Nevertheless, I had been very near five months in coming
out from Boston under the blundering seamanship of Captain Coffin
(ominous cognomen!), and salt water, hard junk and weevilly biscuit
were as unattractive to me in possible prospect as they were in
retrospect. The sea I had weighed in the balance and had found it much
wanting. I would, then, go to the Himalayas.
So I prepared to make for Simla, which, however, I never saw, nor had
occasion to see, my liver complaint seeming to have been left behind,
with my good wishes, in the City of Palaces. In the early days of
Indian civilization to which I refer the most convenient way of
journeying on high-roads was by palanquin. One of the black
packing-cases so called was purchased, and an arrangement entered
into, after the custom of the country, with the post-office to have
relays of bearers provided on the road at stated times and places.
Thus, I was to go as far as Ghazeepore, where I had a friend living,
and there I was to give due notice if I wished to proceed farther.
Traveling in India has so frequently been a subject of description
that I shall not describe it anew. I allow myself, however, to say
that if, before venturing on it, you lay in a stock of boiled tongues,
sardines, marmalade, and tea and sugar, you could not do better by way
of forestalling starvation and repentance.
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