Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 67, No. 411, January 1850Various
History
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 67, No. 411, January 1850
Various
England -- Periodicals; Scotland -- Periodicals
Budge even so much as a single fathom, at present, we could not;
and most of us were too much in the spirit of fun and venture to
care a fig for having made an enemy of Don José-So-on, as the
cadet called him; indeed, it seemed rather to set a finer point
on people's admiration of the green jungly-looking shore next to
us, with its big aloes and agaves growing before the bush, and
all sorts of cocoas, palms, monkey-bread, and tall white-flaked
cotton-trees, rising in every way out from over the rest. For my
part, I thought more of the Portuguese's _interest_, after all, than
his hatred--which proved correct, by his soon sending out a sulky
message by the mulatto, offering to sell us fowls and a bullock,
at no ordinary price. However, all hands from the cabin were mad
already to get ashore somewhere, and the cadets bristling with
fowling-pieces and rifles, each singing out that he was ready to
supply the whole ship with fresh meat; so the mulatto had to sheer
off, with a boat nearly lowered over his head. From where we lay
at the time, what with the large creek off one bow, and the broad
river ahead of us, spreading brimful along to the light, the water
had the look of a huge lake, fringed in by a confused hazy bluish
outline steeping in the heat, where the distance clipped behind
the lumps of keen verdure, showering over a dark mangrove-covered
point. Before the two large quarter-boats could be got ready for the
ladies and the rest of us, in fact, we heard the gig full of writers
and cadets beginning to pop away at everything they saw alive, out
of sight from the ship; till at last we were afloat, too, pulling
slowly into the middle of the stream, and the men eyeing us lazily
as they turned-to about the rigging, to send up new spars in place
of those lost. The old Indiaman's big bows stood looming up broad
astern of us on the sluggish eddies round her cable, with her tall
steady fore-spars and furled yards rising white against the low line
of marshy shore in the distance, and wavering in her shadow below,
till the thick green branches of the next point shut her out, and
the glare off the face of the creek shot level over all of us in the
two cutters, wild with every kind of feeling that India passengers
could have after two months' voyage.
For my own part, I should have had rather a suspicion how absurd it
was to go a pleasuring in an African river we knew nothing about,
especially when I saw that a day or two so long after the rains
might suck it up, during ebb, into a pretty narrow mid-channel: all
I thought of was, however, that I was steering the boat with Violet
Hyde in it, the kitmagar holding his gaudy punkah over her before
me, while the Judge, with his gun in his hands, was looking out as
eagerly, for the time, as the four griffins were pulling furiously,
in spite of the heat that made the sweat run into their eyes.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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