run to and fro between two parts, the one
on the Indian, and the other on the Ceylon
coast, freighted with Malabar Coolies, who
either are coming in search of employment, or
are returning with their little savings to their
own country. As one of these vessels was crossing,
a waterspout burst upon her, capsized her,
and drowned one hundred and fourteen human
beings, men, women, and children.

The most primitive of all sea-going craft, and,
at the same time, the safest if not the driest
and most comfortable, is the katemaraur. The
word literally means "tied trees," and gives a
very correct idea of the thing. It consists of
four light logs of wood lashed to each other,
and is about twenty feet long. It carries a
small dusky-coloured leg of mutton sail, and
is usually manned by two amphibious beings.
Seen in the water when sailing, it looks like
a brown butterfly with its wings folded. When
the sea is lashed into foam and the breakers dash
against the shore, and the scud flies through
the air, and no other craft dare put to sea, then
is the catamaran (I adopt the ordinary incorrect
mode of spelling) seen in its glory. This is no
time for hoisting the sail, nor are two men
sufficient to work against the breakers; four or five
launch it with a run; spring in as it clears the
first wave, and pull for dear life; another comes
—the steersman watches it as it rolls in—through
it they go, the wave sweeping clean over them,
and away they pull again; another and another,
and they are clear of the ground swell, and well
out towards that ship that now dips her bow-
sprit beneath the surge, and now raises it to the
skies. Soon they are alongside, a rope is thrown
to them which they carry to the shore, and when
the vessel strikes a few minutes afterwards—for
she has been dragging her anchor for the last
hour—a line of communication has been formed
between her and the land.

Between Point Calimere in the Madras
Presidency and the northern coast of Ceylon, the
mail-bags are daily carried to and fro in
catamarans, and wild, indeed, must be the storm
that detains them. Sometimes they capsize, but
this is considered a slight event. The two men
in charge are almost as much at home in the
water as on the land. They untie the logs,
readjust the waterproof bags, hoist their sail, and
off they go again. It is a forty miles' run, and
takes from six to ten hours.

There was a missionary in Jaffna who used
to cross over to India in one of these things
occasionally, and return with money for the
people employed under him. On one occasion
he was becalmed; the crew, exhausted by
rowing, wished to anchor, and as they had nothing
else to serve their purpose, they tied a rope to
his money-box and let that down. I know of
only one instance in which two gentlemen came
over together on the same catamaran. I was
one of the two, and am the survivor. It is a sad
tale.

In the month of April, a dear friend and
I crossed over to the Indian coast in a native
vessel, and spent a few days at the pretty
little French settlement of Pondicherry, with
its flat-roofed houses, its boulevards, and its
straight tidy streets; a place where I have been
told "there are forty young ladies and only five
young gentlemen in a position to marry!" To
Pondicherry every one betakes himself who has
got into a scrape in the adjoining British
possessions: unless, therefore, you are furnished
with letters of introduction, the residents are
naturally reluctant to admit you into their
society. However, as we were provided with
these, we were invited to dine with a merchant.
During dinner, some one asked me what had
brought me to Pondicherry? To which rather
suspicious question, I replied, that I was, in
Ceylon, the possessor of a Pondicherry screen,
on which was depicted a phaeton drawn by a
wondrous white horse, one of whose legs was
longer than the other three, and that I had
been seized by a desire to see the original:
a desire so strong, that I could not rest
until I had satisfied my curiosity. A wondrous
screen it was, in good sooth. It was difficult
to know whether to admire more the
boldness of its conception, or the brilliancy of its
design. There, besides the carriage and horse
aforesaid, were to be seen the government-
house, and what is more, there was the governor
himself, "a walking in the garding around,"
clad in flaming red unmentionables, a green
coat, and a cocked-hat. The artist had seized
the moment when he stood pointing authoritatively
to a shrub, while a native servant held an
umbrella over his head, and behind him a dog
with a curly tail pawed the air with his fore
legs. In the background the banner of France
waved proudly in the breeze. After dinner it
was proposed that the ladies should take a drive;
their carriage was brought to the door; and I
at once recognised it as being the identical
carriage depicted on my screen. The limner
himself was at work on the premises too: so
I had a look at him also.

After a few days' stay, we procured some
bullock carts, and travelled down the coast; for
although the wind had been favourable for going,
it was dead against our returning, and we
wished to get so far south as to have a slanting
breeze by which we might cross. We passed
through Cuddalore; through Tranquebar, once
the property of the Danes; through Negapatan,
with its Jesuit College; and at length reached
the salt plains of Calimere, where the antelopes
graze in peace eight months in the year, and
are coursed by the Anglo-Indian visitors during
the remaining four; and where the little foxes
dig holes, in which the aforesaid Anglo-Indians
frequently come to grief. Calimere is visited for
the sake of its sea breezes only; the Europeans,
who make it the place of their temporary
sojourn, occupy thatched bungalows, which they
furnish in camp fashion during their stay. We
found but one family there on our arrival; and
although perfect strangers, were received with
the frank hospitality peculiar to India.

I had limited leave of absence, and had already
over-stayed it. The wind was blowing with