IN OLD MADRAS
CHAPTER I
A heavy tropical surf boomed on the shingle, with the precision and monotony of minute guns, and a fierce clammy breeze raged from the sea, where Massulah boats and small shipping rocked uneasily. The same wind, circulating inland, drove whirling clouds of brick-red dust through Madras City, and vigorously swept the long Mount Road,—ere it died with a whisper, among distant paddy fields.
By ten o'clock on this detestable morning, all troops had returned to barracks, signallers and golfers deserted the Island, riding-parties were no longer abroad, but under languid punkahs, or tireless electric fans, the military, civil, and mercantile element were still actively engaged.
Among the latter, the wealthy house of Brown, Brown and Co. stood prominent as one of the oldest firms in India.
Established in the humble early days of John Company, it had acquired name and fame, expanded and flourished. Undisturbed by wars, unshaken by mutinies, or famine, its grim, hard-featured offices continued to frown upon the first line of beach. Possibly those storm-beaten walls, and gloomy flagged sages, had echoed to the voice and footsteps of a visitor from "Writer's Buildings"—The future hero of Arcot and Plassy, a junior clerk, named Robert Clive. Who Knows?
