compositor never distributes his matter. He
would consider it beneath, his dignity.
Besides, it seems to soothe his feelings to have
some one under him—a human being at his
beck and call—somebody whom he may bully
with impunity, and strike, if it pleases him.
These native distributors do not know a single
word of English; many cannot tell you the
names of the letters; but they will fill a case
as speedily and as accurately as any European.

Two pressmen were required; and they
also were engaged at double the rate of pay.
About the printer there was an immense
difficulty. There were scores of Portuguese
ready to take the place " at any salary you
like to name; " but none of them were steady
enough for the duties they would have to
discharge. I at length selected a young man
who had been a foreman in one of the
Calcutta printing-offices. I was aware that his
character would not bear investigation; but
I had no alternative.

The presses and type were shipped onboard
the flat, (a vessel tugged by a steamer), and
deck passages were engaged for the motley
crew of compositors, distributors, and pressmen.
They were, as the mate remarked to
me, "as queer a looking set of rogues as ever
walked a plank." It was in the cold weather,
and most of the compositors had taken to
wearing thick red nightcaps, which had been
imported for the use of the coolies (native
labourers) on their way to the Mauritius.
Just as we were ready to start, a bailiff came
on board from the Court of Requests, and
thinned the ranks of my regiment. He took
away two Pereiras—two of my compositors.
They had received nine pounds each, by way
of advance. I afterwards discovered that
they were parties to their own arrest. Under
the command of the printer, "the establishment"
behaved very well till they got to the
Sunderbunds, when they began to quarrel
among themselves, and to spurn the authority
of the person who had been placed over them.
Some of them had brought away arrack in
their boxes, and this made them drunk and
disorderly. One morning, about eleven
o'clock, one of the compositors, Martin
Gonsalves, who had been drinking deeply over
night, thought proper to jump overboard in
one of the narrow rivers. The steamer was
stopped, and a boat was about to be
lowered to pick Martin up; but an enormous
crocodile (a mugar) glided from the bank,
and took his victim to the bottom, in the
presence of all on board the vessel. Many
of the ladies, passengers on board, shrieked
loudly on beholding this horrid scene, which
cast a gloom over the little society for a
brief while; but I regret to say, that Martin's
melancholy end had not that serious
effect upon his friends which might have been
looked for. In a few days we arrived at
Comercolly, where I received a letter from
his widow, who wished me to inform her
whether the report of her husband's death
were true or not, as she had an offer of
marriage she would like to accept.

The voyage to Allahabad—the terminus ot
steam navigation in the Ganges—was, from
beginning to end, a chapter of accidents.
One of the compositors severely injured his
right hand, and it was doubtful whether he
would be able to use it. Two of the distributors
were attacked by ophthalmia, a complaint
which, in India, often makes the
patient's eyes weak for the remainder of his
life. One of the pressmen was seized with
acute rheumatism in the back and loins; and
the foreman had the misfortune to take a
very bad fever, which it was feared would
terminate fatally. I had no idea of the
awful responsibility I was entailing upon
myself, when I undertook the editorial
department of the projected bi-weekly paper.

Somehow or other I contrived to land the
presses, types, and establishment on the bank
of the river, at Allahabad. Here it was
necessary to hire carts to convey them to
their destination, a distance of four hundred
and twenty-seven miles. This was no easy
matter; for every cart and pair of bullocks
that the Collector and Magistrate could find
in his district, had been seized for the service
of Government. This was in December 1845,
immediately after the battle of Moodkee.
By paying handsomely, however, this difficulty
was overcome, and the train was now
ready to start, when the printer came to me,
and said:

"Sir, I think the hands are going to run
away!"

"Why so?" I inquired.

"Because, sir, everybody says the Sikhs
will take the country, and they think they
would be safer in Calcutta. The only plan
would be," he continued, " to give them some
more advance, and let them drink hard to
keep their spirits up."

I was obliged to follow the printer's advice;
but I was rather disgusted to find that he
should himself resort to precisely the means
of bringing about an artificial courage that he
recommended for those in a subordinate
position. When I saw them off, they were all very
drunk indeed: even the native distributors
were in the same dreadful state. The presses
and boxes of type were packed in straw in
the body of the carts: upon these there were
platforms whereon those who could sit up,
sat, and those who could not, lay down.
The red night-caps gave the group a very
sanguinary appearance, and to hear the wearers
of them talk—now that they were warmed
with drink—a bystander might have imagined
that they were carrying up a brace of
infernal machines to the seat of war, which
would very soon settle that important business.
Their appearance was not particularly
formidable, but in point of frightfulness I
never beheld anything to equal it, except,
perhaps, on the stage in a pantomime.

On the 24th February, 1846, the artillery,