416 THE LACCADIVES AND THE WEST COAST. 
groves or palms, the harbour with its wide expanse of blue 
green, sand-laden water, glittering in the tropical noontide’s 
glare, looks like some vast inland lake. 
The ships are all dressed with multitudinous rainbow-hued 
lines of flags. The water is everywhere alive with a hetero- 
genous mass of boats and vessels; group after group of these 
‘suddenly spread their wings, and dash off before the free breeze, 
in quick succession as the starting guns are fired at short inter- 
vals. Every boat seems to have its own special and peculiar 
rig and to have its own private view of how the course may 
best be run. The numbers of gulls dotted about the water, 
floating quietly in little parties, their wings well peaked astern, 
or flapping lazily about, seem scarcely less animated by any 
common purpose than do the several competitors for the various 
races that are now being sailed. 
Some distance east of us lie the clumsy monitors, the Mag- 
dala and Abyssinia in their dirty buff livery, veritable levia- 
thans of the wave, while between them a troop of the tiniest 
and most fairy-like skiffs seud away on white latteen sails, for 
all the world like a flock of terns about a couple of dead 
whales. 
The rowing matches have commenced, and party after party 
of four and six oars, spurt away across our bows, propelled by 
stalwart European, French, English, and nondescript, arms. 
The Daphne gun boat there, has contributed some crews, and 
so has the grey blue French frigate yonder, but the mass 
of the row boats are furnished by the merchant shipping of 
every nationality which literally throngs the harbour. 
All the while steam launches flaunting the red Engtish flag, 
or the blue naval reserve are dashing hither and thither, whist- 
ling and screaming and then puffing and blowing as if quite 
exhausted by their exertions. 
A man-of-war’s boat passes under our stern with the rapid clock 
work navy stroke. Just ahead a huge lumbering Pattimar, 
with enormous latteen sails, sweeps by us with the steady rush 
of a Griffon. 
A band strikes up on board the starters’ vessel, and, mellowed 
by the distance, an old sweet refrain, comes floating across the 
water to us. 
Blue cloudless skies; a glorious cincture of many-hued 
hills; the green glittering water, crowded with boats and ships 
of every conceiyable shape and size and colour; alive with 
rapid motion, and bustling craft; fluttering flags and swooping 
sea-birds ; lines of white foam along the rocks, and long rows 
of sparkling crests, where the fresh breeze begins every where 
to furrow the expanse, while it softens and adds a charm and 
