Major Horsbrugh’s Indian Collection.



233



Thus Friday, the 25th of April went by, and we went to our

beds, hoping and praying that the ship would not delay on the

following day. But on the Saturday we were told that she would

not be in before five o’clock, which one felt meant later! Not being

Italians, that much-used expression of “Fa miente ” or “non

importa ” could not spring to our lips, for we considered it most

important that the steamer should arrive by daylight.


Can anything be more irksome than w T aiting and waiting in a

strange city. It was a case of “ Sister Anne, Sister Anne ” through¬

out the afternoon, and Sister Anne was the agency of the Dutch

steamers. Moreover, the weather was anything but nice, and the

skies anything but Italian. Grey, windy, and raining. At last came

the message “The steamer is sighted,” and when we reached the

dock at 5.45 she was just coming in.


How many birds would there be ? How many had suc¬

cumbed? were the questions we asked each other. And then the

ship was towed alongside of the quay, when we saw Mr. Frost

amongst the crowd of passengers above our heads.


“ How many ? ” shouted Major Horsbrugh, and above the

din of much Italian chatter amongst porters, etc. on the quay, we

heard him answer “ Four hundred.” “ Any Bed-headed Titmice? ”

I shouted, and two fingers were held up for a response.


Then came an aggravating wait, whilst a doctor went on

board to give a bill of health or otherwise, the yellow flag fluttering

in the chilly wind until he finished his work, which we certainly

came to the conclusion would have been accomplished much more

quickly in England : and the dusk creeping on too ! Our remarks

upon Italian dawdling and dilatoriness were not exactly complimen¬

tary. It certainly was a case of “pazienza,” as one is always told.


At last the yellow flag was lowered, and a confused rush

began up the gangway, everybody shouting and struggling, some

coming off the ship, and garrulous inconsequent Italian porters

bundling on board her. And oh that dreadful dusk growing deeper

every moment and the steamer in the port for not more than three

hours ! Having greeted Mr. Frost, we quickly made our way to the

birds which were on the upper deck under canvas, one end of the

improvised tent being open. There was no electric light there, no



