Memoirs of a Highland Lady

by Elizabeth Grant

  The first Sunday at sea was very impressive. The Bells were rung for prayers, the passengers were seated all round the binnacle, the crew, so trimly dressed, were further back, even the Lascars looked on. The captain read the service, shortened; when he came to ‘bless the ship in which we sail,’ I know my eyes filled. Our little ship, alone on the wide waters, our little world, as it were, busy with its own little plans and schemes, such a speck in a grand universe; it was very touching. I always liked the Sunday service and always felt more truly religious, more humble, more patient, than I had ever felt in a church on shore; and a funeral at sea—this I did not witness till we were coming home; it is most affecting; that splash into the water after the coffin has been slided through the porthole, shook me from tip to toe; I did not recover it for hours. Such was my father’s funeral years afterwards.

  So on we sped in our ‘gallant ship,’ the Mountstewart Elphinstone, 600 tons, built by Captain Henning his own self up at Surat, and a very slow sailer! he made her. As we proceeded under brightening skies we ourselves seemed to grow sunnier. We learned to vary our amusements too, I got on famously. The little Ceylon children were very nice, particularly the little girl; it was a pity to see them lose what they had been learning, so I made them come to me to school for 3 hours daily, Mary, when she was well enough, helping to teach them; however, she soon gave herself something better to do. Then I liked to watch the Captain taking his observation every day at noon, and one of the Officers proposed to me to make a chart of the voyage with the ship’s course traced regularly and dated; it was very interesting getting on day by day, sometimes great long runs that carried my dots on ever so many degrees, and then a little shabby move hardly observable. Once, in a calm, we went round in a circle for 3 or 4 days, quite annoyingly.

  After crossing the equator we found a charming occupation—a map of the Southern sky. The constellations were so beautiful. We have no idea in these cloudy climates of the exquisite brilliancy of the cloudless ones, the size of the stars too. We marked each as it rose, often staying on the poop till actually ordered away. The Cross, Sirius, Aldebaran, never were such diamonds in a sky. Captain Henning, his old mate, the young Cavalry officer and I, were the we who were so busy. Captain Henning was naturally clever, very obliging, but vain and uncultivated, a superiour person when one got over the little under beau manner. The young officer was somebody we should all have heard of had he lived. The Captain was extremely cross at times, but there was too much in his little knot of a head for any of us to resent this.

  Besides these more private intellectual pursuits we had publick diversions. Mrs Morse played the harp well, Mr Lloyd sang; every Saturday night the captain gave us a supper; in return each guest spoke or sang, the worse the better fun, but we did our best. John, Mary, and I got up many pretty duetts, and glees, and one solo never palled, ‘the wet sheet and the flowing sea,’ though the captain always made me sing it ‘taut,’ the ‘taut sheet and the flowing sea,’ more correct a great deal but the sound unmusickal.3

  Another day was for the sailors; they danced and they sang, and did athletick exercises, ending with a supper. Mrs Morse gave a Concert once a week down below in her range of cabins, and my Mother, opening our 4 en suite, gave another. Then we played cards in the Cuddy. Every body inclining to be agreeable, amusement was easily managed.

  The Cadets killed a shark, and the Doctor dissected the head, giving quite a pretty lecture on the Eye. A nautilus, too, came under his knife, and a dolphin, and flying fish and sucking fish. One day I had been doing my map in the Cuddy, and wanting some pencil or something, went into our cabin; the locker Venetians were all open, and there before me, resting on the waters beyond, was an albatross surrounded by her young. Such a beautiful sight. That ‘Ancient Mariner’ committed a dreadful crime. Another day a storm at a distance revealed to us as it ended a waterspout, which, had it broken on us, would have been our end. It was in hour glass form, spouting up very high. Then we had a near view of Madeira, merely villas among trees on a hill, a town on the shore. A boat or two came off with fruits and took back our letters, but we hardly slackened sail, just passed stately on, all of us absorbed in the vision of the distant peak of Teneriffe, which seemed to tower through the skies.

  On the line we were becalmed, very hot and very tiresome. We amused several evenings by lowering the boats and taking a rowing circuit of some miles, till to me the feeling of insecurity became oppressive, the ship a speck, and we, some half dozen of us, abandoned as it were without resources on the deep. We had stormy weather near the Cape, bitterly cold; all the thick wraps we were provided with were insufficient to keep us comfortable. One really wild day I had myself lashed to the companion that I might take a steadier survey of the sea ‘mountains high.’ The waves rose to the mast head, apparently; we were up on top of them one minute, down in such a hollow the next, the spray falling heavy on the deck. The dinner that day little mattered, so few partook. We stouter ones were contented with one dish, a meat dumpling, our portion served to each in a bowl, and the attendant requisites either kept together by padded subdivisions strapped across the table or propt upon the swing trays overhead.

  In these latitudes began the sudden showers, so heavy, so incessant, with drops so large, their rattling deafened us. In 3 or 4 minutes a wash hand basin was quite filled; the servants had a grand display of pottery, running about so eagerly to catch an additional supply of that commonest of all Nature’s gifts ashore, the scarcest, the most prized at sea, pure water.

  We passed very few vessels, two only near enough for hailing, one only able to receive our letters home; yet we went on journalising as if we had next door the penny post box. At length we scented, really and truly scented Ceylon; the mild elastick air which blew from it upon us literally was perfumed by the spice groves it had passed over. I never felt any thing so delicious.

  Our vessel was soon surrounded by the singular shaped boats of the Cingalese, a monkey looking race, scarcely a rag upon them, chattering like as many apes, and scrambling about with the wares they had brought for us, and tried to force us all to buy. Their jewellery was false enough, but pretty, their cottons mediocre enough, as were their fruits and vegetables, but we thought these last quite excellent spite of their strangeness to our palates. We had been so long without either, except a few preserved. A whole day we enjoyed ourselves with our savage visitors, amusing ourselves with their gestures, their wares, their extraordinary appearance; the sea alive with boats, the harbour full of shipping, the shore very pretty. We had touched at Point de Galle. At first the charm of green trees, white walls, etc., was sufficient for our admiring eyes. Soon we were calm enough to discriminate, and then it only seemed the more interesting to discover no feature we were used to amid the scenery; roofless houses, closed Venetians within verandah shades, no windows visible and for trees, such long, high poles with cabbage heads or wide extending wiry arms, leafless to our ideas. It was like a vision, not like the long desired land.

  Poor little Mary and her brothers felt much on leaving us. She had been so happy in our cabin with her studies. Her father, a merchant, a heavy looking man, came for her about noon in a neat boat with an awning over the cushions, under which the poor child threw herself, crying bitterly. Her brothers were calmer, the father very grateful, and so that scene moved away. I never saw Mary again. I wrote to her and sent her presents, and she replied but when I left India I lost all trace of a young intelligent companion, who had beguiled many an hour ‘at sea.’

  In the afternoon we went on shore ourselves; the captain took us with him to the Master Attendant’s house, where he had sent to say we would spend the evening. None but those who have had their limbs cramped up during a long voyage can understand the delight with which the simple movement of one foot fall after another upon firm ground is attended. The sky so bright and sea so clear would have been hot and dazzling otherwise; nothing unpleasant assailed our sensibilities just now; the breeze was cooling, we repeated for eve
r, and on we went till darkness tumbled down upon us, just as we entered a gate which opened on the bank at top of which was placed Mr Tyndale’s bungalow, all fairy land to us, at least. An Indian dwelling consists of one long room, from which sometimes smaller open on either hand; a shaded verandah surrounds it, parts of which are frequently made into chambers as required, by merely dividing them off by a skreen. The simple way of lighting this simple dwelling is by glass cups hanging from the ceiling or stuck against the walls, filled with cocoa nut oil in which floats a cotton wick. The ceilings are mostly breadths of calico sewed together and stretched across the rafters; the floors a composition of lime covered by matting; the furniture scanty, but handsome though bare, no draperies, no covers, nor curtains nor colouring. All must look cool, clean, dark. In such a home we found a set of hospitable people, quite pleased to hear our news from England. They gave us tea, good bread and butter and fruit, no fuss, hardly a sound, the shoeless servants quite startling us by offering us refreshments in gentle tones at our elbows when we had never heard them enter the room. There were several men to wait on us, all dressed in close fitting white cotton dresses and red turbans, little black creatures, very ugly, but doing their parts well. The family themselves were no way remarkable, kind obliging persons, it was the surroundings which gave so agreeable an impression—the quiet, the ease, the climate, the beauty of the whole scene which so completely satisfied the feelings. We had left our shawls in a small room near the entrance. On going back to put them on we were astonished at the radiance of the walls; they shone from ceiling to floor in spots all over in a manner incomprehensible to us, till a smiling servant, bringing a tumbler and sweeping some spots into it, revealed a knot of fire flies by the light from which we easily read a book Mrs Tyndale opened. We walked away under stars as bright, and rowed back to our ship over a sea so smooth over which such a fresh, delicious, night breeze played. It was the white day of our voyage.

  At day break we were off again. Coasting up within sight of land for the most part, all along the shores of Malabar, not without danger. One night Mr Gardiner, being on deck, became aware of the cause of a great commotion among the watch; a sunken rock had nearly finished our worldly affairs; the captain was called, and by energetick measures we merely saved our distance and our lives. It was cool except for the few hours of midday, very pleasant from the balmy air, the frequent sight of land, and the cheerfulness diffused among our company by the near termination of our long voyage.

  We landed on the 8th of February 1828 in Bombay. We entered that most magnificent harbour at sunset, a circular basin of enormous size, filled with islands, high, rocky, wooded, surrounded by a range of mountains beautifully irregular; and to the north on the low shore spread the City, protected by the Fort, skreened by half the shipping of the world. We were standing on the deck. ‘If this be exile,’ said my father musingly, ‘it is splendid exile.’ ‘Who are those bowing men?’ said my mother, touching his arm and pointing to a group of natives with Coloured high crowned caps on some heads, and small red turbans on others, all in white dresses, and all with shoeless feet, who had approached us with extraordinary deference. One of the high caps held out a letter. It was from Uncle Edward, my Mother’s younger brother, who had turned the corner round Sir Giffin Wilson’s wall so many years ago with his hat pulled down over such tearful eyes, and these were his servants come to conduct us to his country house. All was confusion around us, friends arriving, departing, luggage shifting, each passenger being allowed to carry a bag on shore with necessaries. And it grew dark in a moment, encreasing our perplexity.

  At last we were arranged, descended the side of our poor old ship, entered the bunder boat, moved, swung round to the steps of the ghaut,4 mounted them, found carriages waiting, and away we drove some three miles or so through part of the town and then through a wooded plain, till we stopt at a shabby gate which opened on a narrow road and led us to the wide steps of a portico, reached by a good long flight, edged with two lines of turbaned servants glittering with gold adornments, reflected by the torch each third man bore. A blaze of light flashed from the long building beyond, in front of the entrance to which stood a tall figure all in white, of a most dignified presence, queenlike as a stage heroine, who gave a sign, and from her sides moved on and down the steps four persons in scarlet robes trimmed with gold and bearing in their hands gold sticks the stature of themselves. They opened our carriage doors and out we stept; and thus we were received by my Uncle’s wife.

  They had come down from Surat, partly to meet us, and partly for my Uncle’s health, which repeated attacks of gout had much weakened. He was at this moment on his couch, incapable of leaving it, and still in pain, yet had he made every possible arrangement for our Comfort. The large house of Camballa, which he had hired to receive us in, was of the usual Indian Construction, the large, long centre hall with broad verandahs round it; but such a hall, 80 feet long, 80 feet wide, Verandahs 20 feet wide. It stood on a platform in the middle of the descent of a rocky hill, round which swept the sea, with a plain of rice fields, and a tank, a handsome tank, between the foot of it and the Breach Candi road along the beach. From the hill end of the hall rose a wide staircase in stages; each stage led off on either hand to a terrace, each terrace on the one hand was a flower garden, on the other a covered gallery leading to offices. Top of all, and very high it was, the Terraces were covered in as bedrooms, catching all the air that blew and commanding from their latticed balconies such a view as was alone worth almost the voyage from Europe.

  Dinner was served in one of the Verandahs to the great hall with such a display of plate, so brilliant a light, and such an array of attendants as were startling after our Cuddy reminiscences. I thought of the Arabian nights. The scenes there depicted were realised with a charm belonging to them quite beyond any description to paint and which now at this distance of time rouses the fancy again, and gives them back to memory with a freshness never to be impaired. There was light, vastness, beauty, regal pomp, and true affection. All was not gold, however; a better acquaintance with our palace disturbed much of our admiration. Our bedrooms were really merely barns, no ceilings, the bare rafters, bare walls, no fastenings to the doors, the bathrooms very like sculleries, the flowery terraces suspected of concealing snakes, and most certainly harbouring myriads of insects most supremely troublesome, and the tank a nuisance. Very beautiful as it seemed, with its graduated sides descending to the water, interesting from the groups of native women resorting there at all hours with those pyramids of Etruscan shaped pots upon their heads, and their draperied clothing, and winging on with such a graceful step, the tank at night became a nuisance from the multitude of frogs—the large bull frog with such a dreadful croak as deafened us. Still these were minor evils. It was all a stage play life, and we were enchanted with it.

  It was some days before our goods were cleared from the Custom House. We had landed in plain white dresses, my Mother and Mary and I, and had merely brought a second of the same sort in our bags; no toilette this to receive the visits of the Presidency. Great expectations had been formed of the new great man, the great Lady his wife, and the celebrated beauties his daughters. It was a bitter disappointment to find people of no mark at all, ladies with no new fashions, the Judge busy, the lady mother ditto, the daughters in white plain dresses, and the handsomer of the two engaged to be married, for Mr Gardiner had not lost the opportunity of securing to himself about the most attractive creature that ever brightened this changing world.

  As we were great people, burra sahibs, every attention was paid to us. The cannon fired from the Fort when my father went to take the oaths, and every body called on my Lady. It is the custom in this part of India for the older inhabitants to visit the new comers; we, therefore, had to receive a perfect crowd. Many came at the breakfast hour, nine o’clock, the sun had less power thus early, the fashionable part of the society came later, some in carriages of various descriptions, some in palanquins,5 all the ladies appeared
very much dressed, the style of toilette most agreeable in a hot climate being very much more elegant than the every day costume of colder latitudes; the gentlemen in their cool white jackets and trowsers and shirt breasts unconcealed by any waistcoat, looked all so young and so clean that these Civilians quite rivalled the military in uniform.

  All these mornings of the first week we were quite busy receiving company; we could hardly find time to unpack our Wardrobes. After luncheon indeed we were free, as no one called afterwards, but then we were tired or we had notes or letters to write, or wished to lie still upon a sofa waiting for the fresh sea breeze. I have lain half dead with exhaustion watching the drops of one of the large chandeliers, as the first intimation of the advancing current was the slow movement of this glittering drop. As soon as we really felt the air, we prepared for our evening airing, and on returning dressed for a party either at home or abroad, for in spite of the heat these gay doings were incessant.