Never did I listen to more pleasant music than the rattle of the chain-cable, as it brought us up safe and sound, or rather unsound, in this harbour of refuge. Here, in the mouth of the Hooghly river, was comparative calm and tranquillity, and as we cast our eyes seaward, and saw the dark brown turbulent sea (for here it is not green) heaving and tossing, with the surrounding tempestuous sky, and night closing in, and contrasted our position with that of several far-off vessels, some of them hull-down, struggling under a press of canvas to reach the safe berth we had gained, before night and the falling tide might leave them “outside,” environed by perils, we could not help indulging in very agreeable self-congratulations. ’Tis a sad reflection that our joys should often derive so much of their intensity from the foil of others’ misfortunes; but, alas! so it is. Here a fresh supply of fruit, and vegetables, and fish, from the shore; a batch of Calcutta papers; and sundry other little matters, made things very pleasant. All were “alive” and cheerful, and at ten o’clock I turned in and rose in the morning like “a giant refreshed,” full of agreeable anticipations of the scenes on which I was about to enter. CHAPTER VII. The morning after our arrival at Kedgeree I arose early, and, on coming on deck, found the weather perfectly calm, and presenting a striking contrast to its appearance on the previous day. A burning Bengal sun, however, shone around in all its glory, and was reflected with painful and dazzling brightness from the now unruffled surface of the Hooghly. Boats, to me of singularly novel and picturesque forms—some thatched, others open, and all with long galley-like prows and sterns—were moving here and there, mingled with market-boats, laden with fruit and vegetables, and light and graceful dingies, or fishing-canoes, floating down with their outspread nets and dusky crews on the gentle undulations of the falling tide. Near us, ships of various descriptions were riding at anchor, from the stately Indiaman of those days, with her double tier of ports, and looking like a seventy-four, to the Arab grab and country-coaster. This was a day of considerable bustle and excitement. The passengers were looking up their baggage, getting out their letters, or despatching special messengers to their friends in Calcutta. Boats from the presidency were continually arriving alongside, freighted principally with baboos or circars, good-looking fellows for the most part, with huge green or yellow curly-toed shoes, and flowing muslin robes, as light as the gossamer, and white as swans’-down. Some came to secure constituents; others were deputed by merchants or parties interested in the ship or passengers; and not a few keen-witted fellows, like my friend Ramee Sawmee Dabash, were on the look-out for “pigeons.” With all these arrivals, our deck began to assume a very lively and animated appearance.