ornia 
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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES
 
 A VOYAGE TO INDIA, 
 
 Sfc. Sfc.
 
 VOYAGE TO INDIA; 
 
 CONTAINING 
 
 REFLECTIONS ON A VOYAGE TO MADRAS AND 
 BENGAL, IN 1821, IN THE SHIP LONACH ; 
 
 INSTRUCTIONS 
 
 FOR THE PRESERVATION OF HEALTH 
 IN INDIAN CLIMATES ; 
 
 HINTS TO SURGEONS AND OWNERS OF PRIVATE 
 TRADING-SHIPS. 
 
 BY JAMES WALLACE, 
 
 SURGEON OF THE LONACH. 
 
 The dullest writer, if he holds up virtue and liliertv, and benerolence and esteem ; if he fiUft 
 his story with good and wholesome advice; and dresses up his little magazine of knowledge or 
 entertainment, at least with a good intention ; he may make himself useful. 
 
 ClTIZBN OF THR ^Von^^l. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED FOR T. AND G. UNDERWOOD, 32, FLEET STREET; 
 AND CHALMERS AND COLLINS, GLASGOW. 
 
 MDCCCXXIV.
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed by William Clowes, 
 
 Nortbumberland-conrt.
 
 
 
 j! t>. 
 
 / 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 
 THE LATE JOHN PEARSON, Esq. 
 
 Commandrr of the Lonach : 
 
 AND TO THE 
 
 OFFICERS, PASSENGERS, AND CREW 
 
 OF THAT SHIP. 
 
 A CONSIDERABLE time before these "Reflections" 
 were given to the press, he under whose auspices they 
 were written, and who would have patronised them, 
 had he been living, was numbered with the dead. I 
 can now, therefore, only dedicate them to his me- 
 mory; and well indeed does it deserve the tribute at 
 my hand. This is not the place to speak of his good- 
 ness — of the ties that were between us ; to tell how 
 much he did for me — and how much I owe him ; yet 
 I may be allowed to state, that it is for the kindnesses 
 he heaped upon me, from the first moment I came
 
 VI DFDirATFON. 
 
 under his romman<l, till the hour when I saw his eyes 
 closed in death, that I now sorrowingly bring forward 
 his name. Nor is it I alone that regrets him ; all who 
 sailed with him — all who knew him — will, I am con- 
 fident, when they remember Captain John Pearson, 
 remember him with affection and respect, and shed a 
 warm tear at his early fate. 
 
 To my other shipmates in the Lonach I also dedi- 
 cate the volume. They are now scattered far and 
 wide ; but it probably may meet the eye of some, and 
 possibly may awaken in their bosoms some fond re- 
 collections. It, at all events, carries to them my affec- 
 tion and regard unabated. 
 
 JAMES WALLACE.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 TART 1. 
 
 I'agc. 
 
 CiiAiv 1. The Departure .... 1 
 
 II. The Voyage 27 
 
 III. The Approach to the Indian shore . 53 
 V. The Arrival 78 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Instructions tor the Preservation of Health in Indian 
 
 Climates ....... 103 
 
 PART HI. 
 
 Hints to Surgeons and Owners of Private-trading 
 
 Ships 141
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 It may be a matter of surprise to some, the 
 appearance of *' reflections'' on a voyage so 
 common as that to Madras and Bengal. We 
 liave of late, however, had '* Travels," and 
 *• Voyages," and *' Tours," given to the world 
 in abundance, speaking of parts and things 
 perhaps not more interesting or new than an 
 Indian voyage. Nor do I think, for all this 
 travelling and publishing, that the ground is 
 yet wholly occupied, or even the most common 
 of subjects altogether exhausted ; there seems 
 still to be a little room left, though so many 
 have been already forward to tell their stories, 
 for another straggler yet to step into and tell 
 his. But indeed I pretend not to give much 
 new in what I now present; the reflections, I 
 
 b
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 believe, being just such as must naturally 
 occur to the majority of those who embark on a 
 sea voyage. None, however, that I know of, 
 liad before thrown them into the form which I 
 have here adopted. When I entered on my 
 first voyage, like many others, I meant to have 
 kept a private journal of daily occurrences, 
 merely for my own satisfaction and amusement. 
 But it soon occurred to me, that a volume such 
 as the present, might be acceptable to a few 
 out of the many who annually take their de- 
 parture from England for India. It occurred 
 to me, that a thing which would give the tra- 
 veller to India some idea of what he is to 
 meet with on his journey to it, as well as on 
 his arrival ; a thing which might instruct as 
 well as amuse, might be useful. I therefore 
 relinquished my first intention, and set about" 
 the present work. And though in writing it, 
 I kept India and my Indian voyage principally 
 in view, I wrote what I thought might also 
 apply to any voyage. My object has been, to 
 give an idea of some of the most striking cir-
 
 PREFACE. XI 
 
 cumstances to be met with at sea ; to paint the 
 feelings of the traveller journeying to a foreign 
 land ; and I hope though the Indian voyager 
 will find what has been said especially to 
 apply to him, even the voyager to any coun- 
 try will find something in it worthy of his 
 perusal. 
 
 The first part of the work, " The Reflec- 
 tions," I have divided into four chapters. In 
 the first chapter, " The Departure," I have at- 
 tempted to describe the varied feelings expe- 
 rienced at our first entering upon a voyage; 
 the thoughts called up at bidding adieu to our 
 native soil ; with some of the miseries of an 
 embarkation, ^c. The second, " The Voyage," 
 contains a detail of some of the most obvious 
 and interesting occurrences which are pre- 
 sented to the notice of the traveller on the 
 deep ; a history of some of the circumstances 
 best calculated to instruct and amuse in the 
 profession of the mariner. In the third, " The 
 Approach to the Indian Shore," besides other 
 
 b2
 
 Xll PREFACE. 
 
 allusions, I have touched chiefly on the state 
 of mind we are likely to possess as we draw to 
 the foreign coast. I have attempted to shew 
 what are, and, perhaps still more, what oui^ht 
 to be, the feelings at such a period. The 
 fourth, and last, ** The Arrival," is taken up 
 with what is experienced actually on reach- 
 ing the foreign shore ; with some few remarks 
 on India and its inhabitants, allusions to 
 home, ^c. 
 
 And I hope what I have touched upon, I 
 have portrayed tolerably correctly. It will 
 be seen that I have attempted to vary the 
 matter a little ; that I have not attached my- 
 self alone to the serious, but have endeavoured 
 to mix up a little of the gay with it. And in 
 all parts, I have made it my object to impress 
 morality and proper conduct; wherever I 
 could, I have brought before the reader the 
 lesson of religion, and pointed the mind to 
 the Great First Cause. The poetry intermixed 
 with the v(3hime, taken from some of the most
 
 PREFACE. Xlll 
 
 esteemed authors, and adapted as appropriately 
 as I could to the subjects, will also add some- 
 thinfr to its interest. 
 
 •& 
 
 In the second part of the work, *' Observa- 
 tions for the Preservation of Health in Indian 
 climates," I have given such directions, I think, 
 as will be quite sufficient for any one taking 
 up his residence in these climates. They are 
 plain and few ; but they are the most import- 
 ant ; and he who has them impressed properly 
 on his mind, I should hope will find them in 
 some degree advantageous to him. They ap- 
 ply, as the reflections do, chiefly to India; but 
 of course they must apply also to all climates 
 like it; to the west as well as to the east; the 
 advice given in them I trust may be worthy 
 a remembrance almost in any climate; for in 
 no situation is health to be preserved without 
 care. 
 
 At the commencement of this division, I 
 have thrown in, by the way, a few observa- 
 tions relating to consumptive patients. They
 
 XIV PREFACE. 
 
 may call the attention of some to the remedy 
 advised, who otherwise might neglect it. 
 
 The third and last part, ** Hints to Surgeons 
 and Owners of Private-trading ships," I should 
 also hope will have its use. It will give the 
 young man entering upon that employment 
 some considerable idea of what he is to meet 
 with, and prepare him for it ; it will give him 
 a few hints which perhaps may be of some 
 little service to him. The remarks, too, which 
 apply to the owners of these ships, may not 
 be altogether lost. It will be to the advan- 
 tage of themselves, as well as to the advan- 
 tage of every one else, that what I have 
 spoken upon be attended to and remedied. 
 And I am satisfied it needs only to be stated, 
 to have the remedies applied. 
 
 In short, as it is I give it to the world. If 
 it has any thing to recommend it, the public 
 will find it out, and give it its due. If it be 
 undeserving of attention, and if I have judged 
 wrong in ever letting it see the light, it will
 
 PREFACE. XV 
 
 of course be allowed to sink into the mass of 
 idle tales that have gone before it, and be for- 
 gotten. Nor will I be a great sufferer by the 
 sentence ; for as a writer I have no reputation 
 to lose ; a mere adventurer as yet upon the 
 sea of authorship, should the wind prove at 
 once unfavourable, I can easily put *' about 
 ship," and get back to my old port again.
 
 A VOYAGE TO INDIA, 
 
 PART I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 The pilgri.n on his journey bent,— - 
 
 Oft will he pause, and gaze the journey'd plain ; 
 
 Oft pause ag'aiu, the valley to survey. 
 
 Where food or slumber sooth'd liis wand'ring- way. 
 
 SOUTHRT. 
 
 Ox Friday, the 9th of March, 1821, the pre- 
 parations for sea being finished, and crew and 
 passengers on board, the Lonach sailed from 
 Gravesend for Madras and Bengal; and on 
 Sunday, the 11th, anchored in the Downs. 
 
 When we enter upon a new scene, and get 
 introduced amongst a people altogether strange 
 to us, we naturally feel a little gloomy, even 
 though it be a scene of our own choosing, and 
 the people we get amongst, in every respect, 
 
 B
 
 2 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 as suitable as strangers can be. It takes a 
 time er6 the mind can accommodate itself to 
 any change it may experience; even allowing 
 the change to be from worse to better. It takes 
 a time after our introduction to strangers, how- 
 ever affable they may be^although, indeed, 
 they may have dispositions exactly suited to our 
 own — before we can find out what the disposi- 
 tion really is, or feel ourselves altogether at 
 home in their presence. And thus it is, that for 
 the few first days, on board ship, the young 
 adventurer is by no means so happy as he could 
 wish to be. He stalks about in the midst of 
 confusion; unable, though he may be willing, 
 to apply himself in earnest to any thing. There 
 are many others around him, but he scarcely 
 knows them yet; the formality and distance of 
 a first introduction have not yet given place to 
 the cheering familiarity of ripened friendship; 
 and, even in the midst of them, he feels lonely. 
 And thus left, as it were, to himself, his thoughts 
 naturally turn to that which interests them 
 most. He looks back on happier days; he
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 6 
 
 ponders on the friends he is leaving; he glances 
 forward to the future — but he sees not there, to 
 cheer and comfort, what he finds in the past; 
 doubts and fears fill his bosom; and if in his 
 disposition there exist much sensibility and ten- 
 derness, he is indeed apt to become melan- 
 choly. 
 
 But with every evil there is an accompanying 
 good; there is no situation of distress without 
 its accompanying circumstances of alleviation. 
 The great object to be attained, when the mind 
 is tending to a desponding subject, is properly 
 to occupy and divide the thoughts: and, fortu- 
 nately, the very confusion we get amongst when 
 we go first on board ship, though it interests us 
 but httle — though, indeed, we may think it ra- 
 ther tending to our annoyance — serves as a kind 
 of stimulus to the drooping mind ; it arrests and 
 feeds, though we may not be aware of it, the 
 then depraved thoughts, as we may well term 
 them — thus preventing them from settling too 
 steadily on any one subject, and drawing us 
 insensibly away fi'om the desponding revery. 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 Very soon, too, we meet with some one, who, 
 feeling as we do ourselves, is inclined to shake 
 off melancholy, by a participation of thoughts 
 and cheerful conversation ; and this, at any rate 
 for a time, enlivens not a little the feelings. 
 And, as we every day get rather more ac- 
 quainted with the people, we every day get a 
 little more reconciled to the place; the spirits 
 gradually rise, and we soon begin to think our 
 situation may not be so intolerable as we at first 
 imagined. 
 
 But it is not at the very first that the tender 
 feelings are most powerfully aroused. Although 
 he who embarks for a far country, may be 
 melancholy enough at the very time of embarka- 
 tion, yet, if he supposes that at this time his 
 feelings are at the worst, he mistakes; he has 
 still severer pangs to experience. The tie 
 which binds him to his home, though it may be 
 stretched, is not yet broken. A little time must 
 elapse ere this takes place; and it is just at 
 the breaking of it, that his feelings of sorrow 
 are wound up to tlie highest.
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 5 
 
 On the morning of Tuesday, the 13th, the 
 wind, which, from the period of our reaching 
 the Downs, had continued unfavourable, came 
 round ; and early the following morning we 
 weighed, and with fine weather stood down 
 channel ; — and it was then that I experienced my 
 saddest moments. It is when we feel ourselves 
 fast leaving the happy land of our nativity, and 
 fairly out of the reach of all its enjoyments, that 
 the mind, in spite of every effort we can use, 
 feels the touch of melancholy. It is then that 
 the value of a home is found out — that we ascer- 
 tain what a blessing it indeed is, to have kin- 
 dred and companions to associate with — that we 
 get fully convinced of the truth of the saying, 
 " it is only when our comforts are gone we learn 
 the value of them." By a law of nature our 
 affections are entwined around the place of our 
 birth. Where we have been bom and brought 
 up, w^here we tasted our earliest, sweetest joys, 
 and where those who are deareat to us remain, 
 there our affections cling, and from thence there 
 is no tearing ourselves without suffering mciny
 
 6 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 a pang. Cold indeed must the heart of that 
 man be, who, as the vessel, borne along by the 
 steady breeze, is carrying him farther and far- 
 ther from his native shore, can refuse to it his 
 constant lingering gaze, or stand to see it re- 
 cede without emotion. At such a time the man 
 of feeling is melted into grief. When he calls 
 to mind the days of playful youth — the parents 
 and brothers and sisters, who had so long 
 fondly loved, and anxiously tended and watched 
 over him — the companions he associated with — 
 the happy scenes he mixed in, — and feels, that 
 now for a long time, perhaps for ever, he is 
 leaving all — his bosom becomes the seat of 
 many a rending passion, and the sigh that is 
 struggling in his breast, and the tear that is 
 bursting from his eye, he finds it impossible to 
 restrain. Ay, and even he who never thought 
 he possessed such kindly and patriotic feelings — 
 he who, up to the hour of trial, may imagine he 
 has a heart quite stout enough, to give up all 
 its pleasures, and break with all its associations, 
 without regret, will find, when the hour comes,
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 7 
 
 he has calculated wrong ; and this man, with all 
 his hardihood, will be seen, like others, as the 
 vessel is fast speeding along, and the high sum- 
 mit of the land has almost sunk into the wave, 
 eagerly endeavouring to catch another glimpse 
 of that which probably by him shall be seen 
 no more. 
 
 Come hither, hither, my little page, 
 
 Why dost thou weep and wail ? 
 Or dost thou dread the hillow's rage, 
 
 Or tremhle at the gale ? 
 
 Let wind he shrill, let waves roll high, 
 
 I fear not wave nor wind ; ' 
 
 Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that 1 
 
 Am sorrowful in mind : 
 For I have from my father gone, 
 
 A mother whom 1 love, 
 And have no friend, save — 
 
 Enough, enough, my little lad, 
 
 Such tears hecome thine eye — 
 If I thy guiltless hosom had, 
 
 Mine own would not be dry. 
 
 Yet, though it is pleasing and amiable to 
 indulge in these feelings to a certain degree, it 
 is not right to carry them too far. There is an 
 apathy — a cold heartedness — that would teacb
 
 8 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 US to stand unmoved under every circumstance ; 
 and there is an over-great sensibility, which 
 would unman, and make us sink at the most 
 trivial afflictions; neither of which is it neces- 
 sary to acquire. But there is a medium state, 
 which it is possible to find, and which enables 
 him who finds it to stand firm ; while at the same 
 time, he sympathizes, to feel, in their proper 
 force, his own or his neighbour's sorrows — 
 while, at the same time, he is capable, if ne- 
 cessary, of withdrawing his mind from the sub- 
 ject of sorrow, and fitting it for the performance 
 of other duties. 
 
 And, if we examine, we will find, how natu- 
 ral, and how happy it is, for the wanderer to 
 gain such a state of mind. No doubt, when 
 he feels himself taking leave of all his comforts ; 
 parting with those that are dearest to him on 
 earth — with the nearest and the kindest of his 
 kindred — with the friends and companions of 
 his earhest days; in a word, bidding a long, 
 perhaps an eternal, farewell, to all that ever in- 
 terested his affections, — his heart must be filled
 
 THE DEPAHTURK. 9 
 
 with many an anxious and distressing thought. 
 He possesses something more than firmness — 
 something not so amiable as firmness — if he 
 does not find his spirit bend, and sink in some 
 degree, at such a separation. If there be much 
 affection and kindness in his nature, he is in- 
 deed apt to bend too much to the afflicting load, 
 and shew that he wants even that degree of firm- 
 ness which it is right he should have. But when, 
 again, he remembers, that after a time has 
 elapsed, he may return to his happy home and 
 the bosom of his friends, — when he thinks that 
 absence will only ripen and increase the affec- 
 tion, and that w^hen again he meets those he is 
 now parting with, and tastes those pleasures he 
 is now forsaking, his happiness will be tenfold ; 
 when he feels assured, that wherever he goes, 
 the prayers and affections of many go with him, 
 and that, should it be his lot to return, his re- 
 turn will be greeted by many a fond and anxi- 
 ous heart — there is much consolation given to 
 the mind — much of its anxiety is removed. By 
 proper reflections, the feelings are gradually
 
 10 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 balanced, and the mind comes to gain just the 
 strength that is wanted. Hope administers to 
 the wanderer under all his troubles. Her taper, 
 burning to the last hour of life's pilgrimage, 
 mixes up with the darkest of his feelings a 
 gleam, which ever keeps despair from the borne- 
 down spirit — which cheers and supports him in 
 all his wanderings. 
 
 These, however, are only the troubles of the 
 mind; and though they are quite enough, yet, 
 as they generally wear off, or at least lose much 
 of their poignancy, as soon as the parting is 
 fairly past, and even while they last are pleas- 
 ing though painful, if there were no others, there 
 would not be much cause for complaint. But 
 there are also troubles of the body, as well as 
 the mind, to be endured; and these, unfortu- 
 nately, are all pain, without the least intermix- 
 ture of pleasure. Just as we are getting over 
 the sorrow of parting — just as our spirits are 
 on the move to their wonted level, and we are 
 beginning to promise ourselves something like 
 enjoyment and cheerfulness again, there comes
 
 THE DEPARTURE. H 
 
 upon US a sickness, a most deadly sickness, 
 which, at once, sinks the spirits still lower than 
 before, and reduces the body still lower than 
 the spirits, and most cruelly puts an end to every 
 hope and prospect of comfort. 
 
 During the whole of Wednesday, the day we 
 left the Downs, the wind continued fair and mo- 
 derate, and there was no appearance of com- 
 plaint amongst us. On Thursday, the weather 
 was still fine, and for that day also, I may say 
 we were cdl well enough. Towards evening, 
 indeed, some felt a little lightness of head, and 
 rather a dimunition of appetite, but they did not 
 think it a matter of much importance, and ima- 
 gined a sleep would put all to rights. In the 
 course of the night, however, the breeze in- 
 creased considerably, and the swell of the sea, 
 and the motion of the ship along with it, and 
 those who in the evening had their spirits tole- 
 rably well up, had them miserably enough de- 
 pressed in the morning ; those who in the even- 
 ing were promising themselves an early start, 
 found, when the morning came, they had neither
 
 12 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 inclination nor ability to get upon their legs. I 
 felt, I believe, about as uncomfortable as any 
 of them, but I resolved to make a bold push, 
 and get up to see what was going on above. So 
 out of bed I got with some difficulty, and after 
 managing, with more, to get on my clothes, I 
 made my way to the deck, just as breakfast was 
 ready. At the call to breakfast, I went in, al- 
 though I had little inclination for the meal, to take 
 my seat at table along w4th the rest; but I found 
 few others there; few, out of our number, had 
 made their appearance, and even these few, as 
 soon as the eating articles were produced, and 
 the caterer had commenced sending them round, 
 got up and made their exit rather hurriedly. I 
 followed very soon, for I found things far from 
 being right, and, like the others, took the way 
 to my cot, into which I tumbled in a most pitia- 
 ble condition. 
 
 All Friday it continued to blow, and all that 
 day, I and many others, were, as we supposed, 
 in a state of greater misery than ever mortal \vas 
 in before. The moment we raised our head from
 
 TlIK liEPARTUUE. 13 
 
 the pillow, such horrible sensations ensued, that 
 we were glad instantly to get it down again. 
 Some who fought against their feelings, and got 
 out of bed, had scarcely reached the floor, when 
 a tumble of the vessel sent them tumbling to the 
 other side of their cabin ; and before they had 
 time to recover themselves another roll would 
 send them as quickly and roughly back again ; 
 and thus tumbled and bumped about, they were 
 glad to get into their softer and safer birth again. 
 Others who got the length of beginning to dress, 
 in the attempt to draw on a stocking, or in any 
 other act which occupied both hands, and put 
 the body on rather a ticklish balance, were thrown 
 down with such violence, that for some days 
 afterwards they had cause to remember it. And 
 to increase the misfortune, the same lurch that 
 upset the man, generally upset along with him, 
 some of the cabin furniture, and not only did he 
 run the risk of sustaining an injury from the fall, 
 but it was a wonder, indeed, if he did not also 
 get a salute from a trunk, or a dressing-box, or 
 a basin, or something or other rather too ponder-
 
 14 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 OU8 in its nature. And some, after managing to 
 get themselves wholly equipped, became all at 
 once so intolerably ill, that they were absolutely 
 obliged instantly to tumble into bed again, clothes 
 and all. And what added to our distress, in all 
 our troubles, there was no one pitied us. When 
 the spirit is sunk, from whatever cause, the voice 
 of sympathy can do much to restore it. When 
 the hand of disease is upon us, how enfeebled is 
 its grasp, if the soothing attentions — ^the cheer- 
 ing consolations of kind friends, are aiding us ? 
 Yet, although we imagined our situation just one 
 calculated to excite the greatest commiseration, 
 it drew forth no pity~it seemed not to be viewed 
 thus by any one else. From the tried sailor, a 
 laugh or a swear was all the comfort we could 
 get. And even those who were as young in the 
 life as ourselves, but who luckily had escaped the 
 terrible malady, seemed also to be without any 
 feeling of sympathy ; for though they came oc- 
 casionally to visit us in our distress, they neither 
 shewed that anxiety, nor gave that condolence, 
 which we, judging from our feelings, thought we
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 15 
 
 deserved. They generally started off in a very 
 few minutes with the excuse, that if they stayed 
 longer they would get sick too. 
 
 Bums says, in his " Address to the tooth-ach" 
 
 When fevers burn, or agues freeze us, 
 Rheumatics gnaw, or colics squeeze us, 
 Our neebours syrapatheese, to ease us 
 
 Wi' pitying moan. 
 But with thou — the hell o' a' diseases. 
 
 They mock our groan. 
 
 And admirably, I think, is this adapted also to 
 sea- sickness. 
 
 Neither did Saturday bring us any relief; in- 
 deed, we were fully worse that day than the one 
 preceding. Towards the afternoon, when we 
 thought, with sorrowful hearts, we had left the 
 English shores for a long time behind, the wind, 
 which, till then, had kept fair, came right against 
 us, and increased to a gale. The swell of the 
 sea, too, became great ; the rain descended in 
 torrents ; the bitter unfriendly wind kept howling 
 through the rigging ; and every now and then a 
 big wave struck, and broke over the vessel. The 
 wliole scene, indeed, was a most dismal and dis-
 
 16 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 heartening one,— just calculated to sink still far- 
 ther, our already too-far depressed spirits. 
 
 I shall always remember the night well. As I 
 lay in the evening, in my cot, wishing myself 
 any where but where I was, quite worn out both 
 in body and mind, and careless what became 
 either of myself or the ship, if I was only al- 
 lowed to remain at rest, a message came that one 
 of the men was taken ill, and that it was neces- 
 sary I should see him. It was a most disagree- 
 able piece of intelligence. Much rather would I 
 have gone twenty miles at any other time to visit 
 him on shore, than get up that night to go twenty 
 yards. But there was no getting off well. So 
 up I got ; and having reached the deck, I pro- 
 ceeded cautiously along, groping my way in the 
 midst of the storm, in quest of my patient. But 
 just as I had nearly reached the place, a tremen- 
 dous sea came gush in where part of the bul- 
 wark had been carried away, and half drowned 
 me. Says I to myself — if this be the kind of 
 practice I am to have now, it matters not how 
 soon I am done with it. However, that was no
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 17 
 
 place for reflection ; I found out the sick man, and 
 found the way back to my own birth again. But 
 still the work was not done ; other misfortunes 
 still awaited me. My patient required a little 
 medicine ; and after I had, with no small diffi- 
 culty, weighed out the different ingredients, and 
 was just on the eve of putting past my weighing 
 apparatus, and parcelling up my medicine, the 
 vessel took a roll, and my cot, which was hang- 
 ing up, taking one with it, struck me so forcibly 
 that I was thrown from my seat, and away went 
 the scales one way, and the weights another, and 
 the paper with the medicine went off with the 
 rest, and all my labour was to do over again. In 
 sorrow, I ejaculated, as I lay on the floor amid 
 the general ruin, — if a man could be in search of 
 such a thing as misery, let him go to sea and 
 he '11 be sure to find it : who is it, that either for 
 curiosity, or gain, or glory, would lead such a 
 horrible life ? who is it that would not prefer the 
 scantiest pittance on shore to the greatest afflu- 
 ence here ? Let me be once more upon dry land, 
 and if ever I set my foot on board ship again 
 
 c
 
 18 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 may I never get out of it. But complaints were 
 vain ; so after a few such melancholy reflections, 
 I gathered up my scattered materials, and, setting 
 to work again with rather more caution, got the 
 business finished. 
 
 All Saturday night we fought against the storm, 
 but finding it impossible to make head against it, 
 on Sunday morning we put about ship, and stood 
 back for the land. My sickness still continued 
 as bad as ever, and had now reduced me almost 
 to skin and bone ; but though I was scarcely 
 able to move, when I heard the glad tidings, that 
 we were again making for the land, and likely 
 to get relief, at least for a time, to our troubles, I 
 once more made my way to the deck ; and there 
 I witnessed a most melancholy scene. I was 
 not, I soon found, the only one that had suffered ; 
 for there I saw the greater number of those I had 
 left on Thursday night, in good spirits, with 
 ruddy countenances and masculine figures, most 
 miserably changed. The fine clothes, before so 
 clean and neatly fitted, were now only half put 
 on, and largely coated over with blanket-wool.
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 19 
 
 The fashionable- tied neckcloth, and the spruce 
 done up hair, were no longer to be seen. The 
 bloom of the cheek was altogether gone ; the 
 energy of the eye had fled with it ; the features 
 were shrunken ; and this, with the long black 
 beard, which had evidently been allowed to grow 
 in peace for some days, gave to the whole coun- 
 tenance, nay, to the whole man, a most wofuland 
 haggard appearance. The spectacle altogether 
 was, indeed, a lamentable one ; as we thus stood, 
 upon the deck in silent sadness, eagerly bending 
 our eyes in the direction of the land, the place 
 where, alone, we looked for comfort. 
 
 Well might a spouter have said, as Macbeth, 
 
 What are these, 
 So wither'd, and so wild in their attire, 
 That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, 
 And yet are on it ! Live you, or are you aught 
 That man may question ? — This is a sorry sight. 
 
 On Sunday evening at six o'clock, after many 
 ineffectual attempts and hard struggles, we got 
 in to Falmouth harbour ; and so great a dislike 
 to a sea life had I impressed upon me at that 
 
 C 2
 
 20 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 time, that really I had considerable doubts, even 
 situated as I was, whether I should ever leave 
 terra firma again. I verily beUeved that I was 
 always to be the victim of sea-sickness ; and, 
 consequently, that at sea I never could have any 
 comfort. Nay, I made sure, that had we re- 
 mained at sea but a few days longer, I should 
 have been sent out of the land of the living al- 
 together. And thus impressed, I certainly, on 
 Sunday forenoon, as we were bearing in upon 
 the coast, had, as nearly as possible, made up my 
 mind to stay upon it when I got to it, and forego 
 India for ever, if a ship was to be my convey- 
 ance to it. 
 
 But it is the nature of man]to forget his griefs, 
 and not always to stand by his resolves. The 
 very sorrows which, at the moment of his suffer- 
 ing them, he imagines so great as certainly to 
 leave a most lasting impression, in the course of 
 no very great time, are hardly remembered ; 
 and the resolutions which now he lays down most 
 absolutely, he very soon sees it good to alter. 
 And it is good for him that he is so formed. And
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 2 1 
 
 SO it was with me at Falmouth. A day or two 
 on shore recruited me wonderfully ; and the bitter 
 remembrance of my previous unhappy situation, 
 faded considerably. Every one, too, was crying 
 out, that we had now got all our sickness over, 
 and that however long we might be at sea, we 
 would have no more of it. And as both honour 
 and necessity urged me to go through with what 
 I had bound myself to perform, I listened to the 
 cry, and forgetting all my former resolutions, re- 
 solved at last, whatever might be the conse- 
 quences, to try myself once more. 
 
 And accordingly on Wednesday the 21st, when 
 the ship sailed again, I sailed with her ; and 
 again I was launched into a sea of affliction. 
 Soon were all my fine hopes of immunity for 
 ever from the unwelcome complaint overturned ; 
 for the morning after we sailed, although I got 
 out of bed in tolerable spirits, determined, if pos- 
 sible, to brave every thing, I was very soon glad 
 to give up the contest, and turn in again. And 
 for a whole week after, I continued, with many
 
 22 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 others, in a state, which I sincerely pray, no poor 
 soul may ever be in. At last, however, there 
 came a gale, — a gale which had almost driven us 
 in on the Spanish shore, and, probably, finished 
 our sickness not exactly in the way we wanted ; 
 and whether it was that that frightened us into a 
 recovery, or good weather which we had imme- 
 diately after, that brought about the change, I 
 will not determine positively ; but, at all events, 
 from that day there were evident symptoms of 
 amendment, and very soon all complaint disap- 
 peared. 
 
 Regarding a cure for sea-sickness, I am afraid 
 there have none been found out yet. Many plans 
 have been recommended both for its prevention 
 and cure, but none, I believe, have ever been 
 found of much service. Some tell us to remain 
 always on deck, exposed to the air. But I can 
 tell them, from experience, that it is a thing hardly 
 possible to keep up the head long, when once we 
 arc fairly sick ; and more, that it is a thing very 
 far from agreeable to remain a whole day on the
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 23 
 
 deck of a ship, in the English channel, in March 
 or months like it. Others advise us never to get 
 up at all, — ^to keep our bed constantly till we feel 
 ourselves well. But this is just running into 
 another extreme, and is not advisable. A third 
 set recommend what would be rather an agree- 
 able remedy, if we had any relish for food, 
 namely, to eat, continually. Eat, say a great 
 many, heartily and often, whether you have an 
 appetite or not, and you will find it a most effec- 
 tual cure. But this I am inclined to regard as 
 the very worst of advices. It is quite impossible 
 that the stomach, weakened and worn out as it 
 always is in the complaint, can digest food in any 
 quantity. It may be made to receive it, but it 
 must of necessity reject it again ; and such a 
 plan will assuredly tend more to aggravate, than 
 to lessen the complaint. Unless there be some 
 inclination for it, solid food should not be taken. 
 Others go again to the opposite extreme, and bid 
 us let eating alone altogether, till we are well. 
 Others recommend different kinds of spirits, 
 aromatics, ^c. But the truth is, the motion of
 
 24 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 the ship is the cause of the malady, and until we 
 can find a way to prevent this, I am afraid those 
 who are disposed to it, must be content to suffer 
 the ill for a time. It is only when the system 
 has accommodated itself to the cause, that it ceases 
 to influence. 
 ■ But although I think it hardly possible, by any 
 means, either to prevent or cure, I think a little 
 may be done to alleviate. And the advice I 
 would give for this purpose is, — ^to sit up, and in 
 the open air, as much as possible, — and when 
 absolutely obliged to lie down, immediately on 
 feeling a little recruited, make another attempt at 
 sitting up. Eat but little solid food, even though 
 somewhat inclined for it ; and when there is no 
 inclination, or perhaps, rather a dislike to it, let 
 it alone altogether. It is, however, very generally 
 the case, that there is some particular kind of 
 food which the stomach would rehsh, though it 
 loaths every other ; and, of course, if this can 
 be had, it will be very suitable. Although every 
 kind of solid nutriment may be loathed, there is, 
 very frequently, a desire for spirits, or wine, or
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 25 
 
 something of that sort, prepared in particular 
 ways. The stomach — the whole system — debi- 
 htated and sinking, calls for something to arouse 
 it a little, — to keep its vigour up, till it masters 
 the complaint ; and therefore, not only when the 
 desire exists should it be gratified, but even when 
 it does not exist, if the complaint is continuing 
 for any length of time, some nutritive stimulus 
 of this kind, should certainly be had recourse to. 
 I felt myself, I know, from a little brandy and 
 water, though brandy was a spirit I never could 
 bear before, the very best effects. I think it 
 right, however, to mention, that the stimulating 
 system must not be too freely indulged in. 
 Though I had always disliked brandy before, 
 yet finding such considerable relief from the first 
 dose, I repeated it, as I always do with any 
 medicine I find answer the purpose, and con- 
 tinuing to take it till the end of my sickness, I 
 found by the time I had fairly recovered, that 
 the medicine was by no means disagreeable to 
 me : and ever since I have been able to take a
 
 26 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 little of it. This is a hint which I hope will 
 not be overlooked. 
 
 But patience, after all, is the best cure. A 
 little time will, I may say invariably, remove 
 the complaint ; and what is some consolation, 
 when we do get over it, we are frequently better 
 than we were before.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 Lo! to the wintry winds the pilot yields 
 His bark, careering- o'er unfathom'd fields. 
 Poor child of danger, nursling- of the storm. 
 Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form. 
 But Hope can here her moon-light vigils keep, 
 And sing to charm the spirit of the deep ! 
 
 Campbell. 
 
 As yet I have only been shewing the darker 
 side of a sea Ufe, or voyage; and I dare say 
 I have said almost enough to deter any one 
 from going to sea, if by any means he can 
 keep on shore. But I must also shew some- 
 thing of its bright one; and I think what I 
 have to say upon that head will go a good way 
 to counterbalance what has been said before. 
 
 And first, I would observe, that the descrip- 
 tion I have given of the troubles we suffered, 
 from boisterous weather, at the outset of the
 
 28 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 voyage in the Lonach, will not apply to every 
 voyage. It is only now and then that a ship, at 
 starting, meets with such weather as we were 
 exposed to ; and, of course, it is only now and 
 then that such sorrowful scenes are to be wit- 
 nessed. Frequently is the ship, from the time 
 she leaves her port till she has travelled far, 
 till she has reached a more equable and genial 
 clime, wafted along by the gentlest gales upon 
 a quiet sea ; and the system thus gradually ini- 
 tiated into the business, feels none of those dis- 
 agreeable effects which so generally attend upon 
 boisterous weather. And there are some who 
 are not at all disposed to sea-sickness, who 
 are fortunate enough to possess a constitution 
 proof against it in all weathers. 
 
 And even when it does happen that, at the 
 very outset, a storm is encountered, it lasts only 
 for a time, and serves this good purpose, that 
 when better weather does come, we value and 
 enjoy it the more. Whatever may be the state 
 of matters at the beginning, we may make our- 
 selves sure, barring accidents, that after getting
 
 THE VOYAGE. 29 
 
 on a little, we will get into fine weather ; and it 
 is then that our dislike to the situation, however 
 much it may have been, is sure to give way, 
 and we begin to see in it much more comfort, 
 many more sources of enjoyment, than the first 
 tasting of it promised. By this time every one 
 on board has become better acquainted, and fre- 
 quent association and agreeable conversation, 
 which are the soothers of life in all situations, 
 become general. The mind is now, in some de- 
 gree, weaned from the objects it has left, and 
 begins to take some interest in those that are 
 before it. The very business of the ship be- 
 comes attractive and amusing ; and often is the 
 mere passenger, who has nothing to do with it, 
 in a very short time, almost as well versed in 
 sea phrases, and able to talk with nearly as 
 much freedom about braces and bunt-lines, and 
 sheets and yards, as the seaman himself Often 
 is the young fellow, who, but a few days before, 
 lay in a state of misery, wishing himself a thou- 
 sand miles away from every thing like a ship, as 
 ready as any one to lend his hand to a rope, and
 
 30 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 perhaps the very first to jump up to the yard, 
 in a blowy night, when a top-sail is to be reefed 
 or furled. But this last action, as it is dan- 
 gerous, and is not necessary, is not to be com- 
 mended. 
 
 I have heard it often said, that a life at sea is 
 a most disagreeable and monotonous one. I 
 have heard the complaints often made, that while 
 we are on board ship, the time hangs exceedingly 
 heavy ; that there is no variety, no room to roam 
 about; that day after day, and week after week, 
 is the same ; that we are just pent up in a pri- 
 son, and to make our confinement worse, we are 
 continually exposed to numerous dangers and 
 privations and causes of anxiety. And I allow, 
 that in many cases, the life is disagreeable 
 enough ; for in all things much depends on cir- 
 cumstances. I must allow the complaints to be 
 true, to a certain extent, but I caimot admit them 
 in their wide acceptation : for I know that not a 
 few have just been as happy at sea, as ever they 
 were on shore. I have felt that, even on the 
 deep, far removed from the land, with all its
 
 THE VOYAGE. 31 
 
 varied enticing scenes and busied inhabitants, 
 there is quite enough to keep away the complaint 
 of tediousness ; that there are objects well fitted 
 for the contemplative mind; that with all the 
 dangers and privations, and confinement, there 
 are sources of enjoyment. 
 
 At sea, in a well-conducted ship, every thing 
 is carried on with the greatest regularity. Cer- 
 tain times are set apart for certain things to be 
 done; and he that is inclined to apportion his 
 time and employ it properly, may certainly do it 
 there without any difficulty. The cabin is an 
 excellent place for retirement, and reflection, 
 and study. And when there are a few others 
 whom, when we please, we can converse and 
 associate with, surely we cannot say, that the 
 time can hang heavy. He that cannot find 
 enough of occupation in his book and his friend, 
 will scarcely find it, I am afraid, much to his 
 profit, in any thing else. Yet it is not neces- 
 sary that we should confine ourselves to the ca- 
 bin and study alone. Tlie mind certainly re- 
 quires diversion, and it need not be without it
 
 32 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 at sea. When we feel inclined, we can do there 
 just as we do on shore — go out and make our 
 calls. We can pay to our friends, as regularly 
 there as any where else, the morning or after- 
 noon visit, and have the visit returned; and he 
 only who has made one of it can tell the happi- 
 ness which exists in the little society, when a 
 few, with dispositions alike, are met in the little 
 cabin, either conning with each other the lesson 
 of knowledge, or joining in some innocent amus- 
 ing recreation, or talking over joys past or joys 
 to come. There we are secure from the bustle 
 and allurements of the world ; there the mind is 
 induced to seek in itself for something to satisfy ; 
 there we learn to prize the few objects we have, 
 and to hold fast in affection the heart that beats 
 responsive with our own. Before dinner, or in 
 the evening, we can take, as on shore, although 
 we cannot range just so far, our promenade. We 
 may close the evening, as we are inclined, either 
 with music, or cards, or dancing. And when 
 Saturday night comes, and all are assembled, 
 with bounding hearts we drink to sweethearts
 
 THE VOYAGE. 33 
 
 and wives, and the cheerful song passes round. 
 In truth, it is just a litde city — a little society — 
 of itself; and secluded as it may seem, he who 
 likes to accomodate himself to it, need not want 
 comfort. 
 
 One complaint I have said is, that privations 
 and dangers attend it ; and I admit that they do. 
 The seaman, in particular, who has charge — 
 who has duty to perform — has indeed enough of 
 anxiety and privation. But there is no situation 
 without its dangers ; and though we may allow 
 that the man who is tossing about on the wide 
 ocean, runs, upon the whole, a greater risk than 
 him that is walking quietly on terra firma, yet, 
 we need not look very narrowly to discover, that 
 when out at sea, though we may be exposed to 
 dangers enough, we are out of the way of not a 
 few that on land we would be liable to. In the 
 various circumstances and situations of this un- 
 certain state, it is indeed hard to say who stands 
 the best chance. Fortunately, he who has to 
 endure some of its privations, appreciates best 
 its sweets when they come. 
 
 D
 
 34 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 Another complaint is, the sameness of the 
 scene. There is nothing, it is said, pleasing 
 or beautiful to attract the eye; probably for 
 months together nothing is to be seen but sea 
 and sky ; and, consequently, the scene can have 
 few charms — the prospect must be tedious and 
 uninviting. 
 
 But these are assertions which I must also re- 
 gret, in a great measure. That for months toge- 
 ther nothing else is to be seen but sea and sky, 
 is true ; but to tell me that in this sea and sky 
 there is nothing beautiful or attractive, is to tell 
 me what experience has proven to be false. It 
 is true, that the mighty precipice, towering in 
 majesty — and the mountain, with its less gigan- 
 tic, but milder and more alluring aspect — and 
 the valley, with its murmuring stream and its 
 peaceful peeping cottage — and the tlowery mea- 
 dow, with all its variegated richness — and the 
 wide-spread lawn, covered with its green ver- 
 dure — and the far-extending forest, robed and 
 blooming in its green livery — objects which give 
 such life and pleasure to the eye and heart of
 
 THE VOYAGE. 85 
 
 man — are wanting; but it does not follow that, 
 though these are absent, the prospect should 
 either be tedious or uninviting ; these are not 
 essential to an attractive scene. I give them 
 all their due; I give them, in their place, my 
 warmest admiration. But I must still maintain, 
 that even on the face of the deep, far away from 
 all the loveliness of the vegetable world, there 
 is much to attract and much to admire ; and that 
 he who possesses a mind capable of admiring 
 Nature in any of her forms, will find enough to 
 interest it there. It is there that the great orb 
 of the day is seen, in all his splendour, slowly to 
 rise from the bed of the ocean, and after travelling 
 his course through the cloudless heavens, in the 
 evening, to sink again into the wave; and as 
 he slowly measures^ his course, and his bright 
 beams, dancing on the bosom of the playful ocean, 
 have gilded the surface of the green rippling 
 wave, and the whole space of aether is touched 
 with his splendour and serenity, surely there is 
 much of beauty in the scene. It is there, in the 
 tropical region, that when the bright luminary 
 
 D2
 
 36 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 has finished his course and just gone down, and 
 his beams, still darted upward from the deep, 
 have tinted, in all the variety of colour, the 
 clouds that occasionally rest on the verge of the 
 horizon, a scene is produced, lovelier by far 
 than any that is to be found in the whole circle 
 of nature. And though it lasts but for a little — 
 though the beams are soon gone, and the scene 
 dies — yet, when the Queen of Night has taken 
 her place in the heavens, and the stars, spread 
 out upon the wide concave, are all sparkling and 
 burning around her — while the meteor is giving 
 forth its occasional blaze — another not less pleas- 
 ing is brought forward. And he that, in the 
 quiet hour of the night, when nought is to be 
 heard, save the gentle murmur of the breeze, 
 and the grateful noise of the bubbling wave, as 
 the vessel, steadily pursuing her course, turns 
 it aside and cuts her way through the deep, — 
 and, perhaps, the voice of the seaman upon 
 watch, as, to chase the lingering hour, he paces 
 the deck, and converses with his comrade, or 
 chants at the cheering, patriotic, or love ditty, —
 
 THE VOYAGE. 37 
 
 he, I say, that can contemplate at such an hour 
 without delight — he that would give his imagina- 
 tion play upon such a scene, and yet say that his 
 emotion did not rise with the contemplation of 
 it: that he could not dwell upon it with increas- 
 ing delight, even till it disappeared — I pro- 
 nounce him not to be alive to the charms of na- 
 ture; he knows not how to estimate her beauties 
 at all. 
 
 Nor should w^e complain that the scene re- 
 mains the same; for, occasionally, it is indeed 
 wonderfully and grandly changed. 
 
 " There was a tempest brooding in the air. 
 Far in the west — above, the skies were fair, 
 And the sun seemed to go in glory down ; 
 One small black cloud (one only), like a crown, 
 Touch'd his descending disk, and rested there ." 
 
 " The sky is chang'd ! — and such a change! O night, 
 And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, 
 Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
 Of a dark eye in woman ." 
 
 Nature, as if wearied of her long-continued 
 smiling aspect, puts it aside for a time, and ap- 
 pears in her wildest and most striking attire. 
 The golden day and the spangled night disap- 

 
 38 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 pear. Dark lowering clouds gather and roll, 
 and sweep along the vault of heaven, and by 
 and by cover the whole concave. The gentle 
 breeze begins to gather strength, and the far- 
 spread sea loses its gently-undulating surface; 
 above, beneath, all around, Nature has hung 
 her dark portending mantle. And now the clouds, 
 which threatened, burst, and send down deluges 
 of rain. And now another element comes in with 
 its awful aid — flash follows, in quick succession, 
 flash of the vivid hghtning, and peal comes after 
 peal of the rolling thunder. The mighty blast 
 sweeps along, and every moment increases; 
 while the convulsed sea, rolling with the most 
 terrific fury, seems ready to whelm and bury for 
 ever, in its yawning gulf, the struggling dimi- 
 nutive bark. The whole elements seem engaged 
 in some terrible trial ; there seems to be a mus- 
 tering up of their whole force, a striving, as it 
 were, who shall send forth the greatest strength, 
 and gain the mastership ; — and some dread event 
 — destruction — ruin — seems at hand. And then, 
 indeed, may he whose delight it is to contem-
 
 THE VOYAGE. 39 
 
 plate the grand workings of Nature — the variourf 
 and arresting operations of the Almighty — find a 
 theme well fitted to occupy him. Then may he 
 of the wild and solitary mind, whose affections 
 are not with men, nor with the enjoyments of 
 social life, but whose occupation is to look for 
 ever with the eagle eye of musing and searching 
 curiosity, and eagerly to grasp at whatever is 
 outre or attractive in the wide range of creation, — 
 give full scope to his moody imagination. Like 
 the bard, whose delight it was " to retire from 
 his companions, and bury himself in the recesses 
 of his native woods, or to ascend some eminence 
 during the agitations of nature ; to stride along 
 the summit while the lightnings flashed around 
 him, and, midst the hovvhng of the tempest, to 
 apostrophize the spirit of the storm" — may we 
 find enough to attract — enough upon which to 
 exert all the energies of mind — in such an awful 
 and striking scene. 
 
 *' Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll ! 
 Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 
 Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 
 Slops with the shore; — upon the water)' plain
 
 40 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 The wrecks are all thy deed — nor doth remain 
 A shadow of man's ravage, save his own ; 
 
 "When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, 
 
 He sinks into thy depths with buhbling groan, 
 
 Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown. 
 
 " Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
 
 Glasses itself in tempests ! — in all time. 
 Calm or eonvuls'd, in breeze or gale or storm, 
 
 Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
 Dark heaving — boundless, endless, and sublime ! 
 
 The image of Eternity ! — the throne 
 Of the Invisible ! Even from out thy slime 
 
 The monsters of the deep are made ! Each zone 
 Obeys thee ! Thou goest forth dread, fathomless, alone !" 
 
 But, a little while, and all is calm again. 
 Soon are the winds subdued, and the dread con- 
 vulsion finished. All that threatened is re- 
 moved, and again there is the gentle steady 
 gale, and the serene cloudless sky, and the little 
 beaming curling wave. 
 
 And let us just go on to give an example or 
 two of the lessons that are taught, of the instruc- 
 tion which we may draw, from what we have at- 
 tempted to describe. Is not the picture at sea, 
 just the picture of human life in general? The 
 bright sun rising, and soon setting again, shews
 
 THE VOYAGE. 41 
 
 man how he also enters on the morning of life, 
 and reminds him of the short course he has to 
 run ; and the tinted evanescent horizon, is a 
 beautiful emblem of his transient fast-fading 
 joys. Like the favourable gale, which steadily 
 and quietly drives the ship on her course, — like 
 the serene prospect all around, which gives such 
 hope and peace to the mariner's breast, — and the 
 tempest coming suddenly, and threatening to 
 destroy, — are all the affairs of humanity. Man, 
 though he may travel for a time in the road of 
 prosperity, can never make sure of continuing in 
 it through the whole of life's journey. However 
 promising and settled-like his prospects, he is 
 never secure against the inroads of adversity. 
 And just at the moment when the pulse of hope 
 beats highest, — just when he thinks himself most 
 safe, and hardly fears a single danger, — the sun- 
 shine of his prosperity is dimned, and, by cir- 
 cumstances which he cannot control, he sees his 
 surest and most pleasing hopes ready to be over- 
 turned. And thus are we taught never to build 
 too high, — not to think ourselves altogether
 
 42 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 secure in any situation. But, again, like the 
 storm-beaten mariner,, just as he may be losing 
 hope, and giving up all for lost, — just as he is 
 beginning to think the gloom of adversity has 
 thickened too much ever to be dispelled, he sees 
 the darkness gradually removed — he sees pros- 
 perity again shoot forth her beam, — and again he 
 finds himself in the prosperous course. And 
 thus are we taught, never, in any circumstances, 
 to let ourselves sink with despair, but, steadily to 
 strive, even in the most unpromising case, and 
 look forward to a better day. When we see the 
 mariner guide his frail bark to the remotest 
 corners of the world, and travel the very tract, 
 and hit the very spot, he wishes, though he may 
 never have travelled it before; we are taught 
 how far science has advanced, and how much 
 the ingenuity and industry of man can achieve, 
 and we are stimulated by the noble works of 
 those who have gone before us, not to repose in 
 idleness, but to employ the faculties that have 
 been given us, — the talent we possess, — in the 
 purpose of utility. When we see him, on the
 
 THE VOYAGE. 43 
 
 approach of the storm, prepare his vessel in such 
 a manner as enables it to ride secure, and gives 
 his bosom peace, in a tempest which we would 
 pronounce as almost certain to ingulph him, we 
 are taught what exertion and proper management 
 will do ; we sec how much, knowledge and 
 steadiness and perseverance, will aid us, in un- 
 propitious circumstances. When we see the dan- 
 gerous lightning streaming along, and listen to 
 the loud thunder as it peals^ we are led to look 
 up with fear and love to Him who has the light- 
 ning and the thunder in his hand, and who, when 
 he wills, can quiet the storm. 
 
 Here, too, the feelings of pity are called into 
 play ; here the heart that can sympathize, and 
 feel another's woes, finds a subject. When we 
 see the poor seaman, for the safety of the vessel, 
 obhged to expose himself in the very midst of 
 the storm, obliged to get out in the dead of the 
 night, perhaps only half clad, and climb the 
 slippery shrouds, while the rain beats hard upon 
 him, and the bitter blast benumbs and is like to 
 carry him away, — when we see him night after
 
 44 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 night wanting his rest, and, perhaps, day after 
 day without his regular food, surely, if there be 
 any sympathy in us at all, it must be exercised 
 here. It is only when we ourselves have wit- 
 nessed the storm at sea, that we can rightly un- 
 derstand how laborious and disagreeable the 
 life of the sailor often is ; how many hardships 
 and dangers he has to contend with. It is only 
 when we have seen him engaged in his severe 
 and perilous work, that we can know how very 
 valuable he is, and how much we ought to prize 
 him for the duty he has to perform, and how ne- 
 cessary it is that for his numerous toils he should 
 be well rewarded. 
 
 Fortunately, even in the situation that we deem 
 most unhappy, the man whose lot it is to be in 
 it, accommodates himself to it, and finds a way 
 of being happy. And the sailor, though we, who 
 are only looking on, may suppose him to be lead- 
 ing a life scarcely worth having, has his happy 
 seasons as well as others. When he has per- 
 formed his hard duty, if he gets his can of grog, 
 and his hard salt fare, ill as we may think of it,
 
 THE VOYAGE. 45 
 
 he makes a better feast, he has a healthier and 
 far more grateful repast, than the man who has 
 every luxury at his command ; because he eats it 
 with the appetite of health ; he knows not the 
 loathings of a pampered stomach. When, cold 
 and drenched with rain, he lays down in his 
 hammock, although he knows that in four hours 
 he must again meet the storm, he enjoys a far 
 sounder repose than he who lolLs till the day is 
 far advanced, on the bed of ease and idleness ; 
 because fatigue has prepared the body for the 
 great restorer ; indolence has not feverished and 
 unnerved. So that were w^e to examine rightly, 
 and come to just conclusions, we might, perhaps, 
 find, that the sailor with all his privations, with 
 seemingly scarcely a comfort at all, has really 
 more enjoyment than those who seem to have 
 every comfort, than those who may be contemn- 
 ing his situation. We know not what any thing 
 is till we have actually reached it ; and those ills, 
 which, only contemplating at a distance, we think 
 we could never exist under, if we come to be 
 obliged to suffer them, change wonderfully in
 
 46 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 their aspect ; and we not only find out that they 
 are bearable, but that there is even some comfort 
 with them ! When fair weather comes, the sailor 
 gets his ease, and never giving himself a thought 
 about the blasts he may, before long, have to en- 
 counter, he makes himself happy. 
 
 There is also, when it blows pretty briskly, 
 and the jumble of the sea is pretty considerable, 
 something to annoy even the passenger. There 
 is then, of course, a good deal of tumbling and 
 tossing about ; and frequently at the breakfast or 
 dinner table some things occur, calculated, cer- 
 tainly, to vex, but perhaps, on the whole, to 
 amuse more. In the first place, on the rough 
 days, there is generally a shorter allowance than 
 usual. Fewer dishes are served up, for a great 
 many cannot well be taken care of This, how- 
 ever, would not be much to complain of; but 
 often the dish upon which we are placing almost 
 our whole dependance, though we may think it 
 pretty safely placed, follows, in an unlucky mo- 
 ment, a roll of the ship, ere any one has had 
 time to look into it ; and the chance is, that some
 
 THE VOYAGE. 47 
 
 unfortunate fellow to leeward, gets more of it 
 than he is wanting. Or, if time has been al- 
 lowed to help the contents about, as it is rather a 
 ticklish thing, at such a time to eat and keep the 
 seat too ; sometimes, before the mess has been 
 far proceeded in, some one or other to windward, 
 more eager on his plate than his seat, loses his 
 hold, and down he goes carrying others along 
 with him ; and those who, thinking they have got 
 a safe birth to leeward, are looking out for no 
 mishap, but solely engaged with what is in their 
 hands, are all at once surprised, and verjT likely 
 injured either in body or clothes, by half a dozen 
 people, and half a dozen chairs, and half a dozen 
 plates of soup, going down upon them. And as 
 a man in jeopardy will catch at a straw, when 
 those who have lost their hold find themselves 
 moving in a downward direction, although there 
 is nothing in the way to seize upon, but a knife, 
 or a fork, or a tea-pot, or a tumbler, or a wine 
 decanter, even these they will grasp at in their 
 eagerness to save themselves, and in their at- 
 tempts to prevent, sometimes aggravate, the mis-
 
 48 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 fortune ; some one, perhaps, gets a touch, he 
 would rather dispense with. And sometimes, to 
 put a good finish to the whole, while the fallen 
 are busy recovering themselves, and those who 
 are still fast are engaged either pitying, or 
 making light, of, their distress, another big and 
 unexpected roll comes, which either sends them 
 down on their fallen brethren, or wallis the re- 
 mainder of the eatables off the table, and the 
 only comfort left is, to look forward with hope to 
 the next meal. 
 
 " Sweet are the uses of adversity." 
 
 And 
 
 " He cannot be a perfect man 
 
 That is not tried and tutored in the world." 
 
 *' But I would you did but hear the piteous 
 cry of the poor souls ; sometimes to see them, 
 and then not to see them ; and now the ship 
 boring the moon with her main-mast, and anon 
 swallowed with yeast and froth, as you'd thrust a 
 cork into a hogshead. I would you did but see 
 how, ichen the soup and the big cardng knife lighted 
 upon him, he cried to me for help, and said his
 
 THE VOVAGE. 49 
 
 name was Antigonus, a nobleman ; and how, as 
 the poor souls roared, the sea mocked them." 
 
 Another very gratifying scene at sea is, when, 
 on the Sabbath, the men are all mustered, clean 
 and in their best apparel, to join in common 
 worship. There is something exceedingly im- 
 pressive in hearing the word of God preached 
 and read in such a place. There is something 
 that lifts the feeUngs high, and makes sure of 
 carrying them away from all common affairs, 
 that lights up the flame of devotion, and infuses 
 the spirit of seriousness and kindliness into the 
 heart, even into the heart that at other times may 
 sadly w^ant religious feeling. The clear blue 
 heavens above, the far-spread ocean on every 
 side, the gentle propitious gale urging the vessel 
 on her course, the attentive crew sitting round, 
 the man of God in the midst, preaching zealously 
 the instructive lesson, or offering up the solemn 
 prayer, give an interest and a solemnity to the 
 scene which is truly impressive. It seems, in 
 such a place, as if we were removed in some 
 
 E
 
 50 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 degree fiom the world, as if we were brought a 
 httle nearer to the Creator ; and the mind cannot 
 help being drawn towards Him who, presiding 
 over all, sends, as he sees meet, the favourable 
 gale to urge peacefully on, or the mighty tempest 
 to destroy. As the commands of that One are 
 set before us, as the duty we owe to him is ex- 
 plained, who is it that does not listen. As the 
 warm prayer is offered up for a prosperous voy- 
 age — for the welfare and prosperity of our native 
 land — for health and blessing upon friends far 
 distant, — who is it that does not answer in sin- 
 cerity of heart, amen ? 
 
 Thus far our Saviour's tender care, 
 lias brought us safelj^ o'er the deep, 
 
 And charg'd the winds and waves to spare 
 A few, the meanest of his sheep. 
 
 Oh ! let OUT souls with praise record 
 
 The thousand mercies we enjoy ; 
 Beneath the safeguard of our J^ord, 
 
 Kept as the apple of his eye. 
 
 God of our hope ! to thee we bow, 
 
 Thou art our refuge in distress ; 
 The husband of the widow thou ; 
 
 The father of the fatherless.
 
 THE VOYAGE. 51 
 
 la midst of dangers, Tears, aiid deaths, 
 
 Tliy i^oodncss we'll adore ; 
 We'll praise thee for thy mercies past, 
 
 And humbly hope for more. 
 
 There exists, I think, in almost every mind, a 
 natural inclination to look back upon what was 
 once enjoyed ; to ponder upon things past, upon 
 objects removed. And, at sea, to him who pos- 
 sesses a very reflecting mind, there cannot be a 
 more delightful employment, than occasionally to 
 withdraw from the bustle, and in the retirement 
 of the cabin, or on the lone deck at night, give 
 the thoughts to happy remembrance. It is wrong 
 to enter upon reflection that can only cast a gloom 
 over the feelings, and it may be thought that the 
 reflection of the voyager, who is far away from 
 his dearest objects, would just be of this kind ; 
 and, therefore, the less that he indulges in me- 
 ditation, the better. But this I know is very far 
 from the truth. I have felt what the sensations 
 are, when we call to mind those we love, though 
 they be far from us, and I pronounce them just 
 to be those that wiU elevate, and give relief, to 
 the mind. Oh ! there is a feeling inspired, as 
 
 E 2
 
 52 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 we allow the imagination to stretch to the home 
 of our affections, and bring before us what we 
 so long were associated with there, which re- 
 stores vigour to the eye that sorrow has be- 
 dimned, and the pulse of joy to the heart that 
 has long beat in sadness. For the time, we, as 
 it were, hold converse with those we meditate on ; 
 and though it be but an intercourse by imagina- 
 tion ; though it be but a feast in idea, it is indeed 
 a great one. As we know not of any change 
 that has taken place in our absence, although 
 fears may intrude, yet hope, ever more powerful, 
 dispels them, and we picture those we left in the 
 same happy state in which we left them ; and, 
 as thus viewing them, we heave the sigh of affec- 
 tion, and breathe forth the prayer for happiness 
 long to continue with them, we gain a serenity 
 and firmness of soul much to be desired. The 
 sordid few who possess scarcely a tender feel- 
 ing, or him that never strayed from the scenes, 
 and tore asunder the attachments, of his infancy, 
 may not be able to appreciate this retrospect of 
 fancy, but ever will it be regarded by the feel-
 
 THK VOYAGE. 53 
 
 ing wanderer as his great support — as one of his 
 greatest comforts. 
 
 And, after all, it sometimes only requires just 
 a little stretch of the fancy, to make us, even in 
 the middle of the Atlantic, almost believe our- 
 selves on terra firma, — in some rural situation. 
 Frequently, in that very place, have I been 
 awakened in the morning by the crowing of the 
 cock ; and scarcely had 'I my eyes opened when 
 I was saluted by the squeaking of the pig ; then 
 followed the bleating of the sheep, and the bel- 
 lowing of the cow, the barking of the dog, and 
 the soundings of all the different poultry ; so that 
 really, had it not been for the continual cracking 
 of the beams and bulk-heads around me, and 
 the unsteadiness of my footing when I got out 
 of bed, and the cables and spun-yams and mar- 
 line-spikes that were in view from my cabin- 
 door, I should have had little difficulty in sup- 
 posing myself very near indeed, to a barn-yard. 
 Yet sure as 1 was of my pent up situation, the 
 chorus I have mentioned has often filled my mind 
 with the most pleasing recollections, and often.
 
 54 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 ere I rose from my pillow, have I visited, in 
 imagination, many a dear and lovely landscape, 
 and traversed, in all the fondness and eagerness 
 of reality, the mountains and valleys which saw 
 my childhood. 
 
 In short., every life has its pleasures and 
 its pains. All depends upon the disposition ; 
 upon how we occupy, and allow the feelings 
 to run ; upon how we* strive to accommodate 
 ourselves to existing circumstances. It would 
 certainly be maintaining what is not true, 
 were I to aver, that a life at sea is as comfortable 
 and desirable as a life on shore. Most people, I 
 believe, and I confess myself to be one of the 
 number, would prefer, on the whole, the latter. 
 But what I mean to maintain is, that even the 
 former is not without its comforts and pleasures ; 
 and that he who follows it, either from choice or 
 necessity, if he thinks and acts properly, will 
 not be without enjoyment.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE APPROACH TO THE INDIAN SHORE. 
 
 Th' impatient wish that never feels repose ; 
 Desire that with perpetual current flows ; 
 The fluctuating- pang-s of hope and fear ; 
 Joy distant stiU, and sorrow ever near! 
 
 Falconbr. 
 
 There is an anxiety — a restlessness — in the bo- 
 som of man, which is continually presenting some- 
 thing new to his imagination, and urging him on 
 to some new project. He is seeking after con- 
 tentment, after comfort; and he fixes upon a 
 point where he makes sure it is to be found, 
 and promises himself that when he gets to this 
 point he will have gained the summit of his 
 wishes. There he will rest free from desire, 
 for there all that he wants will be supplied. 
 But, when he has reached it, he finds not what
 
 56 THE APPROACH TO 
 
 he counted on; something is still wanting; some 
 feeling is still unsatisfied, and ere he can gain 
 altogether what he is in quest of, he must press 
 to another point a little further on. Yet, let him 
 reach even this, and still he has not all. His 
 views change, and new objects appear, and new 
 wants are found out the farther on he goes. Just 
 as one wish is satisfied another takes its place ; 
 as one difficulty is overcome another starts up; 
 the object flits just as he speeds. There is, in- 
 deed, no boundary to his desires, no point at 
 which he can gain contentment; and thus does 
 he go on projecting and plodding ; thus does one 
 wish follow close upon another, and ever is 
 his bosom in restless eagerness, until death, per- 
 haps very unexpectedly, steps in, and carries 
 him away from all his hopes and all his ambi- 
 tions. 
 
 Does he not after fairy shadows run ? 
 
 Follows he not some wild illusive dream ? 
 Like children, that would catch the radiant sun, 
 
 Grasping its image in the glittering stream ! 
 
 And this spirit of anxiety is well exemplified
 
 THK INDIAN J^IIORE. 57 
 
 in an Indian voyage. Immediately the ship has 
 started from her port, every one is wishing for 
 a certain wind, but no sooner has this wind come 
 and satisfied the wish, than they have something 
 else to ask; they would hke to be a certain 
 length on — in, some particular latitude. Well, by 
 and by they get to this latitude, but still there 
 is just as little appearance of satisfaction as be- 
 fore. Some other point is immediately marked 
 out; if they were just half way, they would be 
 pleased. But, when the half way has been fully 
 measured, and we expect that all anxiety is 
 ended, still we find it as before. Indeed, the 
 anxiety increases just as the distance dimi- 
 nishes ; and, when the vessel has nearly run her 
 course, and the land is supposed not to be far 
 ofi; then is it seen at its greatest height, and 
 the eagerness then evinced by almost every one 
 is truly astonishing. Then those who never ven- 
 tured from sure footing before, are seen high 
 upon the mast, eagerly looking out for the ex- 
 pected object ; and then there is such calculating 
 and prophesying; and should the wind veer in
 
 58 THE APPROACH TO 
 
 the least from the favourable point, oh ! there is 
 such grieving and lamenting. Frequently is the 
 land seen long before it is in sight, and its fresh 
 fragrance felt at a most unconscionable distance. 
 And a bird which is known never to stray far 
 from the land, or a little piece of sea-weed, be- 
 cause it is likely to have come from the shore, 
 or a butterfly, which must have travelled from 
 the same quarter, is then hailed with as much 
 joy as if it were the Governor of the Indies him- 
 self come to receive and welcome them. 
 
 Now, I think I am right when I say, that this 
 spirit of restlessness, although it appears to be 
 natural, to be congenial with the feelings, when it 
 exists in a very great degree, is rather an unlucky 
 ingredient in the disposition. By giving our- 
 selves so much thought, and looking with so much 
 anxiety upon things that are before, we notice 
 less, and lose much of the enjoyment we might 
 draw from, those that are really present. It 
 seems as if this continual stepping of the mind 
 from one object to another, by keeping it always 
 on the stretch, gives it no time to dwell upon, or
 
 THE INDIAN SHORE. 59 
 
 really to find out, any single circumstance of 
 gratification; and thus, in its eagerness to reach 
 the very summit of happiness, hardly to taste of 
 happiness at all. It is certainly necessary to 
 possess the spirit in some degree. As we are 
 so liable, in every situation, to have our hopes 
 so often disappointed, if there were not some- 
 thing to stimulate and urge us on — if we could 
 not fix them again upon some object before, 
 we would sink into a miserable state of indo- 
 lence and despondency. It is well for us, no 
 doubt, that when the mind loses one hold it 
 can readily seize upon another; that upon the 
 ruins of one prospect it can instantly build 
 up perhaps a better; for thus it is kept strong 
 and encouraged to go on in the pursuit of hap- 
 piness. It is our hopes and fears that give 
 us life, that keep a heartless apathy away from 
 us. But when the anxiety increases along 
 with the success ; when, after a wish has been 
 satisfied, a thing obtained, it is no more valued, 
 but something else is looked for with still
 
 60 THE APPROACH TO 
 
 greater avidity ; in a word, when desire follows 
 desire, and there is no gaining contentment even 
 under favourable circumstances, and the mind is 
 ever kept in a racking, unsatisfiable state of ex- 
 pectation, surely it is a spirit which cannot be 
 adv£mtageous, and which should not be encou- 
 raged. And therefore have I long thought, that 
 he who endeavours to make himself happy in all 
 situations, and under all circumstances; who, 
 while he looks to the future with good hopes, 
 appreciates and enjoys the present, follows the 
 wisest plan. Therefore am I fully convinced, 
 that he who, in a long voyage, keeps himself 
 much the same at all times ; who frets not with 
 the wind when it opposes his progress, but 
 quietly waits till a change comes; who, although 
 he would be very well pleased could the voyage 
 be got over in half the usual time, will not grieve 
 very much though it should be rather longer 
 than the usual time, is by far the happiest man. 
 And what is more, he loses nothing by his con- 
 tentment ; for he gets to the end of the voyage
 
 Tin: INDIAN SHORE. 61 
 
 just at the same time with those who have all 
 along been warring with the winds, and still 
 more with themselves than the winds. 
 
 And in this, as in every thing else, when we 
 are too eager, we are apt to miss and be de- 
 ceived. 
 
 Hamlet. Do you see yonder cloud that's 
 almost in shape like a camel ? 
 
 Polonius. By the mass, and 'tis like a 
 camel, indeed. 
 
 Hani. Methinks it is like a weasel. 
 
 Pol. It is backed like a weasel. 
 
 Ham. Or like a whale ? 
 
 Pol. Very like a whale. 
 
 I have known one started from his bed, at rather 
 an earlier hour than he was in the habit of getting 
 up at, to see land, which, after all his trouble of 
 coming upon deck, he found to be made up of a 
 cloud. I recollect, when we were drawing to the 
 Indian coast, and expecting very soon to see the 
 island of Ceylon, of more than half a dozen people 
 standing for some time one night, inhaling, with 
 wondrous pleasure, the " spicy gale," as it was 
 wafted from the orange and cinnamon groves of
 
 62 THE APPROACH TO 
 
 that lovely island, and making themselves sure 
 that we could not be many miles from it ; when 
 it was afterwards found, that we were nearly as 
 many degrees, and that the whole fragrance had 
 proceeded from a little Friar's balsam on one of 
 the party's fingers. I have seen nearly the 
 whole of a ship's passengers drawn from their 
 different employments, and sent in no small 
 haste upon the poop, to see a bottle with some- 
 thing white about its neck, or a piece of light 
 white paper, shaped somewhat like a butterfly, 
 or even a plain bit of old rope, which some wag- 
 gish chap had thrown out at the bow. And 
 therefore, it is highly necessary, at such a time, 
 to have all our eyes and senses about us, that we 
 may see the land just as soon as it appears, and 
 smell the scented wind just at the time it reaches 
 us. 
 
 Yet, for all this eagerness to reach the destined 
 shore, the mind is not altogether free from un- 
 easy sensations; there are reflections of a de- 
 pressing kind apt to intrude as we draw to it, 
 and the heart that beats high with expectation,
 
 THE INDIAN slIORF.. 63 
 
 while the land is yet unseen, may lose all its 
 buoyancy when it is seen. Now that we have 
 really arrived at far-famed India, we feel, indeed, 
 that we have left, at a great distance, the land 
 where all our affections remain ; and the happi- 
 ness we experience in again seeing the wooded 
 coast, and the far-stretching green-mantled hills, 
 is much over-clouded by the reflection, that it is 
 the coast and the country of strangers. This 
 may be the country which some dear relation, or 
 intimate friend, visited like us, and went to it to 
 return no more. This is the country so inhos- 
 pitable to the European ; where the frail body is 
 so apt to become the victim of disease ; where 
 the strong man must put no faith in his strength ; 
 where the sweeping epidemic, stretching far and 
 w^ide, exerts its dreadful influence over all, and 
 day after day gathering new strength, carries on 
 each succeeding day increasing numbers to the 
 grave. And thus, we think, it may be with us ; 
 in the general wreck may we sink unheeded, un- 
 mourned. In a foreign land, far from all that we 
 love, from that which can alleviate so much the
 
 64 THE APPROACH TO 
 
 loneliness of the death-bed ; which can cheer so 
 much the expiring heart, and brighten so much 
 the sad gloom of the dying hour, may our eyes 
 be closed. 
 
 And even if we escape such a fate, although, 
 after a time, we may go back in safety to the 
 land of our fathers, yet, as many years must roll 
 past ere that period comes, consequently many 
 changes must have taken place, and many of 
 those ties that now bind us to it, shall ere then 
 be unloosed for ever. Some of those that are 
 dearest to us will, in all probability, have gone 
 down to the grave; for the old must droop and 
 die, in the common course of nature, and even 
 the young are not secure from an early stroke. 
 Long absence may have deadened and weaned 
 the affection; and the joy -beaming look, and the 
 warm-heaving bosom, which our presence ever 
 inspired, and which stirred up in our breasts the 
 grateful responsive glow, may be gone for ever. 
 The companions, too, of our childhood and youth 
 shall be scattered and lost. The few we may 
 find we will scarcely recognise as our early com-
 
 THE INDIAN SHORE. 65 
 
 panions ; for time will have been busy with its 
 changes, and new associations will have been 
 formed. Scarcely a lineament of the disposition 
 which once existed may remain, and both the 
 joys of former days, and the companions who 
 shared in them, may no longer be remembered. 
 We shall, indeed, just be alone in the midst of 
 strangers ; and the remainder of our years must 
 we wear out, as it were, in solitude, deprived of 
 those comforts which give such beams of conso- 
 lation to the afternoon of life, which cheer and 
 support man as he journeys to the grave. 
 
 Better then, we naturally exclaim, would it 
 have been for us that we had never wandered so 
 far; if such are to be the consequences, surely 
 we have deceived ourselves — surely we have 
 judged most unwisely in ever straying from our 
 home. What are all the riches we can accumu- 
 late, or all the knowledge we can acquire, or even 
 all the honours we can attain, by our wandering, 
 if the probability is, that ere we have had time 
 to enjoy them, we will be taken from them? 
 What are all the wonders a foreign country can
 
 C6 THE APPROACH TO 
 
 present, or all the luxuries it can give, if we 
 are to buy them at the expense of far truer, 
 though perhaps less glaring, enjoyments? What, 
 in a word, is every thing else, if we are to resign 
 all that ever interested our bosoms — if we are to 
 give up that happiness which is above every 
 other, and which, having once given up, we shall 
 probably never taste again ? Happier by far, is 
 the poor peasant, who, though earning his bread by 
 the hardest labour, yet eats it in his happy home, 
 in his native healthy atmosphere. Happier, 
 surely, is he who, with just enough to keep him 
 above the world, has his kindred and kind com- 
 panions around him, and enjoys the little which 
 Heaven has bestowed on him, in the society of 
 those he loves, and in the place that infancy has 
 naturalized and made pleasing to him. Ah! 
 happy are they in whose hearts contentment 
 dwells; who, satisfied with humble joys, have 
 never given place to a wandering or an aspiring 
 thought. And well would it have been for us, 
 had we checked, as it came forth, every wan- 
 dering desire, and never have allowed either
 
 THE INDIAN SHORE. 6T 
 
 curiosity, or the hope of wealth or distinction, 
 or any other enticement whatever, to draw us 
 from our first and happiest state. It would have 
 saved us many a pang, had we moderated our 
 desires and kept ourselves at peace in the situa- 
 tion we were placed in; had we held fast the 
 humble blessings we possessed, which, little as 
 we valued them then, we now find to be inesti- 
 mable, instead of wandering in search of those 
 which it is probable we may never find, and 
 which, even if we do find them, may not give ub 
 the satisfaction we counted on. 
 
 These are the reflections which are apt to arise 
 as we draw to the strange land ; and certainly they 
 are, in so far, true. The joys of home are by 
 far the sweetest ; and he with but a little in the 
 bosom of his family, if he feels as he ought, wiU 
 have far more comfort than the man of thousands, 
 in the land of strangers. But though the re- 
 flections be natural, though they have even truth 
 to recommend them, they ought not to be much 
 indulged ; for it would suit very ill indeed if they 
 were received and acted on. Circumstances will 
 
 p 2
 
 68 THE APPROACH TO 
 
 occur, which render it absolutely necessary that 
 we should travel far, and leave all behind, and 
 leave it perhaps for ever ; and therefore it is well 
 that all do not possess the same quiet and unen- 
 terprising disposition ; that there are some who 
 will never give place, or at least never sillow them- 
 selves to be overcome by such reflections as 
 these. When we reflect that the bright aspect 
 which society now presents, the immense pro- 
 gress which science has made, the knowledge, 
 the prosperity, the beauty of nations in general, 
 are the fruits of the wandering and the enter- 
 prising mind, we see how good it is that such 
 minds have been. When we look at the page of 
 history, and see it abounding and sparkling with 
 the noble deeds of the wanderer, — when we see 
 what has been achieved in the cause of Freedom, 
 and in the cause of Philanthropy, by the efforts 
 of those who forsook all, and sacrificed much, 
 and entered upon labours and hardships the 
 most distressing, and fronted even dangers they 
 were likely to perish in ; we see the value of the 
 daring spirit ; we see how happy it is that such
 
 THE INDIAN SHORE. 69 
 
 men have been ; how necessary that such should 
 be. Nay, when we look even into the common 
 and private scenes of life, we very soon discover 
 the frequent necessity and expediency of the 
 disposition. When we look into the concerns 
 just of the domestic circle, we are not long in 
 finding out, that it is indeed a fortunate thing, 
 that while some prefer the quiet pleasures of 
 home to the more dangerous, though more en- 
 ticing ones, abroad, and sit contented, others 
 have stronger and more towering feelings, and 
 hesitate not, if it seem necessary, to embrace 
 the latter. 
 
 And therefore he who is approaching a foreign 
 shore, if he does wisely, will endeavour to sup- 
 press as much as possible these feelings of des- 
 pondency. They cannot afford him the least 
 relief ; they can only lay an additional load upon 
 the mind which has perhaps already enough to 
 burden it. He may not be able to forget alto- 
 gether his sacrifices ; he may not be able to for- 
 get altogether his dangers ; but he should strive
 
 70 THE APPROACH TO 
 
 to eye the fonhef without much regret— the latter 
 without much fear. It is not indeed necessary 
 that he should forbear looking back, neither will 
 he be the worse for contemplating and examining 
 what is before : but it is necessary that he views 
 the past with firmness, and the future with un- 
 dauntedness. Certainly let him meditate, but 
 let him meditate with proper feelings ; perhaps 
 his meditation might be this : — I have exchanged, 
 it is true, a comparatively secure and happy 
 state for one where I am exposed to numerous 
 dangers, and where probably no happiness may 
 be found ; but it seemed necessary that the ex- 
 change should be made, and therefore I ought 
 not to despond, but stand against my difficulties, 
 with all my efforts, and make myself just as 
 happy, as contented, as I can. There are many 
 dangers threatening, yet I have much in my own 
 poVer ; much depends on my own conduct ; and 
 though I cannot make sure of steering clear of 
 them, still I can do much to avoid them. The 
 more eagerly I labour the sooner will my labour
 
 THE INDIAN SHORE. 71 
 
 be finished, and the sooner I will be able to re- 
 turn to the place I have left. And if, at my re- 
 turn, I find the same kind friends ready to re- 
 ceive me, if I again meet the warm embraces I 
 so long enjoyed, then I shall be able to appre- 
 ciate them the more for having once left them. 
 Yet, hard as it is, if those I love should be taken 
 away, and I am left, as it were„ alone in this vale 
 of life, still I will not be without comfort ; for 
 the very associations of the scene will go far to 
 give me happiness. Memory will be ever busy 
 in supplying food for the lone mind. The place 
 I am in, though it may continually tell me that 
 my greatest friends, and my greatest comforts 
 are for ever departed, yet will it thus as con- 
 tinually keep them fresh in my remembrance, 
 and enable me, fled as they are, to draw happiness 
 from them till the hour that I drop into the grave. 
 And, even though it be decreed I am never to 
 visit my home again, and never to taste even of 
 these ideal joys ; though it be doomed I am to die 
 in the land of strangers, still am I content ; for 
 so be it I die well, it matters little where—
 
 T2 THE APPROACH TO 
 
 Of chance or change O let not man complain, 
 Else shall he never never cease to wail ; 
 
 For, from the imperial dome, to where the swaia 
 Rears the lone cottage in the silent dale, 
 All feel the assault of Fortune's fickle gale: 
 
 — Let those deplore their doom, 
 
 Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn ; 
 
 But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb. 
 
 Can smile at fate, and wonder how they mourn. 
 
 It has been beautifully and truly said 
 
 Our affections 
 Must have a rest ; and sorrow, w hen secluded 
 Grows strong in weakness. Pen the body up 
 In solitary durance, and, in time, 
 The human soul will fix its fancy 
 E'en on some peg, stuck in the prison's wall. 
 And sigh to quit it. 
 
 The mind accustomed even to a disagreeable 
 state comes in time to imbibe an affection for it. 
 It seems to be a law, that whatever we have 
 been long connected with, although, at the time 
 the connexion was begun we disliked and did 
 not choose it ; although all along we may be 
 discontented and continually wishing the con- 
 nexion broke ; yet, when the time comes that we 
 have it in our power to break it, in doing so we 
 feel some reluctance. Although we never dreamed
 
 THE INDIAN SHORE. 73 
 
 of it before, at the time that we are about to 
 break the tie which binds us to the hated object, 
 we find that somewhat of our hatred has fled, 
 that enough of affection exists to draw forth a 
 sigh as we break it. And more — the affection is 
 not the feeling of a moment ; it remains — and 
 very probably increases, after the bond is loosed ; 
 for ever after, the disagreeable state maybe looked 
 back on with kindness ; nay, it may even be wished 
 for. The man who for many years has been kept 
 plodding continually in the walks of business, 
 considers it a most laborious, unsettled, and un- 
 comfortable life ; and his greatest hope is — that 
 by-and-by he will be able to give it up, and get 
 into some snug spot of ease and retirement. 
 But when he has accomplished his wish, he finds 
 not the enjoyment he looked for, and ill as he 
 liked it when obliged to be in it, he sighs again 
 for the bustling world. When the unhappy pri- 
 soner, who, for half a century never had crossed 
 the threshold of his lone cell, was allowed, on 
 the ruin of despotism, to go back into the world,
 
 74 THE APPROACH TO 
 
 he found not any comfort in it, and he returned 
 and demanded his dungeon and his chains that 
 he might again have happiness. 
 
 And in an Indian voyage wre have also an il- 
 lustration of the feeling. Although at the be- 
 ginning the adventurer finds himself miserably 
 situated ; although to the very end he may look 
 on his situation as a most tedious and uncomfort- 
 able one ; although every day there may be 
 stronger wishes for the termination of the 
 voyage — and, at last, indeed scarcely any thing 
 else seems thought of; yet when the period of 
 his release is drawing near, he finds he can look 
 with a little less dislike on his situation ; when 
 his strongest wishes are just about to be fulfilled, 
 he finds they have lost a little of their strength ; 
 his eagerness to get rid of his unhappy birth has 
 abated considerably, and even something hke 
 affection for it appears. When he is stepping 
 from the ship, the scene of all his miseries, the 
 place of his bitterest execrations ; when he is 
 exchanging the httle cabin and the tumbhng cot,
 
 THE INDIAN SHORE. 75 
 
 for the secure bed and the spacious bed-room-^ 
 he execrates none ; he dwells on his hours of hap- 
 piness in it, rather than on his days of sorrow. 
 Something has carried away every unkindly 
 feeling, and regret, ay fond regret, as he eyes it 
 for the last time, stirs and warms his bosom. 
 And ever after may he look back with fondness 
 on his days of voyaging. When, long after- 
 wards, he looks to the time when he deemed 
 himself most uncomfortable — to the time when 
 he deemed himself away from the world and all 
 enjoyment, he may be inclined to say, that though 
 he deemed them so then, these were not his un- 
 happiest moments, — that then he had indeed more 
 enjoyment than he has, sometimes, had since in 
 the bustling world ; and he may even wish again 
 for another trip upon the waves. 
 
 And again, in this feeling we have a beautiful 
 proof how much that restlessness and change- 
 ableness which exists in man, stands in the way 
 of his comfort. It shews us that the eagerness 
 which is ever keeping him in anxiety, is also 
 ever leading him into error ; that in looking so
 
 T6 THE APPROACH TO 
 
 earnestly for what he expects, he is apt to neglect 
 what he really has ; that sometimes when he 
 ought not, he frets and discontents himself, and 
 finds hardly any enjoyment in the situation he 
 is in, merely because he has fixed his desires 
 upon what he imagines a better. It shews us 
 that after we resign, or just when we are on the 
 eve of resigning, what we deem an unhappy state, 
 we may find out that there is indeed happiness 
 in it, — that it was truly worth our prizing. And 
 shewing us this, it teaches us, that nothing we 
 are obhged to engage in, we should consider too 
 hard, or rashly condemn and throw up; that 
 whatever our state is, we ought to endeavour to 
 be content, for it may be better than we imagine ; 
 it may be better than even another we are de- 
 siring. It teaches us that even all the privations 
 and annoyances of an Indian voyage should not 
 make us complain very much. And lastly, seeing 
 that the feeling is apt to exist under all circum- 
 stances, — that the mind habituated to any thing, 
 whether good or bad, has a reluctance and a 
 difficulty in withdrawing itself from it ; we see
 
 THE INDIAN SHORE. 77 
 
 how nicely we ought to choose, — how necessary 
 it is that we strenuously avoid making any at- 
 tachment we would by-and-by wish to have 
 broken ; and how quickly we should set about 
 breaking it, if such an attachment has been 
 made.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 
 
 Where'er we roam 
 
 Our first, best country, ever is at home. 
 And yet, perhaps, if countries Me compare, 
 And estimate the blessings which they share, 
 Tho" patriots flatter, still will wisdom find 
 An equal portion dealt to all mankind. 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 At dawn of day on the 21st of July, after a pas- 
 sage of just four months from England, we an- 
 chored safe in Madras Roads. The preceding 
 night even the passenger was found keeping 
 watch. Some, I believe, did not go to bed at 
 all, but remained upon deck, looking out with as 
 much anxiety as the commander himself for 
 the light which was to warn us of our approach 
 to Madras ; and most of those who did go, went 
 only to remain, awake, until they should hear the
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 79 
 
 glad call * all hands up to bring the ship to an- 
 chor ;' so anxiously did every heart beat as we 
 were drawing to the port. 
 . I have formerly spoken rather against an over- 
 great anxiety at sea, to get forward ; but I can 
 well excuse, nay, I can almost commend, a little 
 eagerness at such a time as this. The thought 
 that after all our dangers and anxieties we are 
 now getting into the harbour of safety : the in- 
 clination which all have, more or less, of seeing 
 the end of what they are engaged in ; the curio- 
 sity we possess to view the far-distant and far- 
 famed place ; the place where, perhaps, we are 
 destined to spend many of our years ; stir up in 
 the bosom a degree of anxiety which it is diffi- 
 cult, indeed scarcely possible, for any one to re- 
 strain. Nor is it right perhaps, as I have said, 
 that it should be restrained. For it is not the 
 fretful anxiety of disappointment. It is not that 
 racking of the mind caused by discontentment ; 
 that anxiety which exists in an over-eager, ever- 
 asking spirit. It is the gentler anxiousness of 
 natural desire, — the more grateful buoyancy of
 
 80 THE ARRIVAL. 
 
 gratitude and hope and curiosity ; and as it un- 
 doubtedly serves to occupy the feehngs and keep 
 away despondency, it serves a very necessary 
 purpose. 
 
 When the morning had advanced a little, and 
 the town with the surrounding country could be 
 pretty plainly distinguished, every eye was bent 
 towards them, and every heart was the seat of 
 many varied sensations. The sun rose upon a 
 serene sky, and, as emerging from the ocean, he 
 threw his bright beams on the majestic white 
 building and the green scenery surrounding, ob- 
 jects we had not seen for long before, the scene 
 presented was indeed a gratifying one. It re- 
 called to us objects like these, better known and 
 higher prized. It reminded us of some of our 
 dearest scenes, of some of our happiest seasons. 
 And though it sent regret into the heart, yet joy 
 went with it ; the fond, accompanied the regret- 
 ful feeling, and took away its bitterness. 
 
 When the scene had been long viewed, the 
 desire to visit naturally followed ; and by-and- 
 by, the half-clad sleepless gazers disappeared, to
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 81 
 
 make their different preparations, and get equip- 
 ped for landing. Very soon after we anchored 
 the natives came on board in great abundance, 
 eagerly offering their services both to take us on 
 shore and attend us while there. And in course 
 of the forenoon, as we got in readiness, we got 
 into a clumsy Indian boat, manned by a very 
 noisy strange-looking set of chaps, and pro- 
 ceeded to the land. 
 
 To those who have been a length of time at 
 sea, it is indeed a gratifying thing to get the foot 
 once more upon dry land. The shore, after all, 
 is a more natural place for us than the rough sea ; 
 and there are few, I believe, however much they 
 may be attached to the seaman's life, but are 
 glad to exchange it now and then for the lands- 
 man's. And it is only those who have gone a 
 long voyage, that can have a right idea of the 
 very grateful feeling produced when we touch our 
 mother-earth again. The gravest, I am sure, 
 will hardly be able to keep from taking a jump 
 of joy ; and, at such a place as Madras, a jump 
 of this kind is an excellent thing, that is to say, 
 
 G
 
 82 THE ARRIVAL. 
 
 if we jump in the proper direction ; for if we do 
 not look out pretty sharply, the big surge which 
 rolls there may teach us, too late, that we are not 
 quite upon dry land even when we imagine) it. 
 We are inclined, after getting fairly on the land- 
 ing-place, to stand and consider a little — to make 
 sure that we are really once more upon terra 
 firma: for indeed there is a little difficulty, after 
 having been so long tossed about, and had our 
 course so much circumscribed, in assuring our- 
 selves that we really have a firm footing again, 
 -and a clear wide range of country around us. But, 
 at Madras, there is very little time allowed for con- 
 sideration ; for immediately the new-comer gets 
 upon the beach, he is surrounded by an immense 
 flock of, to him, very odd-looking fellows, who 
 astound him so much with their loud, uncouth, 
 and continual gabble, and in their eagerness to 
 get at him and offer their services, press so rough- 
 ly upon him, that whenever he Recovers a little 
 from the astonishment which such a strange and 
 unexpected salutation is sure to produce, he is 
 glad to make his way out of the group as quickly
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 83 
 
 as possible, and get to some place of quietness 
 and safety. 
 
 At Madras, some of our passengers remained. 
 There are few who have not experienced, at some 
 time or other, the pangs of parting. There are 
 few who have not had to bid adieu to some dear 
 relation, or long-tried friend, and experience the 
 grief which such a parting calls forth. But it is 
 not such a parting that I have now to allude to ; 
 it is not the bidding adieu to one that we are 
 bound to by the warm ties of relationship, or 
 one that we have long and intimately known; 
 but it is the parting with those whom we have 
 only been with for a little time, and with whom 
 acquaintanceship is yet young. 
 
 Most people, I think, have been in situations 
 where, for perhaps a few days, they were kept 
 pretty closely with strangers ; and though no par- 
 ticular intimacy seemed to be formed, yet, when 
 the time came that they were all to separate, 
 and all to go different ways, probably never in 
 this world to meet each other again, there was a 
 depression of spirits produced, a degree of me- 
 
 G 2
 
 84 THE ARRIVAL. 
 
 lancholy was cast over the mind, which they did 
 not look for. And when, instead of days, we have 
 been for months, as in an Indian voyage, in close 
 association with strangers, it is natural to expect 
 that the melancholy feeling should be felt still 
 more: and we find it to be so. When the vessel 
 has reached the port where some one is to take 
 leave, although up to that time, it might not have 
 been imagined that any attachment had taken 
 place, it is then felt that intercourse has indeed 
 been productive of affection, and each heart feels 
 a pang when the " farewell" is given; and those 
 who remain to go farther on with the vessel, feel 
 a wonderful want in the little society. He that 
 has a spark of tenderness in him at all, will find 
 his heart expand with the warm glow of affection, 
 and the tear will be ready to burst from his eye, 
 as he grasps the out-stretched hand, and bids 
 adieu to the man he is, in all probability, never 
 to meet with again, even though he may not 
 have known that such a man existed till he en- 
 tered upon the voyage. He that, when thus taking 
 a last farewell, would not press even his enemy to
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 85 
 
 his bosom with all the warmth of a forgiving and 
 affectionate soul, he lacks much of kindly and ho- 
 nourable feeling, and deserves not to know the 
 value, the comforts, of friendship. It is only 
 what is due from one man to another ; it is no- 
 thing more than our common nature — our mutual 
 relationship demands. 
 
 " There be, perhaps, who barren hearts avow, 
 Cold as the rocks on Torneo's hoary brow ; 
 There be, whose loveless wisdom never fail'd, 
 In self-adoring pride securely mail'd ; 
 But, triumph not, ye peace- en amour'd few; 
 Fire, nature, genius, never dwelt in you! 
 For you no fancy consecrates the scene 
 "Where rapture iitter'd vows, and wept between; 
 'Tis yours, unmov'd, to sever and to meet; 
 No pledge is sacred, and no home is sweet!" 
 
 And here again we have an illustration of that 
 feeling alluded to in the preceding chapter, which 
 teaches us that affection may exist when we deem 
 it does not; that it m?.y be just when we are re- 
 signing an object we find out what it is. And 
 here again we are taught to prize what we 
 possess; to seek out the affection, and draw the
 
 86 THE ARRIVAL. 
 
 comfort from it which it can give, ere the time 
 it is to disappear — to value the friend while yet 
 we have him. 
 
 On the 6th of August, we again put to sea; and 
 on Friday, the 17th, we reached Calcutta, and 
 finished the voyage. 
 
 He that visits the Indian shore, cannot fail to 
 be struck almost as much with the situation the 
 English hold there, as with the natives them- 
 selves. It is, indeed, astonishing, to see with 
 what fear and respect they are there looked up 
 to , how far they seem to stand above, and how 
 much authority they exercise over, the numerous 
 natives around them. In the bosom of the Bri- 
 tainer it calls up no inconsiderable degree of 
 wonder, as well as gratification, when he sees 
 such a vast and immensely peopled territory, such 
 a fertile extent of country, completely under the 
 dominion of his countrymen, and giving up to 
 them almost the whole of its great produce. It 
 gives him an exalted opinion, indeed, of what 
 Britain can achieve; of how much courage she 
 can muster up, and what strength she can put
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 87 
 
 forth, wlicn ho contemplates her, insignificant as 
 she appears, liolding so completely in her grasp, 
 such a powerful and far-distant country. And 
 higher must his opinion rise, when he remembers, 
 that ere she could win it to herself, she had not 
 only to contend with and vanquish the possessors 
 of the country themselves, but also with others, 
 seemingly, alone more powerful than she, who 
 were also contending for the prize. When we 
 sec the flag of England streaming almost ex- 
 clusively in the port, and the wealth of the in- 
 terior almost exclusively carried away to the 
 English shore, and the mightiest chief of the land 
 bowing to the command of an English governor, 
 it tells us, most convincingly, that there is vigour 
 in the British arm, and valour in the British 
 heart. It tells us, that whatever the giddy few 
 may cry out — that whatever discontent and cla- 
 mour England may have heard, and however in- 
 significant she may seem, there is a mighty spirit 
 in her bosom, and wisdom with it; that in the 
 day of need, every division can cease, and there 
 can be a general unity and a general rallying of
 
 88 THE ARRIVAL. 
 
 her sons; that when her glory is to be main- 
 tained or added to, her spirit is ready to burst 
 forth — her wisdom is ready to be shewn. 
 
 And much is our gratification heightened when 
 we see the power she possesses exercised with 
 clemency; the laws she has enacted wise, and 
 exercised with justice. The limits of right and 
 wrong she has made known to the native as well 
 as to the European, and both stand equally ame- 
 nable to the law for any act of transgression, and 
 equally under its protection, so long as they obey 
 its dictates. The chain of slavery does not 
 exist, and the arm of tyranny has no power. The 
 poorest man is free ; and while he becomes liable 
 himself to punishment, if he is guilty of any fault 
 in what he binds himself to perform, he has a 
 power to apply to, and a power that will hearken 
 and give justice in his cause, if he "finds himself 
 aggrieved. It is to be hoped that few, even were 
 there no such strict restraint, would tyrannize 
 over the poor Indian in his grasp: but it is good 
 such a restraint does exist, for it ensures the 
 conduct which duty dictates, and it shews that in
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 89 
 
 the ruling power there is justice and humanity. 
 When all see with what strictness the laws are 
 executed, they are necessitated, whatever may 
 be their inclinations, to fear and pay respect to 
 them. When the native sees punishment follow, 
 with due force, upon the white man as well as 
 upon him, it gives him an exalted opinion of the 
 arm that is over him, and attaches him to it; 
 when he finds us shewing him kindness so long 
 as he acts as he ought, he is naturally stimulated 
 to conduct himself with propriety ; when he sees 
 us doing much both for himself and his country — 
 when he feels his situation not made worse, but 
 better, under the hands of his vanquishers — he 
 begins to find out the wisdom and the virtues of 
 our customs, and he hesitates not to lend his ear 
 to our instructions, and imbibe our better notions ; 
 and he comes to count the day indeed a happy 
 one, when a more civilized, though strange and 
 intruding, people, first visited him. 
 
 There are however a few that would look upon 
 the native as a different kind of being altogether 
 from themselves, and as neither deserving of the
 
 90 THE ARRIVAL. 
 
 same usage nor the same justice. Seeing him in 
 nature's uncouthest state, wanting altogether the 
 cultivated manner, and wanting, at least in their 
 idea, the knowledge and vigour of mind which 
 they themselves possess, they regard him as a 
 being far beneath them, and treat him with a 
 contempt and a severity which he does not de- 
 serve. He cannot, perhaps, accomplish what 
 they want him to do, just so expeditiously or in- 
 telligently as they wish, or as they could do them- 
 selves, and therefore they bring the charge of 
 great stupidity against him. He is now and then 
 guilty of a fault — nay, we cannot deny that some- 
 times he is guilty of an aggravated crime — and 
 therefore do they bring against the whole race 
 the charge of treachery and dishonesty, and main- 
 tain they are deserving of no sympathy — of no 
 kindness. But, if we just consider a moment, 
 we cannot fail to see how unfair and inhuman 
 such charges arc. Are we to expect that the 
 poor Indian, brought forth and brought up in the 
 very bosom of ignorance, without a single oppor- 
 tunity of cultivating the intellect, or of catching a
 
 THE AUIIIVAL. 91 
 
 single notion, save the notions which a wretched 
 superstition has set before him, is to possess an 
 intelligence or an ocuteness any thing like ours? 
 or are we to expect to find him without fault ? — 
 we who are more civilized — we who plume our- 
 selves so much on our knowledge and civilization 
 — have also to own with many a crime. We can- 
 not deny that dishonesty and treachery, and even 
 crimes of a deeper die, are sometimes found 
 amongst us; and therefore should we neither 
 wonder nor condemn very much, if we find the 
 Indian, tutored as he is in the dark school of 
 superstition, and taught perhaps from his in- 
 fancy not to look with much affection on the 
 white man, transgressing frequently. His stu- 
 pidity, it is plain, is just a natural consequence 
 of his ignorance ; and the man who acts as jus- 
 tice and humanity dictates, will not treat him 
 with harshness on account of it ; he will endea- 
 vour to remove the darkness of his mind, and, 
 as he accomplishes this, the stupidity wiU dis- 
 appear: he will find even the Indian's mind 
 capable of cultivation. His dishonesty and trea-
 
 92 THE ARRIVAX. 
 
 chery must proceed in a considerable degree from 
 the same cause. It proceeds so far too, we are 
 afraid, from the example of the white man him- 
 self; for, it cannot be denied, that sometimes 
 those who cry out so much against him, and 
 whose duty it is to set before him the example of 
 regularity and equity, do not give him the pat- 
 tern they ought. And it proceeds, I hesitate not 
 to say, in not a few instances, from the treatment 
 he receives. There never was a heart reclaimed, 
 or won over yet by ferocity. It is much easier 
 to woo by kindness, than to force by fierceness. 
 It is kindness which gains the affection, and which 
 keeps it after it has been gained. It may be 
 possible by ferocity to make a man fear, but it is 
 impossible to make him love. And the Indian, 
 though he may crouch under the frown, while he 
 labours at the work of the man who, k^rded 
 over him, treats him harshly, will never have an 
 affection for this man, or a desire to do his work 
 diligently; and no wonder if he be ready, when 
 an opportunity offers, to take his advantage. 
 And thus it is easy to see, that we ourselves are
 
 THE AnniVAL. 93 
 
 in some degree to blame for his dishonesty, and 
 that his dishonesty is not hkely ever to be re- 
 moved, until we be scrupulous in setting before 
 him a strictly honourable example, and be ready, 
 when we find them out, to praise and reward his 
 
 fidelity and services. 
 
 I do not mean to exculpate the Indian alto- 
 gether. I know, whatever may be the cause or 
 causes, that there is enough of treachery in him 
 to make it absolutely necessary that he be kept 
 well under restraint. I allow that sometimes he 
 shews, even when he ought not to shew it, ingra- 
 titude and infidelity ; and that we would require 
 to be on our guard, and not give him all our 
 faith, until time has shewn him worthy of it. 
 But what I maintain is, that there are virtues in 
 the Indian's heart, and powers in his mind, if 
 they be properly sought after ; and that while 
 we treat him with that strictness which will shew 
 him he is not to be allowed to usurp, we also 
 treat him with that kindness which will shew 
 him that we are not inclined to trample. There 
 have been examples enough to prove that his 
 mind is susceptible both of improvement and
 
 94 THE ARRIVAL. 
 
 affection. No one can have been long amongst 
 his kind without discovering, in many, an im- 
 mense degree both of acuteness and industry. 
 The cases are many, where those placed in the 
 situation of improvement, have shewn great 
 powers : nor are they fewer, when placed in the 
 important, but kind, situation of trust, they have 
 shewn great fidelity and great affection. And 
 therefore is it that I maintain, that we ought to 
 look with pity and kindness, rather than with 
 contempt and liarshness upon the being whose 
 lot has been cast in a situation which prevents 
 him from having feelings like ours ; and that we 
 will gain more, and be deserving of a better 
 name, and fulfil just what duty requires of us, 
 by complacently endeavouring to do away with 
 his darkness, and root out his evils, than by 
 looking on him as a being beneath us, and domi- 
 neering over him, and quarrelling with his faults 
 and failings without making an attempt to remove 
 them. 
 
 " I venerate the man, wliose heart is Marm, 
 Whose hands are pure. 
 1 woiild not enter on my list of friends, 
 (Tho'grac'd with polish'd manners and fine sense,
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 95 
 
 Yot wanting sensibility,) tlie man 
 Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. 
 An inadvertent step may crush the snail, 
 That crawls at evening in the public path ; 
 But lie that has humanity, f'orewarn'd 
 Will tread aside and let the reptile live." 
 
 It has already been hinted at, in the second 
 chapter, that in rating the happiness of a people, 
 or an individual, if we rate upon the principal 
 that what gives happiness to us would also give 
 it to them, we will often rate erroneously ; that 
 to estimate any state aright, circumstances must 
 be properly taken into account. And we have a 
 noble example of it in the case of the Indian. 
 Were we to measure his happiness by our ideas, 
 we would scarcely conceive him to have any hap- 
 piness at all. With only a little mud hut to 
 screen him from the burning heat and deluging 
 rain, and with only a little rice to subsist on ; 
 debarred, seemingly, from every source whence 
 comfort flows, we are apt to look upon his state 
 as a wretched and unhappy one. We would not 
 suppose that comfort could exist in such a con- 
 dition. But judging thus we would judge erro-
 
 96 THE ARRIVAL. 
 
 neously. For if contentment is comfort, and 
 surely it is, it exists there. If a bosom without 
 anxiety is a happy one, and I think it is, the 
 Indian has it. Give him but his rude hut to re- 
 pose in, and a little rice to support him, and his 
 hubble-bubble, or smoking pipe, and he has not 
 another wish ; he has all that he wants ; he has 
 all that ever he knew ; he has enough to make 
 him happy. There seems to be more peace in 
 his heart ; perhaps more real enjoyment in his 
 state, than in that of the man who is lorded over 
 him, and who has it in his power to draw his 
 comfort from a thousand sources. 
 
 And when I contemplate the state of the In- 
 dian, when I see him sit without a murmur, 
 without a symptom of discontent, in a state 
 which I deem wretched ; when I see him con- 
 tented and satisfied with the simplest support 
 which nature can bestow, evidently enjoying a 
 situation which has to me not a charm, which has 
 not a luxury in it ; I learn how difficult it is to 
 judge, and how much I ought to consider before 
 pronouncing on any state ; I feel how true it is.
 
 THE ARRIVAI.. 97 
 
 that there is no condition without comforts ; that 
 indeed blessings have been distributed to all 
 mankind. I see that man indeed wants but little, 
 that in seeking for much he only increases his 
 wants ; and I see that it is not in the splendid 
 mansion, or at the richly-covered table, or even 
 in the very enlightened mind itself, that happi- 
 ness is, alone, to be sought for. And seeing that 
 it is so difficult to judge of a state, I learn that I 
 should neither envy those that may seem far 
 above me, or contemn those that may seem as far 
 beneath me ; but that I should look with compla- 
 cency on all, and endeavour to think my lot, what- 
 ever it may be, as probably the best. 
 
 This is the truth, and it is good that it is so ; 
 every heart turns to its own home, and sees there 
 the most enjoyment ; every one esteems his own 
 country the best, and the comforts he has in it 
 the greatest. Although there may be some that 
 we think Vv-rstched enough, luckily, they do not 
 think so themselves ; and though we may sup- 
 pose that by changing their state we v/ould add 
 to their happiness, tiie probability is, we would 
 
 H
 
 98 THE ARRIVAL 
 
 take from it. The frozen-up Laplander, and the 
 sun-burned Indian are happy in their own climes ; 
 inhospitable as they are, they are happier in them, 
 by far, than they could be in any other ; and just 
 from the cause, that there their affections have 
 grown and fixed ; and upon these all their hap- 
 piness depend. Our affections get rivetted upon 
 what infancy presents to us, and whatever it may 
 be it seems lovely, and sorrow must be the con- 
 sequence of taking us from it. Though it be but 
 a humble cottage in a barren secluded situation, 
 it will have its thousand charms, and there is no 
 scenery, however rich, no mansion, however 
 splendid, the heart will dwell upon with so much 
 fondness. 
 
 And the Britainer, however long he may wan- 
 der, however far he may travel, never will he find 
 a coimtry, which, give it him in his acceptance to 
 choose for life, he would prefer to his own. If 
 curiosity, or necessity, or perhaps discontent, 
 has induced him to visit countries most famed for 
 their beauties and luxuries, yet will he say when 
 he has seen and tried them, that they have not
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 99 
 
 the beauty of his native isle ; that they possess 
 not comtbrts half so true. Wherever he goes his 
 thoughts will continually turn to the land where 
 he first drew his breath, — to the land where he 
 received his earliest, his happiest, and ever- 
 during impressions. Place him in a situation 
 the most alluring ; give him all the comforts a 
 foreign country can give, and still there will be 
 a sighing after the country that gave him birth. 
 Let him only feel that he is for ever removed from 
 it, and there is a wonderful sadness produced. 
 However long he may be absent, that thought is 
 ever the greatest and the most cheering ; that he 
 will yet live and die in his native land. And 
 thus are we none the worse for wandering ; for 
 the farther we roam, the better will we find out, 
 and the more will we be convinced, what our 
 home really is. And still more will we be 
 bettered by it, if a discontented spirit has sent 
 us a roaming : for the likelihood is, that we will 
 return with the spirit cured, and confess that our 
 notions were mistaken, that we went to seek that 
 
 H 2
 
 100 THE ARRIVAL. 
 
 in another country which existed most in our 
 own. 
 
 How touchingly does Campbell, in his ' Sol- 
 dier's Dream,' advert to this native preference 
 and fondness. 
 
 Methought from the battle-fields' dreadful array, 
 Far, far I had roam'd on a desolate track ; 
 
 'Twas autumn, — and sunshine arose on the way 
 To the home of my fathers, that welcom'd me hack. 
 
 I flew to tlie pleasant fields, travers'd so oft 
 
 In life's morning march when my bosom was young ; 
 
 I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft. 
 
 And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. 
 
 Then pledg'd we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore, 
 
 From my home and my weeping friends never to part ; 
 
 My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er. 
 And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart, 
 
 ' Stay, stay with us, — rest, Ihou art weary and Morn !' 
 And fain was the war-broken soldier to stay. 
 
 In a very few weeks after we arrived at Cal- 
 cutta, I had parted with almost every passenger 
 we brought out. All, I believe, except two, 
 had left Calcutta, and almost all had gone dif- 
 ferent ways. It may be, they and I are never to
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 101 
 
 meet again. I may have parted with them then 
 for the last time, and the happiness their society 
 once gave me it may give no more. But whether 
 wc are destined to meet again or not, they shall 
 ever live in my remembrance. Wherever they 
 go, my warmest affection, and my sincerest 
 wishes go with them ; and until the last hour of 
 my life, shall I look back with comfort, with a 
 pleasing regret, upon the time we spent together.
 
 PART 11. 
 
 INSTRUCTIONS FOR THE PRESERVATION OF 
 HEALTH FN INDIAN CLIMATES. 
 
 Some (as thou saw"st) by violent stroke shall die ; 
 By tire, Hood, tainirie ; by intemperance more 
 In meats and drinks, which on the earth shall bring- 
 Diseases dire. 
 
 Milton. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to give any directions re- 
 garding what is to be done for the preservation of 
 health during the voyage from England to India. 
 For then the health is generally very good ; it 
 is often good even in those who have on shore 
 laboured under disease, whether disease coming 
 of itself, or disease brought on by improper 
 conduct; and this for evident reasons. Now 
 there is a pure, and consequently salubrious, at-
 
 104 PRESERVATION OF HEALTH 
 
 mosphere, breathed ; and what is perhaps as 
 much to be wished for and admired, there is no 
 excess committed. The invalid now comes to 
 shew unusual symptoms of strength ; he who on 
 shore never shewed any inclination for food, now 
 comes to eat with an appetite ; for the pure air 
 he breathes, and the other causes which have 
 been brought to bear on his system, have wrought 
 a change, and he is unusually invigorated and 
 improved. The irregular liver is now altogether 
 removed from the field of irregularity ; he cannot 
 if he would, unless he transgresses all the bounds 
 of good society, enter now into the excesses 
 which he may formerly have indulged in ; and 
 the good which such a restraint has on him is 
 soon very palpably perceived. In the generality 
 of ships sailing from England to India, the 
 greatest regularity is observed ; no impropriety 
 is allowed ; no debauching or late seats are ever 
 countenanced ; he that would lead a life at all at 
 variance with what propriety points out, must 
 lead it apart from these he is associated with ; 
 and to this must be attributed, in no inconsidcr-
 
 IN INDIAN CLIMATES. 105 
 
 able degree, the general good health of those 
 who go an Indian voyage. 
 
 The only direction which I find myself called 
 upon to give is, to pay attention to the state of 
 the bowels. It often happens that, from change 
 of diet, want of the usual exercise, and other 
 causes, people when they first go to sea get the 
 bowels considerably constipated ; and this it is 
 highly necessary to attend to and obviate ; for 
 the rest of the system can never be altogether 
 right when these are out of order. A pill, com- 
 posed of five or six grains of calomel, with three 
 or four of the extract of colocynth or jalap, taken 
 at night, and a tea-spoonful or two of Epsom 
 salts, dissolved in a tumbler of water, or the 
 salts with senna, if the person has formerly been 
 in the habit of taking them so, or a table-spoon- 
 ful of castor oil, or a tea-spoonful of the com- 
 pound powder of jalap, taken in the morning, 
 will be the proper medicine where an active pur- 
 gative is required. But vvhen only something 
 gentle is wanted, merely to keep the bowels free, 
 the pill itself, every evening, or every second or
 
 106 PRESERVATION OF HEALTH 
 
 third evening as required, or the tea-spoonful or 
 two of salts every morning or second morning, 
 or, occasionally, a little rhubarb and magnesia, 
 or cream of tartar and sulphur, or whatever the 
 person may have formerly used, and found best 
 to suit him, will be quite sufficient. But the truth 
 is, if regularity be observed, and all the exercise 
 taken which may be taken, there will be but little 
 need for medicine of any kind. All the functions 
 will go on well enough, and when they do so 
 there can be no necessity for interfering with 
 them. With some people, fresh prunes, figs, 
 and things of that sort, answer all the purposes 
 of medicine ; and when that is the case it is for- 
 tunate, for not only is the medicine then taken 
 without disgust, but it acts as a nutriment as 
 well as a medicine ; a thing much to be wished 
 for in those who have not much appetite, espe- 
 cially in the earlier part of the voyage. 
 
 But it is a fault in many who go to sea, that 
 they do not even take that exercise which they 
 might take. It is true that they cannot take the 
 same laborious exercise which they may have
 
 IN INDIAN CLIMATES. 107 
 
 been accustomed to on shore; they cannot ride, 
 or walk a stretch of miles in the same direction ; 
 but they can have, I venture to say, in general, 
 almost as much motion as health requires. They 
 have the range of the ship ; and this for him that 
 is at all inclined to be active, is latitude enough. 
 But the fact is, many when they get on board ship, 
 get a little lazy, and are inclined more to lounge 
 than to keep in motion — putting the blame upon 
 the place which attaches to themselves. But he 
 that has a proper regard for health of body, as 
 well as buoyancy of mind, will not neglect this 
 very necessary duty. In the mornnig and evening, 
 and occasionally in the day when he feels in- 
 clined, let him take his stroll on the quarter-deck; 
 and not only will he find that thus he passes 
 lightsomely away half an hour or an hour of the 
 long day, but at the same time he is invigorated, 
 and when he comes to rest, he can bend both 
 body and mind to employment with two-fold 
 ardour. 
 
 As I am speaking on the state of health expe- 
 rienced in a sea voyage^ and as we had a case in
 
 108 PRESERVATION OF HEALTH 
 
 the Lonach a good deal in point, I cannot help 
 throwing in an observation or two, in passing, re- 
 garding the good effects sometimes accruing from 
 the removal of consumptive patients into a saline 
 atmosphere, and from a colder into a warmer cli- 
 mate. It is now very generally, I believe, ad- 
 mitted by physicians, that when consumption is 
 actually threatened, perhaps the best chance 
 which the patient has of recovery, is by a re- 
 moval to a more genial climate ; and whether it 
 be the mere change of temperature, or the pecu- 
 liarities of the air, or the change of scene, or all 
 put together, which work the good effect, it mat- 
 ters not much to inquire ; it is enough that we 
 know a sea voyage and a tropical temperature 
 are often productive of good effects in the disease 
 — this should be enough to induce those who 
 stand in need of the remedies to give them a trial. 
 I do not at all advise a removal to India for a 
 consumptive European patient. The voyage is 
 in the first place too long; the changes of tem- 
 perature experienced in it are too many ; and 
 therefore it is only tho.se that have something or
 
 IN INDIAN CLIMATES. 109 
 
 other to call them there — that have something to 
 induce tlicrn to choose that place in particular — 
 that I should ever advise to such a voyage. I 
 merely speak of the matter because it is in some 
 degree connected with my subject, and because I 
 should wish, if indeed there be any means of 
 arresting the march of such a melancholy and 
 ravaging malady, to lend my feeble aid in making 
 them public. 
 
 When I saw Mr. C — , who went out passenger 
 with us in the Lonach, at Gravesend, the night 
 before we sailed, I thought I had reason to fear, 
 from his appearance, that he might not see the 
 end of the voyage. He had so many of the 
 symptoms of threatened consumption — the se- 
 vere cough — emaciation — quick pulse — hectic 
 countenance, i^-c, that some would have been 
 inclined to say, his disease had indeed gone too 
 far to be checked by any means w^hatever. But 
 scarcely had we got fairly out to sea, when there 
 was an evident change for the better. The cougii 
 diminished much, and the appearance altogether 
 became healthier. As we got into the warmer
 
 110 PRESERVATION OF HEALTH 
 
 climate, the improvement gradually went on ; and 
 by the time we had been a month at sea, there 
 was not a symptom of his complaint remaining. 
 I dreaded that a change of temperature again 
 might be apt to throw him back — that the cold we 
 might experience in the high southern latitudes 
 of the Cape of Good Hope, would be in some de- 
 gree injurious to him; — but I cannot say that 
 even there, there was the least return of the dis- 
 ease. We landed him in India without a com- 
 plaint; and when I reflected on, and contrasted 
 his general appearance then, with the state lie was 
 in when I first saw him, I could not help being 
 much impressed with the excellent effects which 
 seemed to have accrued from the voyage. It is 
 but right to add, that Mr. C — was an exceed- 
 ingly regular young man ; and nothing that could 
 at all tend to promote recovery, was neglected on 
 his part. 
 
 I know that a great bar and objection exists to 
 the adoption of the remedy now spoken of, even 
 in those who can most easily have recourse to 
 it — I mean the reluctance to journey so far
 
 IN INDIAN CLIMATES. Ill 
 
 from home — to sacrifice, and while in a sickly 
 condition too, when their aid is most needed, the 
 society of perhaps every single friend we possess, 
 — and the fear, that even after all the sacrifice no 
 benefit may follow : and I acknowledge the objec- 
 tions are not undeserving of attention. It is in- 
 deed hard to part, at such a time, with almost all 
 that gives us comfort ; and it is true, that not a 
 few have gone never to return — to die strangers 
 in a foreign land ; for it is but too well known, 
 that when the disease has proceeded a certain 
 length, no remedy which we yet know of, no plan 
 of treatment which we have yet tried, will have 
 any effect in stopping its fatal course. To urge 
 patients, with the complaint thus far advanced, 
 away from home to a distant country, is not only 
 foolish, but cruel. We must, to have any good 
 chance of overcoming it, catch the complaint in 
 its very beginning ; we must, it is true, see it ere 
 it has made any progress, and take the proper 
 steps then. If we are to advise a removal at all, 
 the sooner, undoubtedly, we advise it, the better. 
 But surely, so long as the hope is considerable,
 
 112 PRESERVATION OB' HEALTH 
 
 that the disease is still curable, the patient should 
 bring himself to the terms even as they are. When 
 he is told, that there is nothing else at all likely 
 to be of use ; that though the hope of recovery 
 from a removal is not altogether sure, there is 
 much less hope if he stays where he is; surely if 
 he has it in his power to have recourse to the re- 
 medy, considerable though the sacrifices may be 
 which he has to make, he ought to make them, 
 and give it a trial. The physician, of course, is 
 to be the judge, and to pronounce on the case. 
 He can, in general, tell pretty correctly what the 
 probabilities are — what the chance of the case is 
 — and, of course, just by the advice which he 
 gives, is the patient to be guided. 
 
 The different West-India islands, the island of 
 Madeira, the Canaries, ^-c. , have all occasionally 
 been chosen for the residence of the invalid. 
 Circumstances generally direct to some particu- 
 lar one of these, and as generally may the patient 
 be allowed to do in this as suits him best ; and 
 when it happens that circumstances will not ad- 
 mit of a permanent residence in any part, still
 
 IN INDIAN CLIMATES. 113 
 
 there may be much benefit derived from merely 
 the voyage. The cure is often, indeed, nearly 
 complete sometimes before the destined port is 
 reached ; and therefore, though merely the voyage 
 can be taken, let it certainl}' be tried. A voyage 
 to any of the above-mentioned places, or a cruise 
 for a little while on the southern coasts of Spain 
 and Italy, if that is convenient, — or a still shorter 
 journey, even a trip from one British port to an- 
 other, may be attended with much advantage; 
 for, as I have said before, it is not perhaps the 
 removal from the cold into the warm region alto- 
 gether which does the good. We often see the 
 evident change some time before we get into the 
 warm climate, and therefore, if something de- 
 pends on any motion of the vessel, as indeed it 
 seems, or on the peculiarities of the air, or on the 
 new scene the patient is introduced to, even the 
 shortest of voyages may not be without its good 
 effects. 
 
 I would just add, that it is not only in con- 
 sumption that the remedy now spoken of, and 
 in particular the shorter voyages, may be useful.
 
 114 PRESERVATION OP HEALTH 
 
 Some of those ailments peculiar to the female, 
 which, indeed, end not unfrequently in consump- 
 tion. The complaints denominated nervous or 
 hypochrondriacal ; the ailments so commonly at- 
 tributed to the stomach, which afl9ict such a 
 multitude in society, might all, I think, be bene- 
 fited by the plan. Not a few have found out, 
 and just by accident, perhaps, that a proper 
 attack of sea-sickness has done away with all 
 the ailments they were formerly liable to. There 
 seemed to be a total change wrought in the 
 system by it ; and, therefore, do I recommend 
 all who stand in need of the remedy to give it if 
 they can a trial. 
 
 But to return to the main subject. It is when 
 we have landed on the Indian shore, that we 
 become especially liable to disease, and it be- 
 comes especially our duty to guard against it. 
 Then, however healthy we may have been in 
 our native land, and however vigorous during 
 the voyage, it is necessary to remember that we 
 stand on ticldish ground ; there is now, un- 
 doubtedly, an unusual liability to attacks of
 
 IN INDIAN CLIMATES. 116 
 
 disease ; and as these attacks are both sudden 
 and acute, cutting off without discrimination 
 both the strong and the weak, it is well to take 
 care that no conduct on our part shall increase 
 this liability. There are some who deny, that 
 the European constitution is at all more ob- 
 noxious to disease in a foreign climate than in 
 its native situation. They say, *' let us go where 
 we will, and let us live how we will, it is all the 
 same, we will not die till our time comes ;" and, 
 as a proof of it, they adduce the example of those 
 few who have so travelled and lived, and have 
 shewn all the marks of health at the end of a 
 long pilgrimage. But this is mere foolishness ; 
 the proof adduced is an exceedingly bad one, 
 for it is the few out of the multitude. We have 
 seen quite enough to convince us, that a little 
 care will sometimes save, when the opposite 
 plan, a little imprudence, will destroy. But 
 there are some reckless of their constitutions, 
 and every thing else, in all situations, both at home 
 and abroad. I feel just as much assured, that 
 the European transplanted to an Indian chmate, 
 
 I 2
 
 116 PRESERVATION OF HEALTH 
 
 becomes peculiarly liable to disease, as I feel 
 assured, that this earth is a planet revolving 
 round the sun ; and it is this assurance which 
 makes me press attention to the matter so 
 earnestly. Far be it from me to infuse unneces- 
 sary fear into the bosom of the stranger landing 
 in a foreign country. He needs, at such a time, 
 I know well, all the support that can be given 
 him on many accounts ; and I would not have 
 the thought of the danger he is exposed to from 
 disease press on his spirits for a moment. I 
 would have him firm as a rock upon that head ; 
 but I would have him also just keep in mind that 
 such a tendencv to disease does exist, that he is 
 now not just so sure of health as he may formerly 
 have been ; that he must not now indulge just 
 so much as he may formerly have done, even 
 with impunity ; and he will be none the worse 
 for keeping all this in mind. 
 
 And I am glad to say, that by the majority of 
 Europeans in India, the right view of the sub- 
 ject is taken, and tlie proper plan followed. 
 Tlieir manner of living is exceedingly regular ;
 
 IN INDIAN CLIMATES. 117 
 
 and I may well say, if the new-comer is guilty of 
 any impropriety, he has himself alone to blame 
 for it, for he will not be urged to it by those he 
 is associated with. There are, it is true, a few 
 to be met with, who will carouse, and debauch, 
 and sit late, even in India. They are, however, 
 but few, and the wise avoid them. In all good 
 society, though the table bo, indeed, richly 
 covered, few of its delicacies are indulged in. 
 Even the seasoned European, he that has by 
 residence become in some degree naturalized to 
 the climate, will not exceed ; and the new-comer 
 will but seldom be urged to go even so far as 
 him. At an early hour the table is left, and at 
 an early hour they retire to rest. In the morning 
 again they are timely up, taking the exercise 
 which is, as it v/ere, to invigorate them for the 
 day ; and just by this regular system of living 
 multitudes enjoy a perfect and long-continued 
 state of health. The only fault I would find is, 
 that the table is covered rather richly. There is 
 rather too great a profusion, rather too many 
 delicacies, many more than is required ; and the
 
 118 PRESERVATION OF HEALTH 
 
 Stranger may thus be induced to exceed unwa- 
 rily. I must own also, that he is occasionally 
 pressed a little too much to the profusion. Fashion, 
 no doubt, requires the superabundance ; it is just 
 what she expects and must have. But it is a 
 pity fashion is just so much observed ; her dic- 
 tates are in some points extremely injurious ; 
 and it would be well if sometimes she was more 
 firmly stood against. It would surely be better, 
 if less to entice and goad on the appetite was 
 placed before us ; and at all events, there should 
 be no urging to more than we feel satisfied with. 
 But the prudent will always withstand both in- 
 clination and invitation to indulge in more than 
 enough. 
 
 I need not be entering too minutely into di- 
 rections for the regulation of the diet ; for com- 
 mon sense, I think, is quite enough to teach this ; 
 and when I generally recommend moderation, 
 or indeed a little abstemiousness rather, espe- 
 cially at first, I think I give almost all the 
 lessons which the prudent require. I may just, 
 however, give a short view of the Indian customs
 
 IN INDIAN CLIMATES. 119 
 
 in that respect. The breakfast is almost inva- 
 riably at eight; and it is in general a good 
 meal. The early rising there gives a good ap- 
 petite in the morning ; and he that is in good 
 health, he that has not been living improperly the 
 night before, is always well prepared for the 
 morning repast. With the addition of rice, 
 which is always a principal article of Indian 
 food, the breakfast is just the European one, — 
 tea, coffee, ^c, the articles are both wholesome 
 and substantial, and well enough suited to the 
 European constitution. At one or two o'clock, 
 with the greater number, there is what they 
 term a tiffiji, which answers to our mid-day light 
 meal, or lunch ; it is generally just something 
 light, a little curried rice, or some bread and 
 fruit, ^c, with a glass or two of wine. Then at 
 seven in the evening comes the dinner, which, 
 excepting perhaps a little more superfluity in it, 
 is much the same as an English dinner ; and 
 this is the last meal. Suppers may occasionally 
 be given ; but generally speaking, we may say 
 the dinner is the supper ; for by the time it is
 
 120 PRESERVATION OF HEALTH 
 
 concluded, the hour of retiring to rest (which is 
 ten) is close at hand. Some, whom it suits, pre- 
 fer having the dinner at three or four, with no 
 tiffin, but tea or coffee again in the evening ; 
 which is thought by many to be much the best 
 plan, and on this account, — that then we do not 
 go to bed till a long time after the full meal, and 
 therefore are likely to have sounder rest. And this 
 may be true in some degree. It may indeed be 
 as well, when the system of dining at the early 
 hour suits best, to adopt it. But the truth is, we 
 should never take what will incommode us ; we 
 should never cither eat or drink what we need 
 be afraid to go to sleep with. He that takes no 
 more than appetite requires, may lie down safely 
 enough, even the instant he has feasted ; and 
 therefore he who is a prudent man need not be 
 afraid of the seven o'clock dinner. 
 
 It is a question not unfrequently adverted to ; 
 whether it be best, to drink at one meal only one 
 kind of liquor, or to partake of a variety. There 
 are some who say — Keep only to the one thing, 
 whatever it is, and you need not be afraid of
 
 IN INDIAN CLIMATES. 121 
 
 going a considerable length ; while there are 
 others who contend, thzit you may just as safely 
 take all and every thing that is presented. But 
 the truth is, both parties are very wrong, there 
 is, undoubtedly, much error of both sides ; we 
 know well that the man in good health abso- 
 lutely requires no kind of liquor whatever — the 
 system, naturally acting, stands in need of no 
 such stimulus to keep it a-going. But as soci- 
 ety has introduced the custom of taking certain 
 beverages at meals, we must perhaps, while we 
 continue to live in society, be content to depart a 
 little from nature's strict rule, and concede in so 
 far to the custom ; yet, if we indulge beyond a 
 certain length, even in one thing, we will cer- 
 tainly be injured by it. If we take up the idea, 
 that so long as we keep by the one liquor we 
 may drink deeply without fear, we lay down 
 for ourselves a most erroneous and ruinous 
 system; and on the other hand, when we in- 
 dulge in variety, we are exposed to this great 
 source of error, that we are apt even unawares 
 to indulge too much. This seems to me to be the
 
 122 PRESERVATION OF HEALTH 
 
 great bane in the variety of our drinks, as well 
 as our meats — that too much is presented to the 
 palate — too many things to entice are ottered, 
 and thus in truth, we eat and drink by far too li- 
 berally. I am satisfied that the various articles 
 of a fashionable dinner, though not perhaps more 
 liberally indulged in than we would indulge in 
 those of a plainer one, will not be just so whole- 
 some to the system as simpler fare ; yet, if we 
 only indulge in them till nature has said we have 
 enough, I do not think v/e need at all fear the 
 consequences. I am satisfied that he who 
 drinks only Madeira, or claret, or beer (which 
 seems now to have become the most favourite 
 beverage of India) may not so soon feel injurious 
 effects as he who takes all of them — the very 
 mixture, it is true, of the different liquors may be 
 pernicious ; but, as I have said, I think it is 
 more from the circumstance of the general 
 drinker's being apt to go too far, that danger is 
 to be apprehended ; if the single drinker makes 
 also free, why, he will suffer in time just about 
 as much as the other. I certainly recommend
 
 IN INDIAN CLIMATES. 123 
 
 strongly the adherenee to one liquor ; for it must 
 be owned a multiplicity even in very small 
 quantities, must be particularly injurious ; and 
 there is indeed no necessity for more ; one 
 serves all the purposes of society. But if we are 
 ever induced to venture upon more, let us take 
 care that we venture but a certain length. He 
 perhaps that takes none does best ; he that 
 takes but little is surely next to him in pru^ 
 dence. 
 
 There is another very erroneous idea got 
 amongst Europeans in India. There is not one 
 in twenty of them that will drink pure water ; 
 they must either have a little brandy, or wine, 
 or spirit of some kind or other in it ; and it is 
 enough almost to frighten some, to see a glass of 
 pure water taken off at a draught. Now, the 
 water seemed to me to be very good indeed, and 
 therefore I was anxious to ascertain what was 
 the cause for all this anti])athy. But the majo- 
 rity could give no reason, except that water by 
 itself was generally allowed to be injurious ; and 
 a few explained it to be the saltpetre with which
 
 124 PRESERVATION OF HEALTH 
 
 it is impregnated. I do not know, indeed, 
 whether there really is saltpetre in combination 
 with it or not ; but saltpetre, in that quantity, I 
 should think not such a mighty injurious article. 
 And does the admixture of brandy take out the 
 saltpetre, then ? is this not just adding one inju- 
 rious article to another ? Oh ! the brandy corrects 
 it, ay — at all events it is not a disagreeable cor- 
 rector, and whether it answers the purpose or 
 not, it is taken without much dismst. I am con- 
 vinced no one need be afraid to drink pure cold 
 water when inclined, unless previously heated by 
 exercise, or some other cause to forbid it ; and I 
 decidedly enter my protest against that habit of 
 drinking so continually brandy and water, or 
 brandy pamy as they call it. In a climate such 
 as India, we naturally crave for a considerable 
 quantity of fluid, and if we mix spirits always 
 with what we drink, we must undoubtedly take 
 what will sooner or later be hurtful ; and let it be 
 recollected, as has already been hinted at, that it 
 is a thing which grows, that though we take it 
 only from example, to be like others, at first, we
 
 IN INDIAN CLIMATES. 195 
 
 come in time to take it just because we like it. 
 If we must mix, let the quantity of spirit be 
 indeed small ; we can pledge our friend in a 
 glass gently tinged, as heartily as we can do in a 
 stijftiier. Many, I am satisfied, have ruined ex- 
 cellent constitutions just by this habit of drink- 
 ing, — and 
 
 " What then avails, that with exhauslless store 
 Obsequious luxury loads thy glittering shrine ; 
 What then avails, tliat prostrate slaves adore, 
 Or fame proclaims thee matchless and divine I 
 
 Can gaiety the vanished years restore. 
 
 Or on the withering limbs fresh beauty shed ! 
 
 In health how fair, how ghastly in decay, 
 Man's lofty form !" 
 
 Next to a proper attention to diet, a proper 
 attention to exercise is required. There is 
 nothing, perhaps in any climate, so likely to 
 keep up the proper balance of the system, and 
 keep all its parts in healthy action, as a due 
 quantity of motion ; nothing so likely to let the 
 system fall, as an undue inactivity, and therefore 
 to take all the exercise we can, should ever be a
 
 126 PRESERVATION OF HEALTH 
 
 chief point with us in India. Of course, there it is 
 impossible to be much in motion during the day ; 
 the heat is then certainly too oppressive. But 
 in the mornings and evenings, and especially in 
 the cooler months, exercise can very well be 
 taken ; and to a certain extent it very generally 
 is taken. Almost every one keeps a horse, or a 
 vehicle of some kind or other. There are few in- 
 deed, who have not the means of doing this ; 
 and from day-break till the sun is well above the 
 horizon, and again in the evening for an hour 
 after he has gone down, all are seen out taking 
 the accustomed ride. This, to be sure, is so far 
 well ; but I do not think this is enough of exer- 
 cise, or as much as might be taken. It is the 
 fashion to ride, it is not much the fashion to 
 walk, or walking for the same length of time 
 would have better effects. There can be no 
 doubt but walking is by far the most natural 
 kind of exercise ; and surely for him at least, who 
 has perhaps for the first fifteen or twenty years 
 of his life been in the habit of walking some 
 miles every day, a little of it is requisite even in
 
 IN INDIAN CLIMATES. 127 
 
 the warm climate, and ought perhaps to be pre- 
 ferred to any other mode of taking exercise. 
 There must be a change produced in the system 
 very much for the worse, if from such a state of 
 action we enter into one of almost perfect inac- 
 tion ; if we do as many do, scarcely ever put a 
 foot to the ground, So that the European who is 
 anxious to preserve health, when he becomes a 
 sojourner in India, though he may have it in his 
 power to ride when he chooses, will also occa- 
 sionally make use of his own limbs ; he will not 
 forget altogether, for all fashion may set before 
 him, his earlier and more natural habit. We can 
 walk, too, at home in our house — under our vi- 
 randaJi, often in seasons when the weather does 
 not admit of riding out. 
 
 There is, however, one kind of exercise 
 which I do not much recommend. I mean sport- 
 ing. In such a country as India, we would hardly 
 expect this recreation to be in use. But it is 
 true that the gun and dog are there in very con- 
 siderable demand. There are not a few to be 
 found, who will not only engage in the sport
 
 128 PRESERVATION OP HEALTH 
 
 during the cooler parts of the day, and in the 
 cooler seasons, but who will engage in it at all 
 times, and in all seasons. It is a general belief, 
 and I dare say a belief founded on good observa- 
 tion, that exposure to the strong rays of the sun 
 during the day, is apt to be productive of very 
 serious disease. It is, I believe, too true, that 
 many have untimely come to their end by such 
 an exposure. But whether it be true to the full 
 extent or not, even allowing this dread of the sun 
 to be a little more than is necessary ; still, it is 
 well, when we can, to keep on the safe side, and 
 not [wantonly throw ourselves in harm's way. 
 But with the sportsman all fear seems banished ; 
 although at other times, he would be afraid even 
 to put his head out of his palanqinn, or carriage, 
 if the sun was appearing, yet when he enters on 
 his favourite amusement, he minds sun and 
 danger no more ; but travels heedlessly on 
 through jungle, and marshes, and paddy fields, 
 exposed to damps and exhalations of every de- 
 scription, and thus undoubtedly may perish. 
 When an hour or two's shooting, morning and
 
 IN INDIAN CLIMATES. 129 
 
 evening, can be conveniently taken, it is all very 
 well ; but no danger should be encountered for 
 it. And I would also add, that when we do sport, 
 we should not, as some do, have recourse to the 
 brandij 'pamy to quench thirst ; for this perhaps 
 kills about as many as the sun does. 
 
 Neither does dancing seem an exercise well 
 suited to India. In England, and climates like 
 it, I do believe dancing, in a moderate degree, 
 to be a healthy amusement. But in countries 
 within the tropics, I must deem it prejudicial 
 even in any degree. Yet, in India it is about as 
 common, I think, as in Europe. I have seen in 
 Calcutta, and not in the coldest season either, 
 male and female a full hour in the dance; and no 
 doubt such a system may sometimes be followed 
 for a considerable time without much appearance 
 of injury. But it cannot be without bad effects ; 
 the chance is that sooner or later its ill conse- 
 quences will come to be felt ; and therefore the 
 prudent will either altogether avoid it, or at any 
 rate indulge very cautiously. 
 
 The clothing worn in these climates is of course 
 
 K
 
 130 PRESERVATION OF HEALTH 
 
 ofavery light kind. In the warm seasonB, a jacket, 
 made of white jane or something resembling it, 
 with vest and trousers of the same kind of 
 stuff, is the general wear. In the cold seasons, 
 and particularly in the more northern parts of 
 India, clothing considerably warmer is required. 
 At Calcutta even, which is not just out of the 
 tropic, in the months of November, December, 
 January, and February, habiliments not much 
 differing from our English ones, can very well be 
 borne, at any rate in the mornings and evenings. 
 Cotton shirts are always preferred to linen. 
 But on the head of clothing it is unnecessary to 
 say much, as the tropical visiter is very soon 
 taught by his feelings what suits best in this 
 respect. Should he arrive in the hot season, if he 
 be still fond of his European dress, as some are, 
 and think to wear it, he will very soon be glad 
 to follow the example of others, and exchange it 
 for the Indian one. And, on the contrary, should 
 he arrive in the cold season, and especially if he is 
 despatched immediately off to some pretty north- 
 ern situation, though at first he may mount the
 
 IN INDIAN CLIMATES. 131 
 
 light Indian garb, he will soon come to find out that 
 some of his European articles will suit him fully 
 better ; and likewise, he will find that fi blanket 
 around him at night is by no naeans a disagree- 
 able thing. 
 
 It is a question very frequently asked, whe- 
 ther in tropical countries it is requisite to wear 
 flannel ; and the answer I would give to it is, 
 that those who have never worn it before, ajid 
 who are in perfect health, perhaps need not put 
 on flannel ; but at all events, if it has been 
 worn before, and especially if it has been put on 
 for any ailment, it should never on going to a 
 warm country be left ofil It is supposed by 
 many, that in such a temperature it must be 
 dreadfully cumbersome and disagreeable. But 
 this is not the case; it is only on the body the 
 flannel is required ; and when the shirt is thus 
 made without sleeves, and of the lightest kind of 
 flannel, it adds exceedingly little to the weight. It 
 may annoy rather for a day or two at iirst, but 
 afterwards it is never felt ; and as it undoubtedly 
 is of much service, keeping off" affections of the 
 
 K 2
 
 13*2 PRESERVATION OF HEALTH 
 
 bowels and numerous other ailments, even if it 
 did give a little uneasiness it should be borne. 
 As a substitute for flannel, many are in the habit 
 of wearing under the common shirt, a light ca- 
 lico vestment ; which is also a very serviceable 
 article. 
 
 Another great mean for the preservation of 
 health in India, is, the regular use of the cold 
 bath. Every house has its bathing place at- 
 tached to it ; and the manner of using the bath 
 is, either to stand up, or sit on a chair, while 
 another pours four, six, or eight potfuls of 
 water over the head and body. It is a most 
 grateful thing, after a warm restless night, thus 
 to get fairly soused and cooled ; whilst at the 
 same time it invigorates the system much, and 
 serves to fortify it strongly against disease. I 
 am satisfied it preserves many in health, who 
 would otherwise have but very indifferent con- 
 stitutions. Some take the bath two or three times 
 a day ; but I think once is enough; let it be 
 taken regularly in the morning. 
 
 As to medicine, if attention be given to the
 
 IN INDIAN CLIMATES. 133 
 
 proper manner of living, not much of it will be 
 required, even in India. There are some who 
 must be continually taking their calomel, ^c; 
 and, though I would be far from checking in any 
 a proper attention to the state of the system, 
 still, as I think, that the habit of calomel dosing 
 at one's own hand, when once begun, is some- 
 times carried too far, and used too indiscrimi- 
 nately, I must rather advise that we meddle with 
 ourselves as little as possible. Certainly, when 
 the system is felt to be out of order — when dis- 
 ease seems to be threatened — have immediate 
 recourse to the proper means. But then I would 
 recommend that the patient do not trust to him- 
 self, but should have the advice of those who 
 know best how to treat him. Certainly, let not 
 a moment elapse ere we interfere, when inter- 
 ference is really demanded. But, as I have al- 
 ready said, if we guide ourselves right, we will 
 the seldomer need the doctor ; if regularity was 
 just a little more observed by some, there would 
 be less need for calomel. 
 
 And, though I have mentioned it last, perhaps
 
 134 PRESERVATION OF HEALTH 
 
 not the least mean for the preservation of health 
 m a foreign country, is, a firm and contented 
 fnind. There has been quite enough seen to prove, 
 that any sudden and great alarm, any unusual 
 anxiety about ourselves, a great dread of dis- 
 ease, for instance, actually predisposes to dis- 
 ease. It cannot, indeed, be said, that any de- 
 gree of fear will absolutely and certainly bring 
 on disease ; but it has been so repeatedly seen, 
 during the rage of the epidemic, that those who 
 stood fearless and undaunted amid all its ravages* 
 were much less liable to come under its malig- 
 nant influence, than those who were every mo- 
 ment pondering upon it arid expecting its fatal 
 attack, that with good reason we may recom- 
 mend a steady mind as no inconsiderable pre- 
 ventive of malady. It is easy enough to see how 
 it happens: the body, weakened and paralyzed 
 by fear, comes in an especial manner to be sus- 
 ceptible to the impressions of disease. It is well 
 enough known, how much the body is influenced 
 by, and sympathizes with, the mind ; and there- 
 fore should it always be our endeavour, to keep
 
 IN INDIAN CLIMATES. 135 
 
 the heart well up, whatever fatalities may be oc- 
 curring around us. We are not, indeed, from any 
 fool-hardiness, to brave or court disease ; but wc 
 are as carefully to guard against an over-timidity. 
 If it is to come, why, it is a pity to anticipate it; 
 if it is not to come, as foolish is it to give our- 
 selves unnecessary pain. And, at the same time, 
 I would caution against that anxiety, or discon- 
 tentcdness, which we see so frequently attaching 
 itself to the mind of the foreign sojourner, arising 
 merely from his change of situation. He is not just 
 satisfied with the place he is in; he has, perhaps, 
 not found it just what he expected; there is a 
 sighing after home — a continual looking to where 
 he was — preventing him in a wonderful degree 
 from being at all happy where he is ; and though 
 anxiety, or dissatisfaction, may not itself cause 
 disease, still it may assist ; it at all events dis- 
 poses us to that languid inactive state which 
 favours the coming of disease. And what good 
 can it do? does it not only keep us continually 
 unhappy? What can all our sighing avail? we 
 are now in the foreign land, and here we must
 
 136 PRESERVATION OP HEALTH 
 
 be, and we must just make the best of it. Surely 
 it is better to be happy in some degree, though 
 we may not be just to the degree we could wish. 
 Therefore, let us endeavour never to be much de- 
 pressed without some very good cause; let us 
 bear up with a bold heart even against the bur- 
 den that may be pressing on us. And to accom- 
 pUsh this rightly, our best plan will be, to train 
 and occupy rightly both body and mind. Let 
 proper employment, with proper recreation — ex- 
 ercise — study — a book — a cheerful friend — all 
 in their turn, be attended to by the foreign so- 
 journer. 
 
 " From labour health, from health contentment springs; 
 Contentment opes the source of every joy." 
 
 And 
 
 *' True dignity is his, whose tranquil mind 
 Virtue has raised above the things below; 
 Who, every hope and fear to Heaven resign'd, 
 Shrinks not, tho' Fortune aim her deadliest blow." 
 
 " Thro' the perils of chance and the scowl of disdain, 
 May my front be unalter'd, my courage elate; 
 Yea, even the name I have worshipp'd in vain, 
 Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again : 
 To bear, is to conquer our fate!"
 
 IN INDIAN CLIMATES. 137 
 
 To sum up the whole, and bring it into one 
 short view — let temperance, in our meats as well 
 as in our drinks, be always remembered; we are 
 on no account, whatever may be the variety or 
 quality of our food, to exceed the proper quan- 
 tity, or overstep the point where nature makes 
 her stand. Let us take all the exercise we can, 
 stopping short of fatigue ; but not that exercise 
 which will either heat too much, or expose us to 
 the strong sun, or to damps, dews, ^c. Let 
 us clothe just as the season points out; — 
 while at the same time, we take our regular 
 bath in the morning — attending also, but not 
 with too much anxiety, to the state of the 
 bowels, ^-c, and keeping a stout heart amid 
 all calamity — never allowing the spirit to sink 
 from fear, or to be inactive and unhappy from 
 discontent. 
 
 I have thus endeavoured to bring forward as 
 clearly, and in as few words as possible, some of 
 the lessons most necessary to be known by the 
 stranger taking up his residence in India. I
 
 138 PRESERVATION OP HEALTH 
 
 have not entered so minutely into the subject as 
 I might have done; I have not remarked upon 
 some little points which might have been re- 
 marked on, because I think it needless. He 
 that is anxious to attend to the rules laid down, 
 will not be likely to err far in any thing else; a 
 little reflection must in almost all things point out 
 what is proper, and he that is really inclined to 
 act well cannot be much at a loss to decide on 
 his line of conduct. And I am fully satisfied, as 
 I have asserted in the outset, that an attendance 
 to such rules as these may b6 attended with no 
 small benefit. It is too well known, that disease 
 will attack all, and cut off all- — the temperate as 
 well as the free; but it is as well known, that 
 the temperate have the best chance either of 
 escaping altogether, or of recovering when they 
 are attacked. It would be saying what was false 
 to assert, that the climate itself is not enough to 
 break up the conatitution^-that long residence, 
 even under the most temperate living, is not 
 often the source of disease; but it may with
 
 IN INDIAN CLIMATES. 139 
 
 good reason be asserted, that the climate is 
 sometimes charged with what it does not deserve 
 — that many of those who return to their native 
 land, half dead with disease, have their own 
 conduct, and not the long residence, to blame 
 for it.
 
 PART ni. 
 
 HINTS TO SURGEONS AND OWNERS OF PRIVATE 
 TRADING SHIPS. 
 
 All the world 's a stage, 
 And all the men and women merely players ; 
 They have their exits and their entrances, 
 And one man in his time tnust play many parts. 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 In ships of war, and in Indiamen, there are cer- 
 tain places allotted for the sick, and certain per- 
 sons appointed to attend upon them. Imme- 
 diately a patient applies, however trivial his 
 complaint may be, if the surgeon deems it ne- 
 cessary, he is put upon the sick list, and kept 
 there till the cure is completed. And although a 
 considerable number be taken ill at the same 
 time, they can all, without any difficulty, be taken
 
 142 HINTS TO SURGEONS, ^C, 
 
 from duty and laid up. Then when the surgeon 
 has his patients laid up, he has only to visit and 
 prescribe for them, and whatever he orders to be 
 done, he knows will be done. Whatever he 
 thinks it necessary to advise, either in the way 
 of medicine, or food, or any thing else, he knows, 
 without any farther trouble to him, will be strictly 
 attended to by those whose business it is to wait 
 upon the sick. And thus he has both success 
 and pleasure in his practice. Just as in an hos- 
 pital on shore, he has his patients completely to 
 himself; he has every thing done for them just 
 as he would wish it ; there is nothing to thwart 
 him, no difficulty standing in his way. 
 
 But in the small merchant-ship it is very dif- 
 ferent. In it there is but little room, and every 
 place that can at all be spared is occupied. 
 There is no place for the sick, but the common 
 place for all ; neither is there any one to attend 
 upon the patient during his sickness. There are 
 no more men than just enough to do the duty of 
 the ship ; consequently it is difficult to spare, 
 particularly at certain times, even one of them.
 
 OF PRIVATE TRADING SHIPS. 143 
 
 And thus the surgeon is by no means agreeably- 
 situated. He has frequently to allow men to re- 
 main at duty when he thinks it necessary they 
 should be taken from it ; and thus combating the 
 complaint under disadvantageous circumstances, 
 he does not get things done, and his patients do 
 not get on so well as he would wish, And when 
 circumstances absolutely demand that the patient 
 be sent to bed, even then he does not get free of 
 his difficulties. There being no one to give the 
 patient any help, and the patient perhaps not 
 very able to help himself, the surgeon himself 
 must do every thing, or scarcely any thing will 
 be done at all. And frequently when he has 
 done all he can, he will not have done all he 
 could wish. There are annoyances in his way 
 which he cannot overcome ; and neither he nor 
 his patient get fair play. 
 
 One instance of difficulty in the practice of 
 the small-trading ship is, when ulcers occur upon 
 the legs or feet, a complaint not uncommon among 
 seamen. So long as the man remains at his duty, 
 and exposed to all weathers and usage, it is
 
 144 HINTS TO SURGEONS, ^C, 
 
 sometimes no very easy matter to get him cured, 
 it is hardly possible to have proper recourse to 
 all the necessary measures. But as the man is 
 probably othenvise in good health, and as able 
 to do his duty as ever, he cannot be allowed to 
 lay past for such a small thing ; and the cure 
 must either be accomplished tediously while he 
 remains at work, or perhaps after all he is obliged 
 to be laid up. 
 
 Another is, in cases where we wish to give 
 mercury. For all the arguments of the anti- 
 mercurialists, most men yet, when they get a 
 patient with what they conceive to be a truly 
 syphilitic affection, never think the patient alto- 
 gether safe, although the more prominent symp- 
 toms may disappear, unless they have brought 
 his system under the influence of mercury, and 
 kept it so for a time. Yet as the seaman in the 
 private-trading ship is so absolutely needed, 
 although he really has syphiUs, as he is never- 
 theless able enough for duty, he will not be ex- 
 cused for such a considerable time ; and we are 
 under the necessity of administering the mineral
 
 OF PUIVATE TRADING SHIPS. 145 
 
 exposed as he is, or perhaps have to prefer going 
 in, in some degree with the plan of the anti- 
 mercurial ists. In warm latitudes, and in fine 
 settled weather, we can venture without much 
 fear, to give the medicine even though the patient 
 be at duty. 
 
 In these ships there is no commode for the con- 
 venience of the sick ; and this is a great want. 
 It must undoubtedly be often productive of very 
 injurious effects for a man labouring under dis- 
 ease to rise from his warm bed, probably fre- 
 quently in the night, and probably when it rains 
 hard and a piercing wind blows, and go to the 
 head of the ship, where the common commode is. 
 Yet this he must do, for there is no place else. 
 And from this cause are we often obliged, when 
 the weather is bad, to put off for a time giving 
 medicine which we are inclined to give. But 
 the case sometimes demands immediate atten- 
 tion; and when the disease is dysentery, the 
 circumstance is exceedingly unfortunate. In 
 such cases, in cases where we suppose there is 
 danger, disagreeable as it is for the healthy, 
 
 L
 
 14G HINTS TO SURGEONS, SfC, 
 
 the patient must not. be allowed to leave the 
 birth. 
 
 Emetics are now not so frequently prescribed 
 in diseases of warm climates as they have been, 
 but still cases occur now and then where we 
 think they are called for, and when these cases 
 happen the surgeon must in general be content 
 to take a little trouble. As no one else thinks 
 it their business to assist the sick man, and as 
 the sick man in many cases must have assist- 
 ance, the surgeon cannot refuse to become the 
 assistant. He must push about and get what- 
 ever is required ; he must indeed, if he does 
 what is right, superintend the whole operation, 
 
 There is also some difficulty occasionally ex- 
 perienced when a patient is recovering from dis- 
 ease ; there is a difficulty in getting for him 
 certain things in the shape of food or drink 
 which we think he requires. It is well known 
 that a person just getting the better of an acute 
 complaint, requires a little nursing. The stomach 
 will receive and relish, when weak, many kinds 
 of light pleasant nourishment, though it loathes
 
 OF PRIVATE TRADING SHIPS. 147 
 
 the common fare of sailors ; and much can often 
 be done for the patient, the cure can sometimes 
 be considerably expedited by a little attention 
 to diet. Yet no provision of this kind is made. 
 There is nothing whatever laid in for the sick. 
 And though in almost every ship, such things 
 when they are really needed, can easily be got, 
 still it is a little inconvenient not to have them. 
 And even though they can be got, there is often 
 from the want of proper assistance and regula- 
 tion, some difficulty experienced in the prepara- 
 tion of them. 
 
 He, then, who goes surgeon of a private- 
 trading ship must not expect to be altogether 
 comfortable; he must not expect a practice so 
 smooth as he may have been accustomed to on 
 shore. I do not say he will have, by any means, 
 a laborious situation, for his sick are never very 
 numerous ; but he will have rather a troublesome 
 one. He must lay his account with meeting a 
 good many annoyances, and annoyances too, 
 which, with all the trouble he can take, he will 
 not be able to get completely remedied. But 
 
 L 2
 
 148 HINTS TO SURGEONS, ^T., 
 
 much certainly depends upon management ; and 
 though in many respects he is placed a little 
 awkwardly, still, if he goes rightly about things, 
 he will manage to lighten many of his grievances, 
 and get on, upon the whole, tolerably well. 
 Though he may find the situation a little irksome 
 at first, as he gets better acquainted with it, he 
 will get better pleased with it; the practice, 
 which appeared at first the most disagreeable, he 
 comes in a little time not to think so hardly of. 
 If he looks about, he will generally find some one 
 among the men possessing rather a more kindly 
 disposition than the others, who will be ready to 
 lend him a helping hand in his sick charge. If 
 he manages well, he need not have any great 
 difficulty in getting whatever things he may want 
 in the shape of nourishment for the sick pre- 
 pared ; and from the liberality of almost every 
 commander, he need not want when he requires 
 it, either wine, or fresh food, or any thing else 
 the ship can afford. However, as I have already 
 hinted, he must take the most part of the labour 
 upon himself. He must make up his own medi-
 
 OK PRIVATi; TUADING SHIPS. 149 
 
 cino; he must carry it himself to the patient, 
 and he must see it taken ; for Jack, even when 
 ill, would rather dispense with the doctor's drams ^ 
 and unless the doctor takes the trouble to see 
 them fairly down the throat, the chance is, they 
 never will go that road. He must see that the 
 drinks, S)'*^-, which his patient requires are really 
 made and given; and if his patient be very ill, 
 he must not think it too much even to attend oc- 
 casionally and help him to them. In short, if 
 he wants to have any credit by his practice, he 
 must be apothecary and surgeon and nurse alto- 
 gether; he must, in a word, superintend all and 
 do all. 
 
 But surely it is incumbent on the owners of 
 ships to send rather more hands than just enough 
 to do the duty. Almost always one or two out 
 of the number are unable for duty, and sometimes 
 five, six, or more ; and when this is the case, the 
 labour comes very hard upon the remainder; in- 
 deed, they have sometimes considerable diffi- 
 culty in getting the business carried on at all. 
 The expense of a few supernumerary hands would
 
 150 HINTS TO SURGEONS, ^C, 
 
 be very insignificant; and as it would both en- 
 able the surgeon to take, without difficulty, a 
 man from duty when he thought it requisite, and 
 thus get him the sooner cured, and allow the busi- 
 ness of the ship to be easily enough carried on, 
 although two or three were absent: it is certainly 
 A measure much to be wished — a measure which 
 should never be neglected. How awkwardly 
 must a commander be situated, if, as sometimes 
 happens, he loses by death a few of his hands, 
 when it is difficult or impossible for him to get 
 others. 
 
 There should also be a boy shipped, whose 
 especial business it should be to look after the 
 sick. This need not be his only occupation; for 
 frequently, particularly upon the passage, he 
 would have but little to do in that way. He may 
 be sailor or any thing else, as well as sick attend- 
 ant ; but he should be dhe that is not really needed 
 for any other business — that can give, if it be re- 
 quired, the whole of his time to the sick. Such 
 an attendant would be of immense use both to 
 the patient and surgeon.
 
 OF PUIVATE TRADING SHIPS. 151 
 
 There should also be certain necessaries al- 
 lowed for the consumption of the sick — a certain 
 quantity of wine, beer, sago, and rice. It is not 
 a great deal of these, I confess, that will be re- 
 quired. Stimulants and cordials are not dealt 
 out now-a-days with such a liberal hand to sick 
 folks as formerly ; and seamen in general, when 
 their complaint has been at once attacked and 
 subdued, recover very well without much of their 
 aid. Nevertheless there are cases where those 
 least friendly to cordials will see it necessary to 
 administer them. There will be cases where 
 these things, either in the course or at the termi- 
 nation of the disease, are absolutely needed ; and 
 therefore they should surely be provided. 
 
 It could hardly be expected, that in small ships, 
 where there is necessarily but little accomoda- 
 tion, and where all the accomodation is wanted, 
 any separate place should be allowed for the re- 
 ception of sick ; nor indeed is such a place much 
 required. I have, however, mentioned the great 
 inconvenience arising from the sick having no 
 commode close at hand; and this I think is a
 
 152 HINTS TO SURGEONS, ^'C, 
 
 want which might surely be remedied. Such a 
 convenience, for the sick alone, could easily be in 
 the neighbourhood of their births, and the advan- 
 tage of it would certainly much more than com- 
 pensate for the expense and trouble. 
 The great moralizing poet says — 
 
 Heaven speed the canvass, gallantly unfurl'd, 
 To furnish and accomodate a world — 
 To give the pole the produce of the sun, 
 And knit th' unsocial nations into one : 
 Let nothing adverse, nothing unforeseen, 
 Impede the bark that ploughs the deep serene. 
 
 But, at the same time, he would — 
 
 Teach mercy to ten thousand hearts that share 
 The fears and hopes of the commercial care. 
 
 We wish to the merchant all the prosperity that 
 can come to him; while, at the same time, wc 
 would wish, that he who " ploughs in his bark" 
 should have all the comfort that can be given 
 liim. 
 
 A few of the surgeons of private trading ships, 
 are in the habit of leaving the ship and living on 
 shore, while she remains in harbour in India.
 
 OF PRIVATE TRADING SHIPS. 153 
 
 They visit their ship every day, but except at the 
 time of the visit they are on shore. This how- 
 ever, although I adopted it myself, I do not think 
 the proper way. The surgeon, having almost 
 every thing that his patient requires, to do for 
 him, he surely requires to be pretty often at hand ; 
 and if he is not at hand, which he cannot be if 
 he lives principally on shore, it is very evident 
 his patient cannot be properly attended to. Dis- 
 ease, too, attacking very suddenly in these cli- 
 mates, and committing great ravages in an ex- 
 ceedingly short time, is another good reason why 
 the surgeon should never be much out of the way. 
 Although he may visit his ship every day, or 
 oftener, still this is not enough ; he may not be 
 there just at the time he is most required. And 
 therefore should it be a rule of the surgeon's to 
 live on board in port as well as at sea. As re- 
 gards pecuniary matters, too, if he has any rea- 
 son to be anxious on that head, he will find it his 
 interest to prefer his ship to the shore. 
 
 And this naturally leads me to speak of a plan 
 adopted by some owners of ships, not by any
 
 154 HINTS TO SURGEONS, ^C, 
 
 means a proper one — I mean the plan of engaging 
 a surgeon going out to remain in the country in the 
 service of the Company, to do the duty of the 
 ship out, and take the chance of getting some In- 
 dian surgeon returning to England to do it home 
 again. It must be obvious from what has been 
 stated in the last paragraph, that this is indeed a 
 very erroneous way of going to work. It is not 
 upon the passage, either out or home, that the 
 surgeon is much needed. So long as the ship is 
 at sea there are generally very few complaints 
 among the people ; it is after she has reached her 
 jx)rt, that complaints, and probably very severe 
 ones, begin to appear; and, of course, it is just 
 then that the medical man really is required; it 
 is while she remains in harbour that she should 
 have her surgeon, if she is to have him at all. I 
 know that a medical man resident on shore may 
 be engaged to attend while the ship remains in 
 port; but from what I have already stated, it is 
 evident, that it is quite impossible for him, let 
 him be as attentive as he may, to give the atten- 
 tion that is required. He may visit and prescribe,
 
 OF PRIVATE TRADING SHIPS. 155 
 
 but there is much more needed than this in the 
 private trading ship. So that it should surely be 
 a point with the owners of such ships, only to en- 
 gage a surgeon who binds himself to perform the 
 voyage. 
 
 Sailors, like most other folks, do not relish too 
 much work, and it is alleged that, occasionally, 
 when any extra labour is on hand, they sham 
 sickness to escape it. This I have no doubt is 
 sometimes done ; but I am also of the opinion, that 
 it is sometimes laid to their charge when they 
 do not deserve it; and as they are fully more 
 likely to play the trick in the small merchant 
 ship, where, from not being too well manned, the 
 duty is sometimes very hard, so, the man w^ho 
 gets sick then, if his complaint is not a pretty 
 palpable one, and particularly if he is known to 
 be a lazy kind of chap, is more apt to be sus- 
 pected; and the doctor may occasionally get a 
 hint to blister severely, or punish in some other 
 way like this, those they suspect to be skulking. 
 But this is a point where the surgeon requires to 
 use much caution ; and, if he does wisely, he will
 
 156 HINTS TO SURGEONS, (^C, 
 
 rather run the risk of being cheated, than need- 
 lessly give a man pain upon suspicions alone. He 
 will generally be pretty well able to judge whe- 
 ther there be any thing wrong or not; yet, as he 
 knows that a good deal may be wrong without 
 him being able to see it very plainly, he will not, 
 even in the case where he cannot discover much, 
 form positive opinions against the man, or act 
 rashly. If a man complains of head-ach, for in- 
 stance, which he says is so severe as to incapa- 
 citate him from duty, although he cannot discover 
 from the pulse, or any other index, that the head- 
 ach really exists, yet knowing that for all that it 
 may exist, and exist very severely too, we would 
 act very unjustly and very inhumanly indeed, 
 were we at once to brand the man for a skulker, 
 and put him to unnecessary pain. In such cases 
 by far the best way is, just to take the complaint 
 for granted, and go on with the proper remedies; 
 surely let us bleed, and blister, and purge, S'C-, 
 S'c. ; for this is just the plan likeliest to remove 
 the head-ach if it indeed exists ; and if it docs not, 
 why then he certainly deserves all that is done to
 
 OP PRIVATE TRADING SllfPS. 157 
 
 him. But wc are never to go farther tlian the 
 symptoms he describes to us demand. We are 
 never to give him the least reason to suppose that 
 we suspect him ; for if he finds this, he will per- 
 haps, from mere obstinacy, determine to suffer 
 all, and stand out against us. But we are just to 
 treat him as he explains to us his complaints — 
 and if he is a skulker, unless he is a very idle 
 and a very strange fellow indeed, he will soon 
 tire of our treatment, and be glad to exchange it 
 for the ropes again. 
 
 It is a rule that when a seaman is put upon 
 the sick list, his allowance of grog is stopped. 
 It is supposed that then it is either improper for 
 him, or that at all events he does not require it 
 It is supposed too, that it prevents some from 
 skulking who otherwise would. And this is all 
 very true. But a sailor dislikes terribly to resign 
 his grog. He looks upon it as one of his chief 
 comforts ; and for ail we could lecture him to the 
 contrary, he will continue to regard it as the best 
 preservation of health he can get. And as there 
 are some cases where we know all the spirit they
 
 158 HINTS TO SURGEONS, 4'C.y 
 
 are ailowed can do very little hurt, if there is no 
 particular circumstance to forbid it, the surgeon 
 will perhaps do best not to adhere too rigidly to 
 the rule. When the complaint is a chronic one, 
 the patient an old man, and known to be a good 
 man, I think he had as well just let the grog go 
 on ; he will not, I know, find his practice the 
 worse for it. There is, however, some caution 
 requisite in giving the indulgence. 
 
 Regarding practice itself, I shall not pretend 
 to offer any thing. Mine of course has been 
 very limited ; and there are numerous and valu- 
 able sources whence the practitioner who enters 
 upori the field of Indian practice, has it in his 
 power to draw the knowledge which is to guide 
 him till actual experience has taught him. I 
 think, however, I may do what is not altogether 
 useless, if I mention one or two of these sources. 
 I may be excused if I just tell what authors I 
 had, and from whom I thought I derived most 
 instruction, when I entered upon the business. 
 The only books I possessed, treating solely on 
 the diseases of foreign cHmates, when I set sail
 
 OF PRIVATE TRADING SHIPS. 159 
 
 in the Lonach were ; " Mosely on Tropical Dis- 
 eases ;" " Lind on Climate ;" " Clark on long 
 Voyages ;" and *' Johnson on Tropical InflU' 
 ence." Were I to say that I studied the three 
 first without advantage, I would say what is not 
 true. They are the performances of men who 
 practised in very considerable fields, of men of 
 acknowledged ability, and undoubtedly they are 
 well worthy the perusal of the tropical practi- 
 tioner. In Mosely and Clark, in particular, 
 there is much valuable matter ; and though their 
 practice be not exactly the one which practi- 
 tioners now-a-days place most confidence in, still 
 will we be able to glean something from it. In 
 Mosely we find yellow fever, and in Clark the 
 dysentery, treated by no means inactively ; 
 treated, though not just so boldly, not much dif- 
 ferent from the way we treat them now. It is 
 not difficult, I think, to see that the method of 
 cure which they adopted in these complaints, is 
 the very ground-work of the more efficient one 
 we adopt now; and later physicians, Johnson 
 with the rest, are not a little indebted to them
 
 160 HINTS TO SURGEONS, ^C, 
 
 for the knowledge they now possess. Were we 
 to shut out their practice altogether, they are 
 worthy a perusal for their descriptions of disease. 
 I must however acknowledge that the three first 
 authors were not absolutely necessary for me. Pos- 
 sessing Johnson's work, I could very well have 
 done without the others. In it the most approved 
 practice of the day is laid down, and exceedingly 
 clearly laid down. It is in it that we find perhaps 
 the best view of tropical disease that has yet been 
 taken ; that so intimate a connexion is traced be- 
 tween fever, and hepatitis, and dysentery, as al- 
 most to shew them to be only modifications of the 
 same disease ; that the same remedies modified a 
 little, are applicable to all ; and that they are not 
 only applicable to them as occurring in the climate 
 of India, but as occurring in all tropical climates, 
 and very probably also in climates without the 
 tropics. In it the surgeon is taught, that if he 
 has the lancet, and calomel, and opium, and pur- 
 gatives, he requires little else ; and that if he 
 uses them judiciously he will be able to combat, 
 not without success, disease in its most unfavour-
 
 01' I'iUVATIi TilADING SlUPb. 161 
 
 able aspect. And aUhough I would not have 
 any otic tic himself down to the precepts of this 
 book alone, although it would be wrong rigidly 
 to adhere to any one plan, for no one is perhaps 
 always successful ; although it is right for every 
 one to judge, in some degree, for himself, and 
 glean from every quarter what he thinks may be 
 useful : still I am decidedly of the opinion that 
 this is the book upon which the young tropical 
 practitioner should place most reliance ; that this 
 will be his best guide at the outset. It is expe- 
 rience alone that will make the judicious and the 
 confident practitioner : it is perhaps only the re- 
 sult both of fortunate and unfortunate cases that 
 will inform us what is best ; but until this expe 
 rience has been gained, until we have our lessons 
 from practice itself, we had as well, I think, lean 
 fully more to the lessons of Johnson than any 
 other. It is therefore a book which ought to be 
 in the hands of all who go to India, or countries 
 like it. And I venture to say, that he who stu- 
 dies it well, whatever his doubts and fears may 
 be of his success in tropical practice, will find 
 
 M
 
 162 HINTS TO SURGEONS, ^C, 
 
 himself armed, by what he draws from it, with 
 no inconsiderable degree of confidence. 
 
 The last observation I have to make is, re- 
 garding the fitting out of the medicine chest. 
 This may seem hardly necessary ; but I do it 
 because I have known it in some cases very 
 badly managed. It sometimes happens that the 
 surgeon is not appointed just until the ship is on 
 the eve of sailing, and all the medicine is sup- 
 pHed before he joins her. Or, even though he 
 has been appointed sometime before, he may 
 think it just as well to allow the apothecary, 
 whom the owners probably recommend, and who 
 probably has supplied the ship before, to do the 
 whole ; just to let him supply what he is in the 
 habit of supplying on like occasions. Then 
 when he gets to sea, and comes to examine his 
 medicine, he finds some articles that he probably 
 never will use, and some he would wish much to 
 have, he has not ; others he may need a very 
 little of, making a prominent bulk in the chest ; 
 and others he will need very much, dealt out 
 rather sparingly. And thus when he is beyond
 
 OP PRIVATE TRADING SHIPS. 163 
 
 the reach of remedying it, he finds himself very 
 awkwardly circumstanced. It should therefore 
 be a point with every surgeon to superintend the 
 laying in of the medicine himself; and by doing 
 so, he may not only save both himself and his 
 patients considerable uneasiness, but he may 
 also save the owners some considerable ex- 
 pense. 
 
 For a ship going a voyage averaging twelve 
 months, and carrying fifty persons, I would lay 
 in the following medicines. Magnes. sulph. Ibx. 
 Sodae sulph. tbx ; fol. sennae, Ibss. ; sulph. subUm. 
 Ibj. ; super- tart, potas. Ibij.; magnes. carbon. Ibss.; 
 pulv. rhei. 5ij ; pulv. jalap. §ij ; ext. aloe, sp. Jij ; 
 ext. colocynth. c. Jij ; pulv. g. gamboge §j ; ol. 
 ricini, Ibij ; hydrarg. submur. Ibss. ; pulv. antimon. 
 5ij ; pulv. ipecac, gij ; pulv. ipecac, c. Jij ; anti- 
 mon. tart. 5ss. ; opium, Jij ; tinct. opii tbj ; aether 
 sulph. Jiv ; aether nitros, Jiv ; liq. ammon. acet. 
 Ibss. ; tinct. scillae, Jij. ; pulv. cinchon. tbij ; rad. 
 gentian. Jiv ; lig. quassiae, ibss ; flor. anthemid. 
 Ibss ; sodae subcarb. Jiv ; acid, tartar, Jij ; acid. 
 
 M 2
 
 164 HINTS TO SURGEONS, ^r., 
 
 sulphur. 5iv ; acid, nitric. Ibss ; camphor, 5ij ; 
 ung. hydrarg. fort. Ibij ; ung. hydrarg. nit. Ibss ; 
 ung. resin, tbj ; cerat. cetacei, Ibj ; mass. pil. hy- 
 drarg. Ibj ; bals. copaib. Ibss ; gum guaiac, ^ij ; 
 zinc, sulph. 5iv ; cup.sulph. Jij ; plumb, superacet. 
 Jiv; alum. Jiv; nit. potass. 5iv; cret. pp. §iv ; 
 tinct. catechu, Jiv ; liniment, sapo. c. ibss ; ol. 
 terebinth, tbss ; ol. olivae, Ibss ; liq. ammon. Jiv ; 
 tinct. benzoin, c. 5j ; tinct. myrrh, jj ; nit. argent. 
 5ss ; hydrarg. oxymur. Jss ; hydrarg. oxyd. rub. 
 5ss; liquor calcis, Ibj; emp. lyttae, Ibij; lint, 
 ibss ; adhesive strap, six yards ; skin ; court 
 plaster. The usual appendages of the medi- 
 cine chest. 
 
 When a considerable number of genteel pas- 
 sengers are to come under charge, who expect 
 rather finer things occasionally than we can 
 make the common sailor do with ; and particu- 
 larly if there be females and children amongst 
 them, perhaps a few additional articles may be 
 required, as, tinct. valerian, am. Jiv ; tinct. car- 
 dam, c. Ibss ; sp. levand. c. 5ij ; sp. menth. pip.
 
 OF PRIVATE TRADING SHIPS. 165 
 
 ,^j ; sp. anis. Jj ; pulv. calomb. 5ij ; pulv. cinnam. 
 Jj ; pulv. zinzib. 5j ; manna, Ibss ; confect. aro- 
 mat. 5ij ; tinct. assalbetid. 5iv. 
 
 And these, I think, will in general be found 
 quite enough both in number and quantity. In- 
 deed some may suppose the collection rather a 
 large one. But there is not one of the medi- 
 cines, I will venture to say, but is very likely to 
 be wanted sometime or other in the voyage; 
 and what is the expense of two or three extra 
 articles. What are a few pounds in comparison 
 to the comfort which it may give both to the sur- 
 geon and his patient, when the scene of distress 
 ensues, and there is no getting at the medicine 
 market. Better, surely, that a little too much 
 should be laid in ; that a little even should be 
 wasted, than that a life should be lost, or that an 
 ailment should be allowed to continue which by 
 some particular remedy might be alleviated or 
 removed. 
 
 Some of the medicines may not keep well all 
 the voyage ; and of course, whenever we have 
 reason to suppose that a medicine has lost, or
 
 166 HINTS TO SURGEONS, S;c. 
 
 is losing its virtue, we should set it aside and 
 replenish. Drugs are in general plentiful enough 
 in the Indian ports ; so that any one which may 
 spoil or run out, or any particular one wanted, 
 can readily enough be procured, though at rather 
 a high price. 
 
 THE END.
 
 LONIX)N : 
 
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