Letters from India Volume I/From Hon Emily Eden to a Friend 1
We anchored here at two this afternoon. Came on shore the instant the barge could be manned—did our bit of firing; and the band playing, and our meeting with the military authorities on the pier, in less than a quarter of an hour; and then we were left comfortably by ourselves for the first time almost since we left England. We have taken a house, all for ourselves, which exactly holds us four, and the six servants, and we may squeeze in Captain Grey, if he wishes to leave the ship. We have taken a long walk, and two sketches; have moved a second sofa out of a bedroom into the drawing-room, put some books and writing-cases on the table, and it feels as like a Tunbridge or Broadstairs house as possible, except that there is a great deal of negro jabber going on under the windows—a few large cockroaches on the walls—and that the windows are all open in December. I am looking like a victim to the captain’s severity just set on shore; for quite forgetting how hot it would be—as we were very cold on board ship—I walked from the shore to the inn without my shawl, and the sun has marked out in deep crimson the pattern of my habit-shirt, and made a large blister on one shoulder. It looks shocking, and comes from having been brought up in the belief that December was a cold month.
We have been just twenty-three days from Rio—much the usual length of passage. We had three days of heavy swell, ending in a gale of wind, which is a nautical term for expressing the extreme of human discomfort and bodily misery, to say nothing of fright; for, though I know there is no danger, I am always in a regular state of fear when the ship goes fast through the water. I should like to have what some play calls the ‘trembling exies,’ and make more noise than the waves, if possible. We are all in very good health, I should say. George grown fat—Fanny has quite lost her headaches. I am very well, and Dr. Drummond has nearly cured of that sort of hay fever he has had for two years, and which grew much worse during the early part of the voyage.
Will you tell Mr. M that Chance has been the finest invention for a long voyage that ever was heard of? Captain Grey and began by hating him, partly out of respect to the feelings of their own dogs, and partly because they owned they were jealous of his attachment to me, when compared with the cool conduct of their own hardhearted animals; and now they are both devoted to him and his whims. His temper is worse than ever, and he will never let anybody touch him but me, except when he wants to be lifted off the poop, or to be put into the hammock nettings, where he sits for hours looking at the albatroses, and licking his lips at them; and on these occasions his servility to all the midshipmen exceeds his general rudeness; but these little moral failings make him invaluable at sea. always calls him ‘Sir Mungo Malagrowther,’ and he certainly is like him in some of his ways. He discovers land always two days before we approach it, which, they say, is very common with dogs; and, moreover, it piques Captain Grey that Chance should know more about the latitudes and longitudes than all his chronometers. The Cape is much the least picturesque station we have made yet, but the rocks are rather grand in a rough way, and the town looks white, and Dutch-like, and clean, which is, I believe, a most deceptious appearance. I shall leave the rest of my paper for the chance of something to tell you which is not about the ‘Jupiter,’ and, besides, I always feel low the days we land.
It seems that we have gone so far, and been through so much, and only to come amongst strangers at last; and we cannot even hope to find a letter, or a word about anybody we care for, but are still to go farther and hear less. It is horrid, and makes me feel utterly desperate at times. It is clearly not quite so good as being dead, as that is a separation without oblivion; but, luckily, these fits of lowness cannot last, or at least they must be gulped down and kept out of sight. I hope you have sat for your picture again, and I wish would devote 7s. 6d. to me, and send me out his picture. I never did a wiser thing than carrying off those little sketches.
I shall always think of dear, sallow, little with affection, and have an idea of sending him home two prettyish Hindoo wives, who shall be bound to burn themselves in Fleet Street, whenever is gathered to his fathers. I should send him some very pretty wives, only that he drew such a shocking object, which he chose to call you. I feel it would distress me to look at it, but I cannot destroy it, so I keep it, with its back to the others. George and I were looking at Mr. ’s picture last night with the greatest satisfaction. He looks very sensible still, though he is at the Cape.
We landed here on Monday the 13th. Have hired a house; were much bitten the first night, but made a change for the better last night; have had plenty of apricots, strawberries, green peas, young potatoes, &c., and like the Cape very much, though it is less pretty than Rio or Madeira.
Wright and Jones went out riding yesterday, attended by six ‘beaux,’ and rode to Constantia, and at the public-house where they baited, they found a landlady who had come from Bromley, and knew dear Eden Farm, and all about all of us. It is very pleasant to have friends in Africa. We have only Asia to do now, and then may go home, having seen the world. George has bought some bulbs, which are going home in the ‘Liverpool,’ and one box is intended for and Mary to divide between them. There never was anything like the beauty of the ixias here, and the bulbs look like good ones.
Good-bye—God bless you all!