which he accepted, apparently, with delight. These brief facts will account for his presence on board the 'Sunbeam.'
At luncheon to-day Mr. White was cheerful and full of conversation, giving us an interesting description of the annual migration of the members of the Bombay Government to Poona during the season of rains and monsoons. We had, as usual, coffee, cigarettes, and a little gossip on deck before recommencing our quiet occupations of reading or writing. Mr. White strolled aft, and I soon became immersed in my book. Suddenly I perceived a change in the vessel's movement, as if the helmsman were neglecting his duties, and directly afterwards heard the thrilling cry of 'Man overboard!' Of course a great commotion ensued, the men rushing up from below, all eager to render assistance. I ran aft, whence the cry had proceeded, seizing a life-buoy as I passed, but found that one had already been thrown over by the man at the helm, who exclaimed, 'That gentleman,' meaning poor Mr. White, 'has jumped overboard.' A boat was lowered, a man was sent up to the cross-trees, another on to the deck-house to keep a look-out, and the ship was put about in an incredibly short space of time. In the meanwhile hasty preparation of hot bottles, blankets, and other remedies was made on board, in case the boat should happily be successful in her search. But although she rowed over the exact spot many times, and picked up Mr. White's helmet and the life-buoy, nothing more could be discovered.
The agonised interest with which that little boat was watched by all on board will always live in my memory. Two men had jumped into her just as they had rushed on deck, without shirts or hats to protect them from the burning sun. Another was preparing to spring overboard when he was forcibly restrained by Tom, who saw that it would by this time be utterly useless. All on board worked with a will to get the vessel round and to lower every stitch of sail; no easy matter with every kite set, and the yacht running from ten to twelve knots before the wind.
From letters left behind it was painfully clear that a determination of many days past had just been accomplished. It appeared that Mr. White had questioned the doctor – who little suspected his object – as to how long it would take to stop the vessel when running with studdingsails set before a strong breeze. The unhappy man had constantly complained of inability to sleep, and he had been seen on deck the previous night long after everyone else had gone to bed. Of the motive for the rash act it is impossible to form an opinion. Borne down by physical and mental suffering, he must have been overcome by a temporary aberration of intellect, which rendered him for the moment irresponsible for his actions. I need not dwell on the terrible shock which the dreadful catastrophe caused to our hitherto happy little party. The evening was a sad one, and not even the excitement of making the lights off Goa, bringing the ship up, and anchoring for the night, or the prospect of an interesting excursion to-morrow, could raise our spirits or dissipate the depression caused by the sad event of the afternoon.
February 26th.– Orders had been given for steam to be ready in the launch by six o'clock, so that we might get ashore soon after daybreak, and thus avoid the heat of the midday sun, which is now becoming quite a serious matter. But the painful duty of collecting and packing up all poor Mr. White's things to be sent back to Bombay had first to be performed, and it was nearly half-past seven before we were ready to land.
Just as we were starting, Mr. Norman Oliver, the Assistant Delegate at Goa, arrived alongside in his pretty little schooner yacht, of native design and build, but of English rig. He brought with him a very kind letter from Mr. H.D. Donaldson, the assistant engineer of the new Portuguese Railway, now in course of construction, to connect Goa with the English lines northward to Bombay and eastward to Madras. If only the inhabitants of Goa will make use of the new railway, it ought to be of the greatest value to them. Such, however, is their conservative disposition and so great is their pleasure in obstinately creating and maintaining, in the form of customs-duties, obstacles to commerce and free circulation, that it is considered probable that the railway will have to be continued some fifty miles to the southward, as far as the British port of Carwar, before any perceptible increase in the export of produce can be looked for. The line to Goa is now nearly completed, and will, it is hoped, be opened after the rains. Mr. Donaldson kindly proposed a tempting trip over it to the summit of the Sahyádri Mountains, or Ghâts, which form the eastern boundary of the Portuguese territory. Unfortunately we are already so much behind our time that we shall have to press forward as quickly as wind and waves will allow, if we mean to adhere to the original plan of our voyage with anything like punctuality.
So many difficulties are thrown in the way of would-be visitors to the churches of Goa, that although Mr. Oliver had kindly sent his sepoy on to announce our arrival, and had written to the Administrador to ask leave, we were recommended to wait for an hour or two on board, to allow time for the necessary forms to be complied with. A refreshing sea-breeze was blowing, and at ten o'clock we decided to brave the sun and to proceed under the double awnings of the gig (towed by the steam-launch) across the bar and up the river towards Old Goa.
From the sea, the Portuguese settlement looks like a series of promontories, each crowned by a fort, with the river Mandovi in the centre, running up into the interior between richly wooded banks. Its coast-line is some sixty or seventy miles long from north to south, and its greatest breadth about thirty miles. The entire territory is hilly, and intersected by numerous rivers, of which the Mandovi is the most important. Both the ancient and modern cities of Goa have been built on its banks. The promontories of Bardez and Salsette protect a fine harbour, capable of accommodating vessels of the largest tonnage during the greater part of the year. The climate of Goa is generally healthy, though smallpox and cholera have from time to time broken out there with great virulence.
Never was any place so totally unlike what I had expected – in fact, it did not in the least correspond to the idea which any of us had formed about it. The palace of the Governor (who was for over three centuries called the Viceroy) stands in the city of Pangim, or New Goa, which, as I have already said, has been built on the river Mandovi, about five miles from its mouth. Curiously enough, the present Governor of Goa is our old friend Captain da Carvalho, who commanded the corvette 'Affonso Albuquerque' when she brought the King of Portugal to Plymouth last year, and lay alongside us for a fortnight in lovely Barn Pool, under the shadow of the Mount Edgcumbe trees. As we steamed over the bar and, aided by a strong flood-tide, quickly ascended the river, we next came to the pretty village of Raibandar, passing between low reedy banks fringed with cocoa-nut palms and other vegetation. The distant Ghâts formed a fine background to the picture, which included several white-spired English-looking churches, perched here and there on convenient knolls. The inhabitants of the district, however, composed as they are of descendants of the original natives found here by the Portuguese conquerors at the beginning of the sixteenth century, with a subsequent slight admixture of European blood, bore no resemblance to the British type. Those whom we saw on the river wore scarcely any clothing, and paddled about in little canoes somewhat similar to those used in the South Sea Islands and Ceylon. These boats are extremely narrow, and are provided with an outrigger in the shape of an enormous rough block of wood, connected with the canoes by bent spars some four feet long.
After a pleasant voyage of about eleven miles in tow of the steam-launch, we were suddenly cast off at some steps leading to a small pier, in the midst of a large grove of palm-trees, and were told that we had reached our destination. But where was Goa? We were all expecting to see ruined palaces, churches, and houses; whereas all that was visible was one massive arch and gateway about a hundred yards distant, standing, like the Irishman's 'main gate,' in the centre of a field, with no wall on either side of it. Meaningless as it now looked, this was the celebrated Arco dos Vicereys, or Arch of the Viceroys, originally built in 1599, and composed of blocks of black granite, now partially whitewashed. Through this gateway each successive ruler of Goa passed on his way to the ancient capital; on which occasions it was always splendidly decorated. A statue of St. Catherine, patroness of the city of Goa, occupies an upper niche, while beneath her is a figure of Vasco de Gama, with features somewhat defaced by time. The façade used to be adorned with paintings representing incidents of the Portuguese war in the Indies; but they are now effaced by whitewash. The portico bears an inscription dedicating it to the Immaculate Conception, and commemorating the emancipation of Portugal from Spain in 1656.
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