He then proceeded to explain the manner of taking the snakes, which was effected by lying down close to the hole where the snake was, and by playing a few soft notes with the pipe. The snake, attracted by the sound, puts his head out of the hole, and is immediately firmly grasped by the neck, by which he is held until his fangs are extracted, by jerking them out with a piece of rag, held for him to bite at.

  “Strange,” observed Courtenay, “that snakes should be fond of music, and still stranger that people should have discovered it.”

  “And yet it has long been known — perhaps, from time immemorial,” answered Macallan. “The comparisons of Scripture are all derived from eastern scenery and eastern customs. Do you not recollect the words of the Psalmist, who compareth the wicked to the deaf adder, who ‘will not harken to the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely’?”

  “I recollect it now,” answered Courtenay; “from which I infer, that as snakes are not caught for nothing, they danced before King Solomon.”

  “Perhaps they did, or at least in his time.”

  The man carefully removed the cloth from the top of the chatty, and watching his opportunity, seized the snake by the neck, who immediately wound itself round his arm. Holding it in that position, he rapidly chewed leaves which he had wrapped in the cloth which encircled his loins. After having laid a heap of the masticated leaves near him, he swallowed a large quantity, and then applied the head of the snake to his left ear, which the animal immediately bit so as to draw blood. It was a cobra di capella of the largest size, being nearly six feet long. As soon as the snake had bitten him, he replaced it in the chatty, and at the same time that he continued to swallow the leaves, rubbed the wounded part with some of the heap which he had masticated, and laid down beside him.

  There was a silence, and a degree of painful anxiety, on the part of the spectators, during the process. The man appeared to be sick and giddy, and lay down, but gradually recovered, and making a low salaam, received his largess, handed the snake, in the chatty, to Macallan, and departed.

  “A most curious fact — an excessively curious fact,” observed the doctor, putting up his tablets, and a handful of the leaves, which he had taken the precaution to obtain.

  “Now, gentlemen, dinner all ready,” observed the interpreter.

  The dinner had been spread out on the little mount pointed out by Courtenay. It rose, isolated from the plain, to the height of about thirty feet, with a steep and regular ascent on every side. The summit was flat, and in the centre the acacia waved its graceful and pendent flowers to the breeze, each moment altering the position of the bright spot of sunshine, which pierced through its branches, and reflected on the grass beneath. The party (consisting of the officers of the ship, the grave deputy, and his immediate suite, about fifteen in number), whose appetites were keen from their morning exercise and excitement, gladly hailed the summons, and seating themselves in a circle round the viands, which were spread under the tree, crossed their legs, after the Mahometan custom, and made a furious attack upon the provender.

  Macallan, to secure his newly-acquired treasure, hung the chatty, by its string, upon one of the long thorns of the acacia, and then took his seat with the rest. Ample justice having been done to what had been placed before them, mirth and good-humour prevailed. Courtenay had just persuaded the grave old deputy to break through the precepts of his religion, and partake of the forbidden cup, in the shape of a tumbler of madeira, when the chatty, which the doctor had suspended aloft, by the constant waving of the tree to the wind, worked off the thorn, and falling down in the very centre of the circle, smashed into atoms, and the cobra di capella met their gaze, reared upon the very tip of his tail, his hood expanded to the utmost in his wrath, hissing horribly, and darting out his forked tongue, — wavering, among the many, upon whom first to dart.

  Never was a convivial party so suddenly dispersed. For one, and but one moment, they were all paralysed; no one attempted to get up and run away — then, as if by a simultaneous thought, they all threw themselves back, tossing their heels over their heads, and continuing their eccentric career. Mussulmen and Europeans all tumbled backwards, heels over heads, down the descent, diverging in every point of the compass, until they reached their respective situations at the bottom of the mount; while the cobra di capella still remained in his menacing attitude, as if satisfied with the universal homage paid to his dreadful powers.

  They all recovered their legs (as they had gained the bottom of the hill) about the same time. Courtenay and Seymour, now that the danger was over, were convulsed with laughter — Macallan in amazement — Prose, with his eyes starting out of his head, uttering his usual “I do declare” — the deputy as grave as ever — and the remainder, fortunately, more frightened than they were hurt.

  One of the native servants put an end to the scene, by reascending the hill with a long bamboo, with which he struck the animal to the ground, and subsequently despatched him. By this time all had recovered from their alarm, and in a few minutes their seats were resumed. The doctor, who was vexed at the loss of his snake, commenced an examination of the body, and was still more mortified to find that the wily Hindoo had deceived him, the venomous fangs having been already extracted.

  “It is positively a fact,” observed he to Courtenay, in ill-humour, “he has cheated me.”

  “A most curious fact,” replied Courtenay, shrugging up his shoulders, and lowering the corners of his mouth. “Now, Macallan, what’s the use of your memoranda about time of biting, appearance of patient, etcetera? Allow, for once, that there are some things which are ‘excessively annoying.’”

  The party soon after remounted, and proceeded to the town. The next morning they repaired on board, and the queen having, at last, concocted the letter of thanks, the Aspasia weighed, and proceeded to Bombay.

  Chapter Forty Five.

  An you like a ready knave, here is one of most approved convenience: he will cheat you moreover to your heart’s content. If you believe me not, try him.

  The Colony, 1635.

  The Aspasia continued her passage with light but favourable winds. As the ship made but little progress, Captain M — stood into Goa Bay, as he passed by that relic of former grandeur and prosperity — alas! like the people who raised it, how fallen from its “high estate.” The town still covers the same vast extent of ground; the churches still rear their heads above the other buildings in their beautiful proportions; the Palace of the Inquisition still lours upon you in its fanatical gloom and massive iron bars. But where is the wealth, the genius, the enterprise, the courage, and religious enthusiasm which raised these majestic piles? A scanty population, of mixed Hindoo and Portuguese blood, or of half-converted Indians, are the sole occupiers of this once splendid city of the East. Read the history of the Moors when in Spain, their chivalry, and their courage, their learning and advancement in the arts, — and now view their degraded posterity on the African coast. Reflect upon the energy and perseverance of the Spaniards, at the time when they drove out those conquerors of their country after a struggle of so many years — their subsequent discovery and possession of a western world — and behold them now. Turn to the Portuguese, who, setting an example of perseverance and activity to the nations of Europe, in vessels in which we should now think it almost insanity to make the attempt, forced their passage round the Stormy Cape, undeterred by disasters or by death, and grasped the empire of the East. What are they in the scale of nations now?

  How rapid these transitions! Two hundred years have scarcely rolled away — other nations, with the fabrics they have raised, have been precipitated to the dust; but they have departed, full of years, and men and things have run their race together. But here, the last in all their splendour, while the energies of the former have decayed, remain; and where have we a more melancholy picture of humanity, either in an individual or in a nation, than when we survey the body that has outlived the mind?

  Since the world began, history is but the narrative of kingdoms and states progressing to maturity or decay. Man himself is but an epitome of the nations of men. In youth, all energy; in prime of life, all enterprise and vigour; in senility, all weakness and second childhood. Then, England, learn thy fate from the unerring page of time. Sooner or later, it shall arrive that thou shalt be tributary to some nation, hitherto, I trust, unborn; and thy degenerate sons shall read that liberty was once the watchword of the isle, and yet not even feel a longing to be free.

  As the Aspasia lay nearly becalmed at the entrance of the harbour, a small boat, rowed by two men, pulled towards her, and the occupant of the stern-sheets, as he came alongside, stated, in bad English, that he brought “present for captain,” and was allowed to come up the side by the first-lieutenant, who was on deck. He was a native friar, and disgusting as the dress is, when worn by an European in a northern clime, it appeared still more so, enveloping a black under the torrid zone. He carried a little covered basket in his hand, and stated that he had been sent by the superior of the convent, which he pointed to, on the headland at the mouth of the harbour. The first-lieutenant went down into the cabin, and reported to the captain.

  “A present!” observed Captain M — ; “I hope it is not a monkey. ‘Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.’”

  The first-lieutenant, who had forgotten his Latin, made no answer, but returned on deck, where he was shortly after followed by Captain M — .

  The sable votary of St. Francis made his bow, and opening the lid of his basket, pulled out a cabbage with a long stalk and four or five flagging leaves, but no heart to it. “Superior send present to Inglez capitown.” And having laid it carefully on the carronade slide, fumbled in his pocket for some time, and eventually produced a dirty sheet of paper, on which, written in execrable English, was a petition to assist the wants of the convent.

  “I expected as much,” observed Captain M — , smiling, as he ran over the ridiculous wording of the petition. “Desire the purser’s steward to get up a bag of biscuit, and put into the boat.”

  The bread was handed on the gangway, when the friar, observing it, went up to the captain, and said, “Superior like rum, sar; suppose you no rum, then like money.”

  “Perhaps he may,” replied Captain M — ; “but it is against my rules to give the first, and if I recollect right, against those of your order to receive the second.”

  Finding that nothing more was to be obtained, the friar was about to depart, when, perceiving the cabbage lying unnoticed where he had deposited it, he observed— “Capitown, non quer cabbage — not want?”

  “Not particularly,” replied Captain M — , surveying it with rather a contemptuous smile.

  “Then take it ashore, plant it again — do for ‘nother ship;” and he replaced the present in his basket, made his bow, and departed.

  Reader, cabbages are scarce articles in India. I have seen them at Pondicherry, growing in flower-pots, as curious exotics.

  Two days afterwards, the Aspasia came to an anchor at Bombay, and having saluted the admiral, Captain M — went on shore to pay his respects in person. The ship was soon crowded with a variety of people, who came off to solicit the washing, etcetera, of the officers. The gun-room officers had just finished their dinner, and the cloth had been removed, when our friend Billy Pitts entered, introducing a slim personage, attired in a robe of spotless white, with the dark turban peculiar to the Parsees, and bringing in his hand a small basket of fruit.

  “Massa Courtenay, here mulatta fellow want to speak to officers. Call himself Dubash — look in dictionary, and no such word in English language.”

  “It means a washerman, I suppose,” observed Price.

  “No, sir,” answered the man for himself, with a graceful bow, “not a washerman, but at same time get all your clothes washed. Dubash go to market, supply gentlemen with everything they want — run everywhere for them — bring off meat and fish, and everything else — everybody have dubash here — I dubash to all the ships come here — got very good certificate, sir,” continued the Parsee, drawing a thin book from his vest, and presenting it to Courtenay with a low bow.

  “Well, Mr Dubash, let us see what your character may be,” said Courtenay, opening the book.

  “Yes, sir, you please to read them, and I go speak to young gentlemen, before other dubash come on board; I bring gentlemen little fruit,” and laying the basket respectfully on the table, with another low salaam the man quitted the gun-room.

  Courtenay read for a minute, and then burst into a fit of laughter. “Very good certificates, indeed,” observed he, “only hear —

  “First. — This is to certify, that Hommajee Baba served the gun-room mess of his Majesty’s ship Flora, and cheated us most damnably.

  “Signed Peter Hicks, 1st Lieut.

  “Jonas Smith, Purser.

  “Second. — Hommajee Baba served me as dubash during my stay in this port. He is a useful fellow, but a great scoundrel. I gave him one half of his bill, and he was perfectly satisfied. I recommend others to do the same.

  “Signed Andrew Thompson, Company’s ship Clio.

  “Third. — I perfectly agree with the above remarks; but as all the other dubashes are as great thieves, and not half so intelligent, I conscientiously recommend Hommajee Baba.

  “Signed Peter Phillips, Captain Honbl. Company’s cruiser Vestal.

  “Fourth. — Of all the scoundrels that I ever had to deal with, in this most rascally quarter of a most knavish world, Hommajee Baba is the greatest. Never give him any money, as he will find it; but when you go away, pay him one-third of his bill, and you will still have paid him too much.

  “Signed Billy Helflame, Captain H.M.S. Spitfire.”

  About a dozen pages of the book were filled with certificates to the above effect, which the dubash, although he spoke English fluently, not being able to read, considered as he had been informed at the time, to be decidedly in his favour. They were so far valuable, that they put newcomers upon their guard, and prevented much extortion on the part of the said Hommajee.

  When the laughter had to a degree subsided, Billy Pitts was the first to exclaim— “Damn black villain — I think so, when he come to me; not like cut of um jib—”

  “‘Who steals my purse, steals trash,’” spouted Price.

  “‘Cause you never have money, Mr Price,” cried Billy, interrupting him.

  “Silence, sir,— ‘But he who filches from me my good name, robs me of that — of that—’”

  “Rob you of what, sar?”

  “Silence, sir,” again cried Price—”’robs me of that—’ what is it? — that damned black thief has put it out of my head—”

  “I not the thief, sar — Massa Price, you always forget end of your story.”

  “I’ll make an end of you directly, sir, if you’re not off.”

  “No! don’t kill Billy,” observed Courtenay; “it’s bad enough to have murdered Shakespeare. Well, but now, it’s my opinion, that we ought to employ this fellow — and take the advice that has been given to us in this book.”

  Courtenay’s proposal was assented to, and on his return, Hommajee Baba was installed in office.

  The next morning, Seymour, Courtenay, and Macallan went on shore to meet an old acquaintance of the latter, who had called upon him on his arrival. By his advice they left the ship before the sun had risen, that they might be enabled to walk about, and view the town and its environs, without being incommoded by the heat. They reached the long plain close to the sea, upon which the admiral and many others, according to the custom of the English inhabitants, were residing in capacious tents; not such tents as have been seen in England, but impervious to the heat and rain, covering a large extent of ground, divided into several apartments, and furnished like any other residence. The broad expanse of ocean, which met their view, was unruffled, and the beach was lined with hundreds, standing on their carpets, spread upon the sand, with their faces turned toward the east. As the sun rose in splendour above the horizon, they all prostrated themselves in mute adoration, and continued in that position until his disk had cleared the water’s edge; they then rose, and throwing a few flowers into the rippling wave, folded up their carpets and departed.

  “Who are those people, and of what religion?” demanded Seymour.

  “They are Parsees, a remnant of the ancient Persians — the Guebres, or worshippers of fire. As you have witnessed, they also adore the sun. They came here long since to enjoy their tenets, free from persecution. They are the most intelligent race that we have. Many of them were princes in their own country, and are now men of unbounded wealth. They have their temples here, in which the sacred fire is never permitted to go out. If, by any chance or negligence, it should become extinct, it must be relighted from heaven alone. We have no lightning here, and they send to Calcutta, where there is plenty at the change of the monsoon, and bring it round with great ceremony.”

  “In other points, are their customs different from the Hindoos?”

  “Yes; their women are not so immured; you will meet plenty of them when you return to town. They are easily distinguished by their fair complexions, and the large thin gold rings, with three or four pearls strung upon them, worn in a hole perforated through the nostril, and hanging below their mouths.”

  “And what are those immense towers on the other side of the bay?”

  “They were built by the Parsees, as depositories for the dead; on the summit is a wide iron grating, upon which the bodies are laid, to be devoured by the birds of prey; when stripped, the bones fall through the iron bars into the receptacle below. They never bury their dead. — But breakfast must be ready, so we had better return. You have much to see here. The caves of Elephanta and Canara are well worthy of your attention — and I shall be happy to attend you, when you feel inclined to pay a visit to them.”

  They did not fail to profit by the offer, and before the week had passed away, they had witnessed those splendid monuments of superstition and idolatry. The Aspasia received her orders, and Hommajee Baba, being paid the due proportion of his bill, received his certificate from Courtenay, in the usual form, and so far from being affronted, requested the honour of being again employed in their services if ever they should return to Bombay.