# Life in India/Madras Roads

Madras from the roadstead. p.53
Madras Roads.
Expectation makes sleep light. Long before daybreak I had left my berth for the deck. No helmsman stood at the firmly-lashed wheel. No sail was set. A single seaman silently paced back and forth. Overhead the stars twinkled brightly, while before us glimmered the lamps of the great city. The smell of land came over the water upon the soft balmy breeze, which brought to our ears the sound of the surf ceaselessly beating upon the shore. All senses combined to say that our voyage was done, and land at hand. At length daylight came, and Madras started into reality before our eyes.
We lay more than a mile from the low, level shore, which as far as the eye can reach is fringed by the graceful cocoanut-tree, and the tall palmyra palm. Before us lay the walled town, and, fronting upon the water, the customhouse and mercantile establishments, with their long ranges of pillared buildings. As these are two and three stories in height, and handsomely plastered with the brilliant chunam (lime) of Madras, their appearance is quite imposing. ​To the south stands the lighthouse, in a wide green, and beyond it Fort St. George, with its strong walls, smooth-sodded glacis, deep moats and frowning cannon. The banner of Old England floats from its flag-staff, and proclaims her dominion over these wide realms. Still beyond, tall trees conceal the city, with here and there the summits of pagodas and minarets peeping out above their tops. On our right lay the suburb of Royapooram, almost hidden by the cocoanuts and palms in which the Hindu so much delights, and beyond it the solitary shore and surging sea, over which the catamaran, Masulah boat and the Dhoney, (native vessel,) with its dusky sail, are constantly passing to and fro.
At an early hour the native boatmen were on the beach, launching their boats, and pulling for the newly-arrived ship. As they successively reached the vessel, they made fast their unwieldy boats, and very unceremoniously boarded us. Our deck soon swarmed with Hindus, from the almost naked oarsmen in search of employment to the Dubash (interpreter) in all the magnificence of flowing robes, embroidered slippers, jewelled ears, and massive turban. But fine as these gentry looked, ​they were on the same errand as their more homely countrymen in their suits of natural black. All were intent on the one business of making something from the new-comers. The English, which was the stock in trade of the Dubashes, they had mostly learned in mission schools. The pronunciation of some of these conceited linguists made us suspect that their love of lucre had cut short their education at a very early stage.
By ten o’clock two boats were seen approaching, furnished with awnings in the stern, and, with our glasses, we made out that each bore a topee-wallah, (or hat-wearer,) as Europeans and Americans are called. As they come near all eyes gaze earnestly—they wave their hats—a rope is thrown, and soon our hands are grasped in the warm welcome of our countrymen and fellow-labourers at Madras. Salutations over, we lowered a few changes of clothing into the boats, and turned to take leave of our fellow-voyagers, the officers and crew of our ship; nor could we restrain the starting tear, when, standing for the last time upon the deck we had trod so many days, we received the farewell grasp of the rough-handed men. A chair having been rigged, the ladies ​were lowered over the ship's side, and in two boats we started for the shore.
The Masulah boat, used upon the Madras coast for landing passengers and freight from vessels lying in the roadstead, is a rudely built boat, some twenty-five or thirty feet long, ten feet wide, and seven deep. The planks of which it is made are not fastened with nails, but sewed together with twine made from the husk of the cocoanut; and straw is stuffed between the seams. The bottom of the boat is covered with brushwood, on which you lay your trunks secure from the water that constantly enters by the seams, and swashes below. The peculiar advantage of their construction is, that the boats, (in taking the beach,) give and twist and bend in the often terrific surf of Madras, when an English boat would be dashed to pieces. The men, ten or twelve in number, sit upon cross beams at the top of the boat, pulling away at long oars, or rather poles, with heart-shaped paddles tied to their ends. In the stern, the tindal or steersman, with a long, blade-shaped oar, stands on a boarded space just back of the awning which screens the passengers from sun and spray. With grunts and groans and discordant songs, the half-naked ​boatmen plied their rude oars in obedience to the pilot, who, by the loudness of his tones, seemed fully aware of the responsibility of his post. When we neared the breakers that make the Madras coast famous, they commenced in earnest. With loud yells, and cries of "Allah! Allah! Allah! Allah!" the oarsmen responded to the fierce cries and stamps of the steersman. As we mounted the first of the three lines of breakers that roll in upon the beach, they pulled and shouted with a fury that might well alarm a new-comer; the boat, with its head to the shore, slid rapidly onward with the foaming billow, and the first breaker was passed. At the second and the third the scene is repeated, and the boat comes grinding upon the beach; the men leap overboard, haul it higher up, and bear you in their arms, or on a chair, to the dry sand. At our landing, the sea was unusually smooth, and gave no idea of the Madras surf as I have often since seen it. After a gale its power is terrific, and the scene upon the beach, when catamarans and Masulah boats attempt to cross it, most exciting. Over and over again they will be hurled back upon the shore; but the hardy fellows manage at length to pass the barrier, and go to the assistance of ​stranding vessels. At times, however, even they fail, and whole crews perish within a cablelength of the gazing crowds upon the beach.
Just beyond the sandy beach runs a fine road parallel with the water, with the customhouse and stores upon its farther side. Here the whole scene was full of life; all was new and strange. Wagons and turbaned men, bullock-carts, palankeens, and bearers thronged the road, and all were at our service. Escaping from the pertinacious crowd of natives, who, with jabbering tongues, claimed our acquaintance, and demanded payment for imaginary services, we entered a carriage, and were driven, by a road full of novel sights and sounds, to the house of Mr. Winslow, our honoured senior in the mission work, who, for thirty years had laboured in the land on which we now first trod.