhabitants of the district, however, composed as they are of descendants of the original natives found here by the Portuguese conquerors at the beginning of the sixteenth century, with a subsequent slight admixture of European blood, bore no resemblance to the British type. Those whom we saw on the river wore scarcely any clothing, and paddled about in little canoes somewhat similar to those used in the South Sea Islands and Ceylon. These boats are extremely narrow, and are provided with an outrigger in the shape of an enormous rough block of wood, connected with the canoes by bent spars some four feet long.

After a pleasant voyage of about eleven miles in tow of the steam-launch, we were suddenly cast off at some steps leading to a small pier, in the midst of a large grove of palm-trees, and were told that we had reached our destination. But where was Goa? We were all expecting to see ruined palaces, churches, and houses; whereas all that was visible was one massive arch and gateway about a hundred yards distant, standing, like the Irishman's 'main gate,' in the centre of a field, with no wall on either side of it. Meaningless as it now looked, this was the celebrated Arco dos Vicereys, or Arch of the Viceroys, originally built in 1599, and composed of blocks of black granite, now partially whitewashed. Through this gateway each successive ruler of Goa passed on his way to the ancient capital; on which occasions it was always splendidly decorated. A statue of St. Catherine, patroness of the city of Goa, occupies an upper niche, while beneath her is a figure of Vasco de Gama, with features somewhat defaced by time. The facade used to be adorned with paintings representing incidents of the Portuguese war in the Indies; but they are now effaced by whitewash. The portico bears an inscription dedicating it to the Immaculate Conception, and commemorating the emancipation of Portugal from Spain in 1656.



By this time the heat had become so great that, finding no carriage was forthcoming, I had almost resolved to give up the idea of visiting the wonderful old palaces and churches which we had taken so much trouble to come and see; but Tom and the Doctor encouraged me to make an effort, and improvised a sort of carrying-chair for me. We accordingly proceeded up a steep hot road, through the aforesaid arch, to the Rua Direita, so called because it once led direct from the Palace of the Viceroys to the Church of Misericordia. The name has lost its meaning, for all that now remains of the splendid palace is a portion of the chief gateway, so small in extent that when we tried to take a photograph of it, the helmet of one of the gentlemen who chanced to stand some distance in front of the camera completely concealed it. Only 250 years ago the palace must have been the most conspicuous building in the city. At that time a large square stood in front of it to the south, surrounded by fine houses. A noble staircase led from this square to the principal hall of the palace, in which were hung pictures of most of the Portuguese ships which had come to India since the time of Vasco de Gama. In an inner hall the Viceroy, who then lived in a style of regal splendour, received ambassadors from the Indian princes, and transacted important business. Da Fonseca, in his historical and archaeological description of the City of Goa, states that the Viceroy rarely stirred out of his palace, except to make a royal progress through the city. 'A day previous to his appearance in public, drums were beaten and trumpets sounded, as a signal to the noblesse and gentry to accompany him on the following day. Accordingly, early in the morning about three or four hundred hidalgos and courtiers appeared in the Terriero do Paco, clad in rich attire, mounted on noble steeds with gold and silver trappings glittering with pearls and precious stones, and followed by European pages in rich livery.' The palace began to fall into decay when the city was abandoned; and although from time to time there was an idea of repairing it, the work was never seriously undertaken. In 1820 a considerable portion of the splendid building was ordered to be knocked down; and though the remainder stood for some time, even so lately as up to fifty or sixty years ago, it has gradually fallen to pieces, and its ruins are now covered with vegetation.

The small Church of S. Cajetan was the first place we visited after passing the entrance to the palace. It was built by some Italian friars in 1640, and so closely adjoins the palace that some travellers have referred to it as the Viceregal Chapel. The facade, with its Corinthian columns, and the fine cupola rising behind them, reminds one of St. Peter's at Rome in miniature. Outside the church, exposed to the full heat of the burning sun, a party of half-clad natives were scrubbing with soap and water some fine full-length oil portraits of past viceroys, governors, and archbishops, which had been removed from the sacristy for this purpose. Among them were those of Vasco de Gama, and of Affonso Albuquerque, the first European conqueror of Goa. The church had not yet been opened, so we waited in a long room in the adjacent convent, through which the sea-breeze blew with delicious coolness. After a short rest we went out into a balcony and looked with delight over a forest of tropical vegetation, to the blue river running swiftly through the trees, with the paler grey of the distant ghats beyond. When at last we gained admittance to the church, we much admired its graceful dome and the fine altar-piece in the principal chapel. Close to and in striking contrast with this grand painting stood a little group of scantily clothed natives, who had evidently taken advantage of the opportunity of inspecting the sacred edifice which our visit afforded. The windows of the church are made of small panes of the thin, semi-transparent inner scale of the pearl oyster, used in place of glass—a fashion still followed in many of the private houses of Goa. These shell windows, the materials for which must formerly have been very plentiful in the neighbourhood, admit a peculiarly soft and tender light.



From S. Cajetan we proceeded to the Cathedral of S. Caterina, one of the oldest buildings of Goa, and the only church in which daily religious service on a grand scale is now held. Albuquerque was the founder of this sacred edifice, which took seventy-five years to build, and has been well described as 'worthy of one of the principal cities of Europe.' Dr. Russell, visiting it with H.R.H. the Prince of Wales, speaks of its 'vast and noble proportions.' We were amazed by the richness of the materials, and the artistic beauty of the elaborate carving which met the eye in every direction. The vaulted ceiling, the mosaic covered side-chapels, and the high altar, near which stands the Archbishop's chair, are the features most worthy of attention. The cathedral is, indeed, a stately pile, the nave being over 70 feet high and 140 feet long, and the total length of the building more than 270 feet. The vestries and sacristies are full of rich vestments and valuable plate, now seldom seen except by a few priests, or an occasional foreign visitor like ourselves, or, at still rarer intervals, by the general public when a grand exhibition is held, to which the faithful flock in crowds. Even the exhibitions have been discontinued of late years, for it was found that the gathering together of a large concourse of people in so unhealthy a locality led to the spread of infectious disorders. The site of Old Goa is, indeed, terribly malarious. The Government having abandoned the city, it was deserted by everybody else, the finest houses, after standing empty for years, gradually falling to pieces, so that literally not one stone remains above another. Old Goa was one of the headquarters of the terrible Inquisition, and until comparatively recent days its most cruel decrees were there executed with stern and heartless rigour. The tower of the Cathedral of S. Caterina contains five bells, the largest of which, still in daily use, is the same which was formerly tolled on the occasion of the auto-da-fe. It was quite thrilling to listen to its deep knell, and to think that those same tones must have fallen upon the agonised ears of the poor victims of an odious tyranny.



Close to the cathedral once stood the Palace of the Inquisition, a vast and magnificent building, the space occupied by which is now filled with dense jungle. It is the home of venomous snakes, not to be met with in any other part of the island. Probably some special shrub or herb which they like grows there and nowhere else. From the cathedral we passed across an open space to visit the Church of Bom Jesus, containing the chapel and tomb of St. Francis Xavier, and a fine altar, in the centre of which stands a colossal image of St. Ignatius of Loyola. St. Francis (who died at Sanchan, in Malacca) rests in a crystal and silver coffin within a magnificent sarcophagus. The body, clad in the richest vestments, is said to be still, after the lapse of three centuries, in a wonderful state of preservation—a fact testified to by the chief surgeon of Goa in an official report made in 1859.

Never was there a city so unlike a city, or even the remains of one, as Old Goa, unless it were Palmyra. Goa is now, in fact, only a forest of palm-trees with patches of jungle here and there, made gay by tropical flowers, such as the scarlet coral-tree, the pimelia with its bright golden convolvulus-like flowers, and scarlet and apricot-yellow euphorbias. From this mass of vegetation the spire of a church rises or the tower of some ancient building occasionally peeps forth. No other traces of its bygone splendour could be seen, whether one looked upward from the level of the earth or downward from the roof of one of the few buildings which still remain.

On our return to the landing-place we found that the railway officials had kindly lent us their large steam-launch, in the cosy little cabin of which, sheltered by venetian blinds, we enjoyed our well-earned lunch, for it was now past three o'clock, and we had breakfasted soon after six. The sea-breeze blew refreshingly as we steamed down the river, and once clear of the land the heat was not at all oppressive.

Pangaum, or Nova Goa, is a nice clean-looking little town, of some 15,000 inhabitants, at the foot of a hill covered with palm-trees. It is of comparatively recent growth; for although the viceregal residence was transferred here from Old Goa in 1759, when a terrible epidemic broke out in that place, it was not until 1827 that any vigorous steps were taken to reclaim the land on which it now stands. In 1843 it was formally declared to be the capital of Portuguese India, and the Governor, the Archbishop, and other authorities and dignitaries now live there. The Causeway of Ribandar, which connects Pangaum with the city of that name, is a wonderful construction, nearly two miles in length, built in 1633 by order of the then Viceroy.

Only the gentlemen landed during our brief stay; and they soon returned from their stroll, having seen most of the objects of interest in the place. I had in the meantime occupied myself in taking some photographs—under somewhat difficult conditions, for the breeze was stiff and strong, and the steam-launch was by no means steady. As soon as we returned on board the 'Sunbeam' we were met by an extortionate demand on the part of the Portuguese officials—which, I am glad to say, was successfully resisted—for the payment of eighty rupees, in return for the privilege of anchoring in the roads without the aid of a pilot. Then we had to bid adieu to kind Mr. Norman Oliver, regretting much that time would not admit of our seeing more of him and making the acquaintance of his wife. The anchor was soon weighed, and the 'Sunbeam' once more spread her wings to the favouring breeze, before which we sailed so quickly, and at such an angle, that the more sensitive members of the party began to fancy it was rough, and would not come down to dinner. Later in the evening it was delightful to sit on deck and watch, by the light of the young crescent moon and the brilliant stars, the vessel racing along through the cool evening air.

In the course of the next day we passed Carwar, about fifty miles south of Goa, and one of the most interesting ports in India. Adjoining it is a backwater, such as are often met with on the south-west coast of India, along which it is possible to sail for many miles in a native boat with great comfort and ease. Further south is Honahwar, whence the famous Falls of Gairsoppa, in Mysore, can easily be reached. Just now the waters of the river Kauri are rather low; else, I think, we should have made an effort to visit the falls (which have a drop of 1,000 feet in one place) notwithstanding the shortness of the time and the difficulties of the journey, which can only be performed in rough country carts.

The wind was light all day; but the old 'Sunbeam' glided gracefully along, and made good progress through the hot air.

February 28th.—The sun becomes perceptibly more powerful each day. At noon we were off Mangalore, formerly a place of considerable importance, where the British forces have stood more than one siege. Like the rest of the ports on this coast, it has been deserted by trade, and has now fallen more or less into a state of decay and ruin.

We have now resumed our usual life-at-sea habits. In the morning we go on deck at a very early hour, to enjoy the exquisite freshness of the dawn of the tropical day. Tom and the Doctor help to man the pumps, sometimes assisted by the children, who appear to like the work of scrubbing decks as much as they did in the old days of our first long voyage round the world. Then we are most of us hosed. An open-air salt-water bath is a luxury not to be appreciated anywhere so thoroughly as in these tropical climates. After an early breakfast we settle down to our several occupations—the children to lessons, till it is time for sights to be taken and calculations made; Mr. Pritchett elaborates the sketches which he has made on shore during our recent wanderings; the Doctor makes himself generally useful, and has plenty of time to devote to this benevolent work, for at present he has hardly any patients. Later on he kindly gives the children a lesson in arithmetic, while Mr. des Graz, assisted by Prior, spends a considerable time in developing, printing, and toning the photographs which we have taken. I have always plenty to do in the way of writing, reading and general supervision. Often do I look wistfully at the many books which I long to read, and think regretfully of the letters and journal that ought to be written; but a good deal of time has to be spent in less interesting, and certainly more prosaic, work. In the afternoon there is more reading, writing, and lessons; and after tea there is a general taking off of coats by the gentlemen, a putting on of suitable costumes by the children, and a grand game of hide-and-seek and romps during the short twilights until the dressing-bell gives warning to prepare for dinner.

Landsmen can never know how delightful it is to be able to sit quietly on deck late in the evening, in the open air, without any tiresome wraps, and to enjoy the soft silvery light of the stars, scarcely dimmed by the brighter rays of the young moon. It is indeed a period of tranquil happiness. One is only agreeably fatigued by the exertions of the day; and one feels so soothed by the beauty and peacefulness of the scene as to be quite content to do absolutely nothing, and to rest satisfied with the mere pleasure of existence. Indeed it is only the recollection of the charms of early rising which induces any of us to leave the deck at last.

February 29th.—By noon to-day we had only run seventy-five miles. The air is still occasionally hot and oppressive. About 3 P.M. a large steamer was seen coming up astern, and with a glass we made her out, by the white band round her funnel, to be one of the British India Line. For some time we seemed to hold our own with her, even after the breeze fell light, almost to a calm; and it was 9 P.M. before she actually passed us, steaming ahead full speed. The 'Sunbeam' sails like a witch in her new suit of light canvas, and we pass the little native craft as if they were standing still, even in the lightest of breezes, for which they are specially built.

March 1st.—However it may mean to go out, March has come in like the quietest of lambs, and we could well do with a little more wind to help us on our course.

At noon we were off Calicut, a curious old town of nearly 50,000 inhabitants, to which belong many ancient stories and traditions. As we all know, it gives its name to that useful and familiar material—calico. This was the first point of India touched at by Vasco de Gama nearly 400 years ago, after his long voyage from Portugal. Not far from Calicut, near Mahe, a high rock rises—one of the few places in India where sea-swallows build their edible nests. Further south is Tellicherry, whence the highly appreciated cardamoms of Waima are exported. The plant (Amomum repens) which produces them is not unlike the ginger shrub in appearance, bearing small lilac-coloured flowers. Cardamoms are so indispensable in all Indian cookery that great pains are taken in their cultivation.

On the other side of the river lies Beypoor, one of the terminal stations of the Southern Indian Railway, whence it is possible to proceed by rail in almost any direction. Mysore, Bangalore, and Seringapatam can be easily reached from here; and last, though not by any means least, one can travel via Pothanore and Metapalliam to Ootacamund, that loveliest and healthiest of Southern hill stations in the Neilgherry Mountains, familiarly called 'Ooty.' This delightful place of refuge restores the enfeebled health of the European, and makes it possible for husband and wife, parents and children, to be spared the terrible separations incidental to a career in India; for the climate of Ootacamund is as cool and invigorating as that of England.

March 2nd.—The distance run at noon was 106 knots, the wind during the previous twenty-four hours having been stronger and more favourable.

We passed Cochin in the course of the day, but not near enough to see much of it. It must be an interesting old place, dating, like Calicut, from the ninth century, or even earlier, with inland waterways to Quilon and other ports on the Malabar coast, by delightfully smooth and sheltered backwaters, always navigable for the native boats, even in the full strength of the monsoon. Trivandaram, the capital of Travancore, is near this. The Rajah of Travancore on the occasion of the Great Exhibition of 1851 sent our Queen a most beautifully carved ivory chair, made in his own dominions, which her Majesty now uses whenever she holds a Chapter of the Order of the Garter at Windsor.

One of the bedroom stewards got a touch of sunstroke this morning, and suffered a good deal. I was, of course, very sorry for him, but could not help feeling rather annoyed, for it was entirely his own fault. The men are just like children, and will not or cannot understand the power of the sun and the danger of exposure to it. They will run up on deck bare-headed to look at some passing object, and then are surprised that they at once get a bad headache. They are all well provided with pith hats, and awnings are spread everywhere, so that one cannot feel quite as much sympathy for them as if they were sufferers in the cause of duty.

March 3rd.—An absolutely calm and uneventful day.

We are now getting towards Tuticorin, whence it is a short journey by rail to the splendid temples of Madura, or to Tinnevelly, the great missionary station of Southern India. Tanjore with its famous rock and its wonderful history, and Trichinopoly, with its temples and caves, are also easy of access.

We had hoped to have been able to pay a visit to the great temples on Rameshuwaran and Manaar, two of the islands forming what is known as Adam's Bridge, which partially connect Ceylon with the mainland; but, to our disappointment, we find that they are unapproachable from the westward, and we cannot get through the Pamban Passage, as its depth is but ten feet of water, whereas we draw thirteen. In order to reach the temples it would consequently be necessary for us to make the circuit of Ceylon, which would take far too much time. We shaped, therefore, as direct a course for Colombo as the light and variable breezes would admit of.

March 4th.—To-day was calmer and hotter than ever. At noon we had run eighty-eight knots, from which time until 8 P.M. we were in the midst of a flat oily calm, beneath a burning sun. We were, consequently, all much relieved when, in the course of the evening, fires were lighted, awnings spread, wind-sails set, and we began to make a little air for ourselves.

Sailors are amazingly like sheep in one respect; for if one does anything at all out of the ordinary course, it is ten to one that his shipmates feel bound to follow his example. Yesterday morning, for instance, after the cases of sunstroke of the day before, several of the crew reported themselves to the Doctor as sick, though, upon examination, he found that they were only suffering from the effects of a too-vivid imagination. Some medicine of a nauseous but otherwise innocent character was accordingly prescribed, with the satisfactory result that all the malades imaginaires are 'Quite well, thank you, sir,' this morning.



CHAPTER V.

COLOMBO.

March 5th.—At 9.30 A.M. we dropped anchor in the harbour of Colombo, having come twelve miles under sail between noon and 11 P.M. yesterday, and ninety-eight since we began steaming.

Colombo seems to have grown and improved since we were here ten years ago. We were soon comfortably established in the new and splendid Oriental Hotel, and busy with letters and newspapers.

In the afternoon we did some necessary shopping beneath the welcome shade of the hotel arcades. Later, as soon as the air had become a little cooler, we drove along the sea-front, called Galle Face, and enjoyed the delicious sea-breeze. Everybody seemed to be out, driving, riding, or walking. In one spot officers and soldiers were playing cricket and football as energetically as if they had been on Woolwich Common.

We passed a horse-dealer's establishment, containing, beneath a long row of red shanties, a very decent-looking lot of ponies of various kinds, some of which were being trotted out for the inspection of a circle of possible purchasers. Every bungalow seemed to be provided with one or two tennis-grounds, and all had players on them. When at last, by a charming drive, we reached the formerly forsaken-looking Cinnamon Gardens, we found some lawn-tennis grounds established in their midst, as well as a fine museum surrounded by a well-kept garden. In fact, the appearance of the whole place has been completely changed since we last saw it.

On our way back we were overtaken by a funeral procession. First came two of the quaint little bullock-carts peculiar to Ceylon, drawn by the small oxen of the country, both carts being literally crammed full of people, apparently in the highest spirits. Then followed a long, low, open vehicle, rather like a greengrocer's van painted black. In the rear of the procession was another bullock-cart, fuller than ever of joyous mourners, and drawn by such a tiny animal that he seemed to be quite unable to keep up with his larger rivals, though urged to his utmost speed by the cries and shouts of the occupants of the cart. Altogether, anything more cheerful and less like one's ordinary conception of a funeral procession I never saw.

Our homeward road lay partly through jungle, the track crossing various small streams fringed with vegetation so tropical in character that each little river might have been a miniature Amazon. Presently we came to the Lotus Tank, full of handsome white double water-lilies on erect stems, with lotus-like centres, though they are not the real lotus flower. A hundred people sat down to dinner at the hotel, among whom were one or two old friends. When dinner was over we all adjourned on board the 'Sunbeam,' and later Tom took them back to their steamer, the 'Sirocco,' the largest vessel of the Messageries Maritimes fleet.



March 6th.—We were called at 4.30 A.M., to enable us to start by the seven o'clock train for Kandy. After a great bustle, we found ourselves at the station, only to be told that the time of the departure of the train had been changed to 7.35. The beauty of the journey by rail up to Kandy in the cool air of the early morning quite compensated us for the inconvenience of so early a start. A comfortable saloon carriage, with luxurious armchairs, had been attached to the train for our use, besides a well-arranged refreshment car, in which civil waiters served an excellently prepared meal.

After leaving Colombo we passed through vast fields of paddy, some covered with the stubble of the recently cut rice, while others were being prepared for a new crop by such profuse irrigation that the buffaloes seemed to be ploughing knee-deep through the thick, oozy soil. It was easy to understand how unhealthy must be the task of cultivating a rice-field, and what swampy and pestiferous odours must arise from the brilliant vegetation. 'Green as grass' is a feeble expression to those familiar with the dazzling verdure of a paddy-field. Grain cultivation in Ceylon does not, however, appear to be a very profitable occupation, and seems to be pursued by the natives for sentimental rather than for practical reasons. Sir C.P. Layard, who was for many years Governor of the Western Province, has stated that 'the cultivation of paddy is the least profitable pursuit to which a native can apply himself. It is persevered in from habit, and because the value of time and labour never enters into his calculation. Besides this, agriculture is, in the opinion of a Cingalese, the most honourable of callings.' All the grain grown in Ceylon is consumed in the island, and the supply has to be largely supplemented by imports from India and elsewhere.

After our train had ascended, almost imperceptibly, to a considerable height, we came to the Valley of Death, so called because of the enormous mortality among the workmen employed upon this portion of the railway. Thence we passed through scenes of wondrous beauty to Rambukkana, where the train really begins to climb, and has to be drawn and pushed by two engines—one in front and one behind. It would be wearisome even to name the various types of tropical vegetation which we passed; but we thought ourselves fortunate in seeing a talipot palm in full bloom, with its magnificent spike of yellowish flowers rising some twenty feet above a noble crown of dark green fan-shaped leaves. This sight is uncommon, for the trees never bloom till they are seventy or eighty years old, and then die directly.



Just before arriving at Peradeniya, the new line branches off to Nanu-oya, 128 miles from Colombo, and 5,300 feet above the sea-level. Nuwarra-Ellia is reached in about four hours from this, the line passing through some of the richest and best of the tea- and quinine-growing estates—formerly covered with coffee plantations. The horrid coffee-leaf fungus, Hemileia vastatrix—the local equivalent of the phylloxera, or of the Colorado beetle—has ruined half the planters in Ceylon, although there seems to be a fair prospect of a good crop this year, not only of coffee but of everything else.

There are over six hundred thousand acres of ground under rice cultivation in Ceylon, as compared with 130,000 acres of coffee, 175,000 acres of tea, 650,000 acres of palms, and 35,000 acres of cinchona. Cinnamon and other spices, besides tobacco, cacao, and other trees and plants, are also more or less extensively grown. Sugar-cultivation has proved a failure, probably owing to the too great dampness of the climate.

The Satinwood Bridge at Peradeniya, across the Mahaweliganga, seemed quite a familiar friend; though the old Englishman who for so many years washed the sand of the river in search of gems is dead and gone.

In the afternoon I went to keep my appointment with Dr. Trimen, the present curator of the gardens, and successor to our friend Dr. Thwaites. The group of india-rubber trees outside the gate, and the palms just within the enclosure, were old acquaintances, and looked as graceful as ever. Close by stood a magnificent Amherstia nobilis in full bloom, its great tresses of vermilion flowers spotted with yellow, hanging in gorgeous profusion among its bright glossy leaves. In Burmah these flowers are laid upon the altars in front of the images of Buddha as a sacred offering. Dr. Trimen appears to feel the greatest pride in the management of the garden, and he took much trouble to show us all there was time to see. The principal trees, shrubs, and plants have been labelled, so that he who runs may read. A good deal of vegetation has also been cut down and cleared away, and the more valuable specimens of trees stand boldly out on the grassy lawns. The present curator has erected a charming little summer-house, in the form of a Kandyan temple, in memory of Dr. Thwaites and his thirty successful years of office. It stands on a small knoll, surrounded by the fragrant bushes of the jessamine-like Plumieria, which is also known as the temple-flower, and is regarded as sacred.

We scarcely got back in time to dress for dinner at the Pavilion, as they call the Governor's residence here. The children were tired, and went to bed. Tom, Mabelle, Mr. des Graz, and I therefore started without them, and arrived punctually at eight o'clock. Lord and Lady Aberdeen were of the party, which included a good many interesting people. The table was decorated with lovely ferns, and no less than seventy-two vases of sunflowers! The effect of the servants' liveries was quaint and decidedly picturesque, and I believe the fashion in which they are made is very old. The smartly cut, long swallow-tail black coat, profusely braided with red and yellow, is worn over a snowy white cloth wrapped round the waist and reaching to the feet, and the smooth hair is kept in its place by a large circular comb at the top of the head. Out of doors, a gracefully carried umbrella is the sole protection from the sun.



March 7th.—The morning broke misty, foggy, and decidedly cold for our early start back to Colombo. We found this change rather trying after the heat through which we have been voyaging. We left at eight, relying upon breakfast in the train; but in this hope we were disappointed, and had to content ourselves with biscuits and some rather unripe fruit; for the breakfast-car is only attached to upward trains, to suit travellers from Colombo who want to make the trip to Nuwarra-Ellia or to Kandy and back in one day. The scenery was so lovely, however, that there was plenty to occupy and distract our minds, and we were able to do all the more justice to our good lunch when we reached the comfortable Galle Face Hotel.

There was a great deal of business still to be done at Colombo, including the engagement of a new under-cook, the purchase of additional cool clothing for the crew, and the laying in of fresh stores and provisions. It was therefore not until the evening that we were able to start upon a little expedition, I in a jinrikisha, Tom on foot, followed by another jinrikisha, into which, to the great amusement of the group of lookers-on, he insisted on putting our interpreter, or 'English-speak-man,' as he calls himself.



There is always, to my mind, something supremely ludicrous in the sight of a half-naked individual trudging gaily along under an umbrella in pouring rain. His clothes cannot be spoiled, for he wears none; and one would think that his body must long ago have been acclimatised to every degree of moisture. The natives of Ceylon get over the difficulty very well by gathering one of the many beautifully spotted large caladium leaves which abound in the roadside ditches. For a time it serves its purpose, combining utility with elegance, and when the shower is over it is thrown away. I have also seen these leaves used as sunshades, but they do not answer so well in this capacity, for they wither directly and become limp and drooping. We had a pleasant stroll through the town and outskirts, exploring some lovely little nooks and corners full of tropical foliage. Colombo seems to be progressing, and to have benefited greatly by the railway.



We went to the station to meet the train from Nuwarra-Ellia, by which the children were expected to arrive, but, as the time-tables have just been altered, we found ourselves too early. The interval was pleasantly filled, however, by an instructive and interesting little chat with the traffic-manager. At last the train appeared, and with it the children, who expressed great delight at the procession of six real Japanese jinrikishas which we had organised to convey them and the rest of the party from the station to the hotel.

During the day we had heard that several old friends happened to be at Colombo, so we convened them all to dinner. Their number included Mr. Macbean and Captain Middleton, of the old 93rd, both of whom had been married since we last met them, and Colonel Carey, a Rugby friend of Tom's, now commanding the Engineers here.

We have had great difficulty to-day in obtaining possession of a box sent on to us from Bombay. I left orders yesterday that it was to be obtained from the shipping-agents this morning, but it was only after an infinity of trouble to ourselves and to the people on shore, who had locked up their offices and gone home, that we were able to get hold of it this evening. At last everything and everybody were collected on board; our usual parting gifts of books and newspapers to barracks, hospitals, and schools were sent ashore, and we steamed slowly out of the harbour and round the breakwater. Then 'Full speed ahead' was the order given, and once more we left the lights and luxuries of land behind us and sailed forth into the soft tropic twilight.



Tuesday, March 8th.—It was 1.10 A.M. as we passed the lighthouse. I stayed on deck until the land seemed to be swallowed up in the darkness; but when I came up again at 6 A.M. we were still running along the coast, near enough to see some of its beauties, though not so close as to make it possible to appreciate the exquisite loveliness of the Bay of Galle. Once the principal port of call for all the most important lines of steamers, the town of Galle is now comparatively deserted, and the charms of the neighbouring country are unknown to the modern traveller. The difficulties of landing there were always great during the monsoon period, and more facilities having been afforded at Colombo by the construction of Sir John Coode's great breakwater, all the steamers now make use of that port to take in water, coal, and provisions.

At noon we had run 95 miles, and Trincomalee was 244 miles distant. At 10 P.M. we passed inside the Great Bass Rock, and afterwards the smaller Bass Rock.

Wednesday, March 9th.—At noon to-day 184 miles had been made, and Trincomalee is only now twenty miles ahead. We had passed Batticaloa, the capital of one of the divisions of the island, and early in the morning saw the celebrated rock called 'Westminster Abbey,' which is curiously like that grand old pile, especially when the two pinnacles are seen from a distance. As you pass it to the northward the resemblance gradually becomes lost.

The sun was sinking fast when we shaped our course for the entrance to the harbour of Trincomalee. I was on the topgallant forecastle with Tom, and most delightful it was in that airy position. A fisherman in a curious little catamaran boat offered his services as pilot; and though they were not required we stopped, intending to ask him to come on board and have a chat; but he was lazy with the oars, and before he had come alongside our patience was exhausted. The moon now began to show her light, while the stars twinkled overhead; and the two lighthouses—one on either hand—sent forth rays which glistened on the calm surface of the water. I half regretted the departure of the daylight, for I should have liked to have seen more plainly the entrance to this wonderful harbour, pronounced by Nelson to be one of the finest in the world; but, on the other hand, the exquisite beauty of the scene made up for its want of distinctness. The glorious full moon, gaining power, shone into every creek and cranny, and beamed brilliantly over the water as we steamed ahead, until at last we dropped anchor off the dockyard of Trincomalee. Just previously, from the little fort above, had come loud shouts of 'Sunbeam, ahoy!' and then many hearty cheers burst from the throats of the artillerymen and engineers who are quartered there.



After dinner Tom and I went for a row in the 'Flash,' and explored the harbour by moonlight. There was a good deal of singing at a row of cottages ashore, where, I suppose, the dockyard labourers live. Even the workshops looked quite romantic, covered as their rough walls were by palms, creepers, and other tropical vegetation. We went on towards the Admiral's house, passing through the submarine mining flotilla, which looked singularly out of place among these picturesque surroundings. The night was absolutely perfect; the moonlight on the water, the distant mountains, the near forts, and the white sandy beach, all making up an ideal picture of tropical beauty and repose.

Shortly after we had come to an anchor, Mr. Black, the assistant naval storekeeper, arrived on board, bringing with him kind letters from Sir Frederick Richards, the commander-in-chief of the East India station, offering us his house and garden whilst we remain here. The 'Jumna,' which brought these letters, left four days ago; and the 'Bacchante,' Sir Frederick's flagship, is not expected for a week; so that we have just missed both, greatly to our disappointment. Mr. Black kindly promises to meet us again to-morrow, and to pilot us to the famous hot springs at Kanniya and to the alligator tank.

March 10th.—At 6 A.M. we all went on shore, and were met by Mr. Black with sundry little gharries and tum-tums, into which we soon packed—all except Tom, who remained behind to inspect the dockyard. The harbour looked finer in some ways, though perhaps not so poetic as by moonlight. We could see more of the landscape; and as we drove along a good road skirting the bay the peeps through the foliage were lovely. After passing the Admiral's house we drove, through a straggling village embosomed in trees, to the post-office, where we deposited a mail which, to judge from the astonished looks of the officials, must have been much larger than they usually receive. It certainly was somewhat voluminous, consisting as it did of letters, books, manuscripts, legal documents, and newspapers. It would have to be carried some eighty miles by runners to reach the mail-coach, and then travel another hundred miles before being deposited in the train; so that I fear it will give some trouble. The poor letter-carriers are bound to take any parcel weighing eleven pounds. I suppose an extra man will have to be employed for our mail, but this cannot be a serious matter where wages are so cheap.



From the post-office our way lay through a dense jungle, but still along a good road, where many birds of brilliant plumage and sweet song flew gaily before us or perched on the telegraph wires alongside. Jungle-cock ran in and out across the road. They are rather good-looking birds, something like a very 'gamey' domestic fowl, with a fine upstanding tail.

Our progress was greatly delayed by the eccentricities of Mr. Black's pony. He always stood still when we met anything, stopping so abruptly as almost to shoot us out of the gharry. Then, having once halted, he refused to move on again without much urging and coaxing. Before going down hill he planted his feet obstinately on the ground, declining to proceed; and at the bottom of an ascent he turned short round. If a bird flew suddenly out of the jungle he jumped over into the opposite ditch, and many times nearly, though never quite, upset us. After these performances, I was not surprised to hear that this pony had never been in harness before.

At last we reached the hot springs, seven in number, where we found a temple and other little buildings close by. The water bubbles up through square and round holes, and was so hot (115 deg.) that it was almost impossible to bear one's hand in it; but we caught two little turtles swimming gaily about. The curious 'sea-horses,' which carry their young in their mouths, are said to live in the streams running from the springs.

While waiting for the rest of the party to arrive I took several photographs. We sent a native up a tree for fresh cocoa-nuts, and, having climbed in the orthodox manner, with feet tied together, he threw us down nuts, green and smooth, full of deliciously cool clear milk, with a thick creamy coating inside, most grateful to the palate.

After taking more photographs, some of the party set out for the alligator tank, where the probability of seeing any alligators seemed so doubtful, that, as a long and fatiguing walk was much more certain, I thought it better to undertake, instead of accompanying them, to drive a pair of jibbing ponies back to Trincomalee.

On the way back we saw an opening made in the dense jungle by the passage of an elephant, which had evidently crushed through into the road since we had passed. Wild elephants are very numerous hereabouts, and a hundred were killed not long since by one sportsman in a comparatively short time. Another hunter made great preparations for sport, and spent a considerable time in the neighbourhood waiting his opportunity, but, after failing to get a single shot, determined to return by bullock-cart and coach to Kandy. At one of the rest-houses he was cleaning and putting away his rifle, when some excited coolies rushed in and begged him to kill a rogue-elephant which they had caught sight of quietly walking down the road. The sportsman accordingly took up his position behind a tree, and killed the huge beast quite easily. The carcase remained in the road for several weeks, poisoning the atmosphere and rendering the rest-house almost uninhabitable, until at last an official of rank, passing that way, gave orders for it to be burnt, which was promptly done by the inhabitants of the neighbourhood, who had nearly arrived at the conclusion that the possible attacks of a live elephant were a less serious matter than the certain ill-effects of the proximity of a dead animal. To me, independently of the sanitary aspect of the case, it appears a sad pity and an altogether wasteful proceeding to massacre so powerful a beast, with such capabilities of usefulness, as an elephant, simply for the sake of amusement; for neither hide, feet, tail, nor bones are of much, if of any, value, and it would surely be better to catch and tame the poor creatures if possible.

Arrived on board the yacht, I found Tom just returned from a long examination of the dockyard and naval establishment. The remainder of the party appeared later on, all rather exhausted, and disappointed at not having seen any alligators. They were, however, laden with lovely lotus-like water-lilies, collected during a pleasant little paddle on the tank in a very leaky canoe.

During the morning we had many visitors on board, all profuse in kind offers of hospitality, and desirous of doing everything to make our brief stay agreeable. The children went back with the ladies to spend the afternoon at the fort, while Tom and Mabelle landed to play lawn-tennis.

About five o'clock Major Nash called and took us for a drive on the heights, from which there was a fine view across the bay and harbour beneath us. This island originally belonged to the Dutch, by whom it was ceded to us; and it has since been used as a club and recreation-ground for the officers. Several pleasant bungalows have been established, and a good breakfast, lunch, or even dinner, can be obtained at a moment's notice. The old account-books kept by those in charge of the mess bungalow are still preserved, and many a now celebrated name may be seen entered therein.

We went to Mr. Millett's house to see what he called a tame cheetah, but which was really a wild panther—a handsome little beast, who became greatly excited when the dogs appeared on the scene. We also saw a tiny crocodile, only a month old, in an earthenware pan, which snapped and hissed and flapped his tail, and was altogether as angry as any creature of his diminutive size could well be, making it quite clear that only the power—not the will—to eat us all up was wanting. There are many crocodiles in these lakes and streams, and they occasionally carry incautious people off, especially the women who go to the tanks to fill their water-jars.

Mr. Millett had also quite a large collection of elephants' heads, tails, and feet—the spoils of a recent shooting expedition. These trophies seemed to give one a better idea of the immense size of the elephant than the sight of the animal itself. It was most interesting to be able to handle and to examine closely their great bones, though I felt sad to see the remains of so many huge beasts sacrificed just for the love of killing something. They had not even been tuskers, so that, unless their heads and feet were used for mere decorations, I do not see that their slaughter could have answered any useful end.



We next drove to the Admiral's house—a charmingly-placed dwelling, with one end for each monsoon (south-west from April to September, north-east from November to February). A well-cared-for garden encircles it, full of valuable plants and flowers; and the view over the bay is wide and lovely. We went through the barracks, and then walked, or rather climbed, up to the signal station, below which a new fort is being made which will carry heavy guns. Close by is a curious old Dutch graveyard, with a few quaint English monuments in it, dating from the beginning of the century. The way was long and the road rough; but still we climbed on and on to reach the famous Sami Rock, which rises sheer from the sea, and is a sacred spot for Hindoos, who have come here by thousands to worship for many centuries. Behind the rock stands a small monument, erected in memory of a young Portuguese lady, who, having seen her lover's ship leave the harbour and disappear below the horizon, threw herself in despair from the cliff.

The sun had now set, and the night was calm and brilliant; but so powerful had been the sun's rays that the rocks burnt our feet as we walked, and made it impossible to sit down. We returned to lower levels much more quickly than we had ascended; but I felt very tired before we got back to the gharries, and was only too glad to 'rest and be thankful' until the others arrived and were ready to start. They had had a delightful afternoon, and had caught several walking-fish (a kind of perch), after seeing them both walk and swim; besides gathering more lotus-flowers, and enjoying several good games at lawn-tennis.

The drive to the boats, behind Major Nash's fast-trotting pony, was all too short, and the time for the inevitable farewells came but too quickly. Steam was up when we got on board, and in a few minutes we were leaving this beautiful harbour behind us, exactly twenty-four hours after we had entered it, and under almost precisely the same conditions of wind and weather. Trincomalee is certainly a noble harbour, but Tom is strongly of opinion that it would be more valuable in the hands of the Indian Government than under the Admiralty.

Friday, March 11th.—We had intended to go south of the Andaman Islands, so as to be able to call at Port Blair, the convict station where poor Lord Mayo was assassinated by the convict Shere Ali during his official visit in 1872. The sailing-directions, however, gave such a terrible account of the malarious climate of the whole group of islands, the savage character of the inhabitants, and the size and number of the many venomous reptiles, that we reluctantly decided to continue our voyage straight to Burmah without stopping. We accordingly passed to the northward of the Andaman group, making what is called 'The Cocos' our first landfall.

At noon we had steamed 140 miles, and were in lat. 9 deg. 44' N. and long. 83 deg. 3' E., Great Coco being 607 miles distant.

Saturday, March 12th.—Another calm day, busily occupied in reading and writing. At noon we had steamed 184 miles, and were 471 miles distant from Great Coco, in lat. 10 deg. 49' N. and long. 87 deg. 1' E.