This is, no doubt, the case; but I never happened to be present on any of these "proper occasions," and I was one of a party, where we were almost diverted from thinking of danger by his ludicrous behaviour at its approach.
The Elchee having particular business when we were lying in Abusheher Roads, had determined to land; though the sea was rough, and the waves ran very high on the bar at the mouth of the harbour. The Khan, who had recently been attached to the Mission, insisted on going, though advised not: he was very courageous till we came on the bar, where the waves that chased each other seemed at every moment as if they would overwhelm our little bark. To each of these, as they rose and pursued us with their foaming crests, Khan Sâhib addressed a rapid invocation--"Allah, Allah, Allah!" (God, God, God!) and the moment we were safe from its fury, he, in a still more hurried way, repeated his gratitude; "Shooker, shooker, shooker!" (thanks, thanks, thanks!) These invocations and thanksgivings were repeated with great volubility and wonderful earnestness; Allah, Allah, Allah! and Shooker, shooker, shooker! continued to sound in our ears for a quarter of an hour; when "Al hamd ulillah!" (praise be to God!) pronounced in a slow and composed tone, proclaimed we were in smooth water. I rallied my friend[30] on the little composure he showed on this occasion; but he defended himself stoutly, saying, he always prayed twice as much at sea as on shore. This I believe; but he is on shore even an indifferent observer of the rites of his religion, and is suspected by some of the orthodox of our party of being a Sooffee, or philosophical Deist, which seems to me a general name, that includes all, from the saint who raves about divine love, to the sinner who scoffs at the rites of the worship of his country.
The next personage is Jaffier Ali Khan, brother to the Nabob of Masulipatam. This Indian Mahomedan is a man high in rank though of limited income, and has been from boyhood an intimate friend of the Elchee. Having married into a Persian family, he now resides at Shiraz, where he has been for some time employed as an agent. Jaffier Ali is a tolerable English scholar, but writes that language with more facility than correctness. He was, in his earlier years, extravagant from love of dissipation, and is now imprudent from irresolution. He has acquired a good deal of knowledge, but wants firmness of judgment. The consequence is, that both in conducting his own affairs and those of others, he becomes the dupe of rogues, with whom such a character is sure always to be surrounded. Nevertheless, there is such a redeeming simplicity of manner, and such kindness of heart, about poor Jaffier Ali, that it is impossible for any one to keep up that indignation which his folly often produces. "My friend is not the honest man I thought him," said he one day to me, speaking of a fellow who had duped him; "I have been more foolish than I could have believed, but I will take care another time: yet," he added, with a sympathy for his own weakness, "it is very difficult to deal with these Persians, they are so pleasing in their speech and manner, and most of all when they have cheating intentions."