Kitabı oku: «The Last Voyage: To India and Australia, in the 'Sunbeam'», sayfa 7
We next drove to the Admiral's house – a charmingly-placed dwelling, with one end for each monsoon (south-west from April to September, north-east from November to February). A well-cared-for garden encircles it, full of valuable plants and flowers; and the view over the bay is wide and lovely. We went through the barracks, and then walked, or rather climbed, up to the signal station, below which a new fort is being made which will carry heavy guns. Close by is a curious old Dutch graveyard, with a few quaint English monuments in it, dating from the beginning of the century. The way was long and the road rough; but still we climbed on and on to reach the famous Sami Rock, which rises sheer from the sea, and is a sacred spot for Hindoos, who have come here by thousands to worship for many centuries. Behind the rock stands a small monument, erected in memory of a young Portuguese lady, who, having seen her lover's ship leave the harbour and disappear below the horizon, threw herself in despair from the cliff.
The sun had now set, and the night was calm and brilliant; but so powerful had been the sun's rays that the rocks burnt our feet as we walked, and made it impossible to sit down. We returned to lower levels much more quickly than we had ascended; but I felt very tired before we got back to the gharries, and was only too glad to 'rest and be thankful' until the others arrived and were ready to start. They had had a delightful afternoon, and had caught several walking-fish (a kind of perch), after seeing them both walk and swim; besides gathering more lotus-flowers, and enjoying several good games at lawn-tennis.
The drive to the boats, behind Major Nash's fast-trotting pony, was all too short, and the time for the inevitable farewells came but too quickly. Steam was up when we got on board, and in a few minutes we were leaving this beautiful harbour behind us, exactly twenty-four hours after we had entered it, and under almost precisely the same conditions of wind and weather. Trincomalee is certainly a noble harbour, but Tom is strongly of opinion that it would be more valuable in the hands of the Indian Government than under the Admiralty.
Friday, March 11th.– We had intended to go south of the Andaman Islands, so as to be able to call at Port Blair, the convict station where poor Lord Mayo was assassinated by the convict Shere Ali during his official visit in 1872. The sailing-directions, however, gave such a terrible account of the malarious climate of the whole group of islands, the savage character of the inhabitants, and the size and number of the many venomous reptiles, that we reluctantly decided to continue our voyage straight to Burmah without stopping. We accordingly passed to the northward of the Andaman group, making what is called 'The Cocos' our first landfall.
At noon we had steamed 140 miles, and were in lat. 9° 44´ N. and long. 83° 3´ E., Great Coco being 607 miles distant.
Saturday, March 12th.– Another calm day, busily occupied in reading and writing. At noon we had steamed 184 miles, and were 471 miles distant from Great Coco, in lat. 10° 49´ N. and long. 87° 1´ E.
Sunday, March 13th.– We had the Litany at 11.30, and evening service later, with most successful Chants, the result of much practising yesterday and on Friday. At noon we had steamed 195 miles, and were in lat. 12° 16´ N. and long. 88° 55´ E. Great Coco distant 278 miles.
Monday, March 14th.– There was a nice breeze in the early morning, and sails were accordingly set. At 9 a. m. we ceased steaming, and proceeded under sail alone. At noon we had run 181 miles, and were distant 97 miles from Great Coco.
Tuesday, March 15th.– Little Coco was sighted at daylight. Later on we saw all the other islands of the Preparis group in succession, and were able to congratulate ourselves on having made a good landfall. At noon we had sailed 120 miles, and were in lat. 14° 5´ N. and long. 93° 29´ E., the Krisha Shoal being distant 150 miles.
In the evening we had our first nautical entertainment since we have all been on board together. It proved a real success, and appeared to afford great enjoyment to all, the credit being mostly due to Mabelle and the Doctor, who took an immense deal of trouble to make everything go off properly, and were well rewarded by the universal appreciation of their exertions. I am sure that these amusements do good in relieving the unavoidable tedium and monotony of a long voyage.
Wednesday, March 16th.– Soundings were taken at frequent intervals throughout the morning, for we were uncertain as to the strength of the currents, and could not see far ahead, as the sky was both overcast and misty. About noon Tom got an observation, and found that we were in lat. 15° 28´ N. and long. 95° 40´ E., having sailed 140 miles during the past twenty-four hours. The Krisha Shoal was then about ten miles to the N.W.
Towards five o'clock I was reading quietly on deck, when I was startled by an appalling shriek, followed by a good deal of commotion forward. A moment afterwards I saw poor Pitt bleeding profusely from his right hand. Having sent for the Doctor and some ice, I got hold of the wrist, and bound it up as best I could until the Doctor appeared, who then proceeded with his instruments to tie the arteries properly and to sew up the wounds. While opening some soda-water for the children one of the bottles burst in the poor man's hand, cutting five arteries and nearly blowing off the top of his second finger. It was a ghastly business altogether, and although he bore it bravely he could not help crying out occasionally. I stood it all pretty well till just at the end, and then fainted, which was stupid; but sitting in the sun in a cramped position, with such sights and sounds was rather trying. It was a comfort to know that I was able to be of some use at first.
At 7.45 p. m. we made Point Baragu Light, and at 10 p. m. sail was shortened, for by this time we were rushing along before a strong, fair wind, and did not quite know how far it might carry us by daylight. After dark the sea was brilliantly lit up by millions of minute nautilidæ, and from time to time we passed through shoals of large medusæ, increasing and decreasing the light which they emitted as they opened or closed their feelers, to propel themselves through the water. They looked like myriads of incandescent lamps floating just below the surface of the water and illuminating everything as they passed with I do not know how many thousand or million candle-power. The effect was indeed fairy-like, and one felt reluctant to go below so long as there was even the faintest chance of seeing another blazing shoal.
Fortunately, the description of the China Bakeer pilot-brig given in the sailing-directions is very precise and clear, or a wretched little native boat, on the look-out for a job, might have imposed herself upon us as the genuine craft, and have got us into serious trouble. The shoals hereabouts are numerous and the water generally is shallow. This native craft was rigged very much like an ordinary pilot-boat, and flew a huge ensign at the main until dark, besides burning enough blue lights, flash-lights, and flare-lights afterwards to draw any ship from her safe course. It would therefore not have been surprising if we had allowed ourselves to be misled by her. We heard afterwards that only a few days ago she nearly led H.M.S. 'Jumna' on to a dangerous shoal.
CHAPTER VI.
RANGOON
Thursday, March 17th.– The government pilot came on board at 6 a. m., and we at once got up the anchor and proceeded under steam up the branch of the Irrawaddy called the Rangoon River, leading to the town of that name. Its banks are flat, low, and densely wooded. The Great Pagoda is seen shortly after entering the mouth, and at Monkey Point the river divides into two portions (one of which is only a creek, while the other is the main branch, which passes Rangoon). Later on the factories, wharves, offices, public buildings and houses of the city become visible in quick succession.
Little more than thirty years ago Rangoon consisted of a mere swamp, with a few mat huts mounted on wooden piles, and surrounded by a log stockade and fosse. Now it is a city of 200,000 inhabitants, the terminus of a railway, and almost rivals Bombay in beauty and extent. It possesses fine palaces, public offices, and pagodas; warehouses, schools, hospitals, lovely gardens and lakes, excellent roads, and shady promenades.
We arrived opposite the town about half-past ten, passing through quite a crowd of shipping, amongst which were several fine clippers and steamers, bound to all parts of the world. The rice season is now at its height, and everybody is working his hardest. So great is the competition, that some merchants complain that they have made no profit since the time of the great Indian famines of 1874 and 1877, the only successful traders now being the owners of mills, who derive their gains from merely crushing rice.
Early in the afternoon, Mr. Symes, Secretary to the Chief Commissioner, came on board, bringing a kind note from Mrs. Crossthwaite, the wife of the Chief Commissioner (who is away in Mandalay), asking us all to go and stay at Government House during our visit to Rangoon. We declined this proffered kindness, but accepted an invitation to dinner. Several other visitors came on board in the course of the afternoon, and at five o'clock we landed and went for a drive.
Important as are the commercial aspects of the place, it is not these which interest and arrest the attention of the stranger, but rather what is old, quaint, and perhaps more or less effete. The appearance of the people themselves, to begin with, is most picturesque. Nearly all the men are naked to the waist, or wear a small white open linen jacket, with a voluminous putso wound tightly round their loins and gathered into a great bundle or knot in front. Their long hair is beautifully trimmed, plaited, and oiled, and their glossy locks are protected from the sun by an oiled-silk umbrella. The women wear much the same costume, except that the tamieri which replaces the putso is gayer in colour and more gracefully put on. There seems to be a strong family likeness between our own Scotch kilts, the Malay sarongs, the Burmese putsos and tamieris, and the Punjaubee tunghis. They are evidently the outcome of the first effort of a savage people to clothe themselves, and consist merely of oblong or square unmade pieces of cloth wound round the body in a slightly differing fashion. Some people profess to be able to recognise the Bruce and Stewart plaids in the patterns of the sarongs. Stripes and squares are comparatively cheap, while anything with a curved or vandyked pattern is expensive, because for each curved or vandyked line a special instrument, called a loon, must be used. Hence the probable derivation of langoti, by which name the same garment is called in India. The rain-hats are also remarkable, being sufficiently large to enable the wearer to dispense with an umbrella, though an oiled-paper parasol is generally carried in case of a shower.
But it was not only the people who interested me. There were the great pagodas, like huge hand-bells, gilded and decorated in various styles, with curious little htees, or gilt crowns, at the top, ornamented with rubies and emeralds. On the extreme summit, in the place of honour, is almost invariably fixed an English soda-water bottle, while the minor positions of importance are occupied by tonic-water bottles, which are of the same shape, but of a blue colour. The still more inferior places are crowned by dark green square-shouldered seltzer-water bottles. It seems a curious idea that a crown, which is not only a real work of art, but is made of rich materials, and worth 30,000l. sterling, after having been placed with much pomp and ceremony on the top of the finest pagoda in Burmah (Shway Dagohu, the gilded spire of which rises as high as St. Paul's Cathedral), should be surmounted and surrounded by the most commonplace articles of the conquering 'barbarian hordes.'
Presently we passed the funeral car of a Phoongyee, or Buddhist priest – a marvellous structure, reminding one of the Juggernaut cars of India. The funeral of a Phoongyee is always made the occasion of a great function. The body is embalmed and placed on one of these huge cars; and the people from the surrounding villages flock to the ceremony, bringing cartloads of fireworks, for the manufacture of which the Burmese are celebrated. Great rivalry arises as to which village shall be fortunate enough, through its representative, to set the gorgeous canopy on fire, and thereby release the good man's departed spirit and send it straight to heaven without any further transmigration or trouble. This happy consummation is supposed to occur directly the large funeral pile, which is always of highly inflammable materials, takes fire. The result is that many accidents occur, besides a great deal of heart-burning and loss of life; for sometimes at whole quarter of the town is set on fire and much property destroyed in these contests.
It is the custom, when a Phoongyee of the highest rank dies, to preserve the body in honey until the funeral car has been built, which is generally a matter of some weeks. The body of the car is surmounted by a sort of baldacchino, decorated with blue and green bottles and pieces of broken glass or porcelain. When all is ready, the body, attired in a common yellow robe (during life the robes are of silk, satin, or velvet, or cotton, according to the priest's rank), is placed on the car; women then seize the ropes attached to the front of the cumbrous vehicle, and men those behind. After a prolonged struggle, supposed to typify the conflict between good and evil spirits, the women gain the day, and the car proceeds on its way to the funeral pile, upon which the body is placed, and which is finally set on fire by huge rockets.
The avenue leading to the Shway Dagohu Pagoda is guarded at the entrance by two enormous statues of bylus, or monsters, erected to propitiate the evil spirits; bylus and nats being to the Burmese very much what demons and devils are to us. The view of the pagoda from the avenue is indeed wonderful. The great gilt dome, with its brilliant golden htee, grows and grows and increases upon the vision, until its enormous bulk is at last fully realised. Fancy a vast bell-shaped erection, with a pointed handle of solid gold, rising to nearly the height of the cross on the top of St. Paul's, surrounded by numerous smaller pagodas and dagolas, bell-temples, tombs, and rest-houses, some much dilapidated – it being considered more meritorious to build a new temple than to repair an old one. Shway Dagohu itself stands on a planted terrace, raised upon a rocky platform, and approached by a hundred steps. A writer of about forty years ago says:
'The golden temple of the idol may challenge competition, in point of beauty, with any other of its class in India. It is composed of teak-wood on a solid brick foundation, and indefatigable pains are displayed in the profusion of rich carved work which adorns it. The whole is one mass of the richest gilding, with the exception of the three roofs, which have a silvery appearance. A plank of a deep red colour separates the gold and silver, with the happy effect of relieving them.
'All round the principal pagoda are smaller temples, richly gilt and furnished with images of Gautama, whose unmeaning smile meets you in every direction, the sight of which, accompanied by the constant tinkling of the innumerable bells hung on the top of each pagoda, combines with the stillness and deserted appearance of the place to produce an impression on the mind not speedily to be effaced.' Close by live a hundred and fifty families, called 'slaves of the pagoda,' to whose care the edifice is entrusted.
On the walls of one of the rest-houses were some well-drawn frescoes illustrating incidents in the life of Gautama, and statues of all dimensions, from the size of one's hand to something quite colossal. These figures are always represented in one of three positions – either standing, sitting, or lying – the features of each wearing exactly the same amiable but vacant expression, and the hands and feet being invariably turned in the same direction. The carvings over the porch of the principal temple outside the strongly fortified pagoda represent its storming and capture by the English, under General Godwin, in 1852. The naval officers who are depicted carry telescopes of somewhat inconvenient length for practical purposes; but the uniforms of the bluejackets, soldiers, and marines are fairly correct, and all the figures are carved with great spirit.
The pagoda is supposed to have been commenced 588 years b. c., in order to enshrine some hairs of Buddha and the bathing-gown of another holy man who lived two thousand years before him. The building was enlarged from time to time (especially when eight hairs from Gautama's beard were added to the sacred collection), and is now a solid mass of bricks, arranged in rows of steps, with three shrines to hold the precious relics, erected at various heights. The carved teak with which it is covered is solidly gilt from top to bottom, and this process costs 30,000l. each time it is repeated. The new htee was sent down from Mandalay in 1882, and was received with the greatest pomp and ceremony by all the officials, both European and Burmese.
To wander round the top platform or courtyard outside the pagoda in the twilight and listen to the bells was an extraordinary experience for all of us. The big Burmese bells are celebrated for their tone, especially those in the temples. The smaller bells are also good, as are the triangular gongs, called, from their shape, stirrup-gongs. The little bells which are hung on the htees at the tops of the various pinnacles surrounding the soda-water bottles have long clappers, easily moved by the wind; and the sound of these various bells and gongs borne on the evening breeze is harmonious in the extreme.
The King of Siam has constructed a fine rest-house just outside the gates, for the use of the people of his nation, the pagoda itself being open to all peoples, kingdoms, and races. A private individual also built a magnificent wooden rest-house, at the cost of a lac of rupees, just before Lord Ripon visited Rangoon. This virtuous act was supposed to assure him on his death immediate nirvana, or transition to Paradise without undergoing the process of transmigration or the ordeal of Purgatory. As a mark of loyalty and admiration, the founder transferred not only the rest-house, but all the eternal privileges which he had gained by building it, to His Excellency, in recognition of his endeavours to gain for the natives of India a larger amount of liberty and greater privileges.
Mr. Hodgkinson, the assistant Commissioner, met us at the pagoda, and told us all he knew about it in the most interesting way. The drive back to Rangoon through the Dalhousie Park and Gardens, once the appanage of a royal palace, was perfectly delightful. It was rather late, and there was consequently a great rush to dress on board and get back to shore in time to dine with Mrs. Crossthwaite at Government House, three miles from the landing-place. It is a large roomy bungalow with a big verandah, surrounded by trees. Mrs. Crossthwaite, her daughter, Mr. Hodgkinson, Mr. Symes, Tom, Mabelle, Mr. des Graz, and myself formed the party. We had a very pleasant evening, but our long and tiring day made at least one of the guests glad to get on board and go to bed.
Friday, March 18th.– Left the yacht about seven o'clock. Mr. Hodgkinson took us to see a timber-yard, where elephants are extensively used. It was a wonderful exhibition of strength, patience, and dexterity. The docile creatures lift, roll, and push the logs of timber to any part of the yard. They pile it up into stacks high above their heads, seizing one end of a log with their trunk, placing it on the pile of timber, and then taking the other end of the log and pushing it forward, finally placing it on their heads, and sending it into its place. They work undisturbed amid the buzz of circular saws and machinery, where it would seem almost impossible for animals of such huge proportions to escape injury. They carry their intelligence to the point of rigidly enforcing the rights of labour. Nothing will persuade an elephant to do a stroke of work, after he has heard the workmen's dinner-bell, during the hour of midday rest to which he rightly considers himself entitled. Their mental powers seem, indeed, to be very nearly on a level with those of the human workmen, with whose efforts their own are combined. No less than two thousand elephants were formerly employed in the yard of the Bombay and Burmah Company. Steam machinery is now rapidly superseding elephants, for each animal requires at least three men to look after him.
We quitted the Bombay and Burmah Trading Company's teak-yard, most grateful to Mr. Jones, the manager, for his kind reception. Then our party divided, some going to see the pagoda, and others to see the rice-mills. At this season of the year the mill-hands are at work night and day, while from November to February the mills are as a rule closed. In the establishment which we visited a hundred tons of rice are turned out every twelve hours, several processes having to be gone through before the 'paddy' is converted into 'white rice' of the first quality.
While rice is the main element in the trade of Rangoon, teak is the principal article at Moulmein. The finest teak forests are to be found in Northern Burmah. The tree does not flourish south of the 16th degree of latitude.
Returned on board to breakfast, to which Dr. and Mrs. Pedley came. Busy morning with letters and callers. Among the latter were Lord and Lady Stafford, on their way to join the 'Kilwa,' in which they proceed to Moulmein and Singapore. Captain Fanshawe also called, and Mr. Symes and Mr. Hodgkinson came to lunch. Some Burmese curiosity-vendors paid us a visit in the afternoon, and we made some purchases, chiefly of silver and gongs. Posted our budget of letters and sent off telegrams in the evening, and sailed from Rangoon at 11 p. m.
Saturday, March 19th.– Arrived off the Salwen River about 1 p. m., but found that the tide did not suit for going up to Moulmein. We therefore had to anchor until the next morning. Coast pretty, undulating, and covered with jungle. At five o'clock we landed and went to the water pagoda at Point Amherst – a curious wooden structure, held sacred by the Buddhists. Pilgrimages are annually made to this spot from all parts of Burmah and Siam, and are the occasion of vast gatherings of people, who live and sleep entirely in the open air. There is a small native village close by, and also a post-office, telegraph-office, and pilot station; while in the neighbourhood are many of the summer-dwellings of the Rangoon and Moulmein merchants.
Sunday, March 20th.– Steam up early. At 10 a. m. we started to ascend the river to Moulmein. Passed the 'Kilwa' coming down, and arrived about one o'clock. Moulmein is admirably situated on a range of hills, rising to a considerable elevation on the left bank of the Salwen. The town is embosomed in trees, and pagodas and shrines occupy every prominent position. The population consists largely of foreigners, Chinese and Hindoos forming a large proportion of the aggregate number of 50,000. The navigation from the sea to Moulmein up the Salwen is far more difficult than the passage up to Rangoon. The Salwen is one of the great rivers of Asia. Its upper waters have never yet been reached by European travellers. About half-past four we landed and drove up to Salwen Lodge, where we had tea with Colonel and Mrs. Plant. Afterwards to church, which was very hot and full of mosquitoes.
Monday, March 21st.– Landed early, and went to see the jail and another timber-yard where elephants are employed. At the jail a good deal of wood-carving is done, in addition to basket-making and carpentering. Returned to the yacht to breakfast, and received more visitors, including Mr. Menhenaick, the English clergyman here. Colonel and Mrs. Plant came to tea, and we afterwards landed and went to a lawn-tennis party and to dinner at Salwen Lodge.
Tuesday, March 22nd.– Started very early to see the caves, about eight miles from Moulmein. The smaller of the two contains a large number of sacred images, while the other is of vast dimensions. These caves are situated in a sort of cliff, rising abruptly from the plain. The lighting had been specially arranged for us by the kindness of Captain Dodd.
A large portion of Burmah is still uninhabited. Much larger in area, it has not one-fifth of the population of France. But the increase is immensely rapid. Between 1871 and 1881 it was at the rate of 34 per cent.
The inferiority of Burmah in respect of population, notwithstanding the superior fertility of the soil, is to be traced to the physical geography of the country. The great rivers of India flow east or west. The great rivers of the Burmese peninsula flow from north to south. The population of India could readily expand without material change of climate. In Cochin China navigation down the valleys of the great rivers involves changes of temperature and habit such as human nature is not generally able to endure.
At an early hour we found the deck, as usual when we are about to leave a port, cumbered by an inconvenient crowd of unwelcome visitors, consisting in the present instance of dhobis, gharry-wallahs, hotel people, and loafers and idlers generally, all of whom we at once proceeded to get rid of as soon as possible. Among the authorised visitors were the servants of some of our friends on shore, who had kindly sent us parting presents of fruit, jams, curries, curios, and the most lovely orchids, the latter in such profusion that they were suspended all along the boom, causing the quarter-deck to look more like one of Mr. Bull's orchid exhibitions than part of a vessel. We photographed some of them with great success, and with our gods from the caves in the background, they will make an effective picture.
The clothes from the wash had arrived on board, for a wonder, though the much-needed ice had not. It was, however, impossible to wait for it, and accordingly at 12.45 we got up the port-anchor, and at 1.30 the starboard-anchor, and proceeded down the river, taking several instantaneous photographs en route. About four o'clock we met the 'Rangoon' coming up. She is a powerful paddle-wheel steamer, carrying the mails, and doing the distance of 110 miles between Rangoon and Moulmein, or vice versâ, in all states of the tide – which sometimes runs seven knots – in eleven hours. Her decks were crowded with passengers, mostly natives. In the bows was a group of Phoongyees in their yellow robes.
The pilot-boat met us at Point Amherst, with Tab on board, bringing more fruit and orchids. He had arrived at Rangoon on the 20th, and had left there this morning, after having had a real good time of it with Colonel Euan Smith and the Manchester Regiment, his only regret being that he had not killed a tiger. We waved adieux to the skipper, pointed the yacht's head to the southward, made sail, and, as soon as it was cool enough, lowered the funnel and set the mainsail.
Wednesday, March 23rd.– A pleasant but very shy breeze, which frequently obliged us to tack. At noon we had made good 60 miles under steam, and 40 under sail, Singapore being distant 1,050 miles. Lat. 15° 33´ N.; long. 97° 13´ E.
Thursday, March 24th.– The twelfth anniversary of Baby's birthday. She was delighted with the presents which had already been collected for her at various places, and with the promise of others.
A hot calm day. We had run 101 miles since noon yesterday, and were in lat. 14° 32´ N.; long. 97° 27´ E. At 3 p. m. we raised the funnel, and at 4 began to steam.
In the evening we had our second nautical entertainment in honour of the day. Muriel's 'first appearance' as 'Little Buttercup,' in the old-fashioned costume of a Portsmouth bumboat woman, consisting of a blue gown, red shawl, and bonnet of antique shape, was greeted with vociferous applause, and it was only out of deference to her feelings of mingled modesty and fatigue (for it was very hot and airless below in the crowded 'assembly room') that her song was not rapturously encored. The evening's entertainment was brought to a close in the orthodox manner by the drinking of healths and the expression of good wishes for all friends, absent or present.
Friday, March 25th.– A fine breeze sprang up at 1 a. m. At 7.30 we ceased steaming, and at 10 a. m. lowered the funnel. At noon we had run 138 miles under steam and 32 under sail, Singapore being 837 miles distant. Position, lat. 11° 41´ N.; long. 97° 14´ E.
We saw the Moscos group of islands yesterday evening, and early this morning sighted the North, Middle, and South islands. It is here that the finest, though not the largest, edible birds'-nests are found; but the nests are built by a bird of quite a different species from that of Borneo.
Saturday, March 26th.– Early this morning we passed Tenasserim.
During the day we were continually sighting various little islands, as well as high mountain-peaks belonging to the more distant mainland. At noon we had run 160 miles, and our position was lat. 9° 17´ N.; long. 97° 0´ E., Singapore being still 687 miles distant.
The day proved intensely hot and steamy, with scarcely any air, though the thermometer was not so high as one would have fancied. Thankful we all were when, after some little delay, caused by the difficulty of obtaining sufficient draught in the furnaces, we were able at four o'clock to steam ahead and so create a breeze for ourselves. Lightning flashed and gleamed on all sides, and the air felt sulphurous and suffocatingly oppressive. At 7.45 p. m. we were overtaken by a heavy squall of wind, accompanied by thunder, lightning, and rain, which obliged us to close all ports and skylights. Fortunately the storm did not last long, though the weather continued showery all night.
