Visions of oriental
splendour, of palaces and temples, of superbly dressed chiefs with
bands of gorgeous retainers, had floated before their mind's eye.
Instead of this they saw squalid huts, men dressed merely with a rag
of cotton around them, everywhere signs of squalor and poverty.
Madras, however, they were told that evening, was not to be taken as a
sample of India. It was a mere collection of huts, which had sprung up
round the English factories. But when they went to a real Indian city,
they would see a very different state of things.
Chapter 5: Madras.
After the young writers had seen the native town, they returned to the
beach, and spent the afternoon watching the progress of landing the
cargo of the Lizzie Anderson. They were pleased to see their own
luggage safely ashore; as it would have been greatly damaged, had the
boat containing it been swamped; a misfortune which happened to
several of the boats laden with cargo. It was very amusing, each time
that one of these boats arrived, to see a crowd of natives rush down
into the water, waist deep, seize it, and drag it up beyond the next
wave. Many of them would be knocked down, and some swept out by the
retreating wave, only to return on the next roller.
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