Once again my plans were altered. Sitting on a jetty one evening we saw the “mail” boat let go her anchor just opposite us. As all letters were to remain with my agents until my return, I had nothing to look forward to; and I therefore proposed that we should go on board and hear the news. We therefore hailed a boat, and were soon in the midst of all the commotion of letting off steam, orders and counter-orders. My friend found an old acquaintance in the captain, and while they were talking I drew aside to watch the busy scene that was being enacted. I was then introduced to Captain B., who, after the customary observations, said: “Our mutual friend has informed me of the dilemma in which you were placed by the breaking down of the Straits boat. I am off with the mail to-morrow to Tavoy and Mergui, and if you will give me the pleasure of your company, I’ll make you as comfortable as I can.” I accepted the invitation without more ado, merely suggesting that I thought it would be more reasonable if I were permitted to—, but he interrupted me, insisting that I should come as his guest, or not at all. The arrival of the English mail with letters and newspapers six weeks old, always creates a flutter among Europeans in the East, everyone waiting impatiently for his own budget. In the arrangements even of the “Post” the ways of the East are exactly opposite to those of the West, for, instead of having the letters, etc., delivered, we send a trusty man for them. Dinner was just over when that worthy arrived with a goodly load, the contents of which soon found their way into the hands of their respective owners. I was left out in the cold, and would have given a trifle for certain communications; nevertheless, under the circumstances of my original arrangements, it would have been mere folly to have had them sent from pillar to post all round the Bay of Bengal with a great risk of losing them. A friend handed me a newspaper, and on opening it, almost the first news I saw was the death of a very dear member of the family. I was aboard the _Pluto_, with my small belongings early next morning, and had not long to wait ere we got under weigh and steamed down the river. She was a beautiful boat, built on graceful lines, combining speed with beam, and well armed, and employed by Government for every available purpose during peace and war; but she seemed “a cut above” carrying mails and stores. In his desire to make me comfortable the skipper attempted to give up his own cabin, but I rebelled at this, and warned him against spoiling me at the outset. I reminded him, moreover, that I had grown accustomed to adversity in the East, and had probably many a stony path before me, and to give me a bed of roses to lie upon now would but make me feel the thorns more keenly afterwards. My arguments prevailed, and he contented himself with giving me the free run of the ship.