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.
