Letters from India Volume I/To a Friend 1
I REALLY am hurried out of my senses to-day; so perhaps this will be a short line. We have just ordered all our linen, and are going to pass some miserable hours in search for coloured muslins, &c.; and we have got a Hindostanee master coming to-morrow, as they say a little teaching before we go is quite enough to give us the power of asking for the common necessaries of life. Otherwise we must have an interpreter constantly tagging after us.
We all went down to look at the ‘Jupiter’ yesterday morning, with our captain, and gave our final directions about our cabins—a shelf here and a hook there, and more means of thorough ventilation, and better beds for the maids, and so on. It is all, I dare say, as comfortable as a ship can be; but it has been painted, and has got its regular ship smell, and so, of course, before I had been there ten minutes I was dead sick, and Mary Eden was not much better. Very shocking, indeed!—well meant, but a failure!
I sometimes sit in blank despair, and wonder—quite posed as to what I am to do without you all—not to be able to sit down and scratch off a line to you, &c.; and then I feel as if I could cut somebody’s throat quite through—a sort of savage relief; in short, like ‘the Young Duke,’ ‘depend upon it, I am on the point of doing something desperate.’ The whole business is much worse than I expected, and that is saying a great deal.
I have had a beautiful letter from our King, which I would send you, only there is no time to get it back again, and it must serve as a character to our next place. He sent me a very long message by George, who told me to write my thanks, which I did in the most abject and affectionate style; and then, on Saturday, there came this farewell—really a beautifully-written letter—saying that, amongst his many other amiable qualities, he had always given George credit for his exemplary attachment to his sisters, &c. Then there is another whole page of approval of our not consenting to be separated from him by fear of the climate or remoteness of destination, as ‘so affectionate a brother deserves the devotion he meets with;’ and then he desires us all to be good and happy, and so on, and assures us his best wishes will follow us there. I hope for their sakes, poor things! they will go overland.
I shall write again from Portsmouth.
I enclose Fanny’s hair. George’s was cut this morning, but the result was only a little black dust; so I must cut off a bit close to his head when he is busy and not attending.