 Chapter 26 of A Voyage in the Sunbeam, our home on the ocean for eleven months. A voyage in the sunbeam, our home on the ocean for eleven months, by Anna Brassi. Chapter 26 to Aidan. Heaven speed the canvas, gallantly unfurled, to furnish and accommodate a world, to give the pool, the produce of the sun, and knit the unsocial climates into one. Friday, April 6. Our visit to Ceylon has been so delightful that I wish it could have been prolonged for a month, instead of lasting only a week, but in that case I should have preferred to select a cooler season of the year, when travelling is more practicable. A most interesting journey could be made, through the centre of the island, to see the ancient cities, temples and tanks, over the road from Matel to Nalandi Senador, to the curious rock-temple at Dambul, near which is the fortified rock of Sigiri, and a few miles further are the vast ruins of Toppari, or Ponamir, the medieval capital of Ceylon. It is full of wonderful ruins, some of them among the oldest in the world. The run-hole Dagoba, the Yaiti Vanarama, and the Gal Vihara, and rock-temple, carved out of the living rock, are alone worth a long journey to see. Then think of visiting Anajapura, the city of Rubis, the sacred capital of the Kingdom of Ruins, on whose splendours even the Chinese travellers of the early ages used to expatiate with fervour. From this point it would be easy to reach the peninsula of Jafna, which has been peopled with tummels for more than two thousand years. It is the country par excellence, of gardens exquisitely kept and skillfully irrigated on the old Moorish system. Here are grown all the ingredients for the making of curry, which are sent to all parts of this island and to southern India. The most important crop of all, however, is Tobacco, whose excellence is famed throughout India, and of which the Raja of Travancore holds the monopoly. Then one night go southward from Jafna, past Aripoh and the Gulf of Kalpatine, until the curious reef of Adams Bridge was reached, which almost connects Salem to India. People say it has been separated by some convulsion of nature in former days, and that the passage is gradually deepening. But recent examinations have shown, that instead of being a remnant of the original rock by which Salem is supposed to have been once connected with the Indian continent, it is in reality a comparatively recent ridge of conglomerate and iron stone, covered with alluvial deposits carried by the current, and heaped up at this particular point, whilst the gradual rising of the coast has contributed to give the reef its present altitude. Balkus tells a most improbable story of 15 Portuguese frigates escaping through the passage of Panopam, when pursued by some Dutch cruisers in 1557. Formerly the straits were only 35 yards wide, with a maximum depth of six feet of water, but lately they have been widened and deepened by ten feet, and a little government steamer frequently passes through on a tour round the island. At present a sailing ship going from Bombay to Madras has to take a curve of 5,000 miles, on order to weather the Maldives and Salem. It seems a long course for any vessel drawing over ten feet of water to be obliged to take. In the centre of the channel, there as a little island were a Dutch establishment for horse breeding formerly stood, the original stud having been imported from Arabia. The horses were all turned into corals and caught by means of lassos, and then conquered by domidors, exactly as they are at the present day in South America. Now the stud is dispersed, the buildings are in ruins, and all that remains is the Indian pagoda, where religious ceremonies, curious processions, and dances of notch girls occasionally take place and are attended by great crowds. To the southward again of Adams Bridge is the celebrated Gulf of Manor, from which the best pearls come. This is an exceptionally good year for pearls, and the price of the shells went up many rupees per thousand in the first week. The pearl fishery can be reached in about eight hours by steam from Colombo, and it would have been delightful to have visited it, had time permitted. We were shown an oyster with some beautiful pearls in it, all found in the one shell. When a boat with pearls reaches the shore, the shells are divided into equal heaps, one fourth going to the boat screw, and three fourth to the government inspector. They keep whichever heap he chooses to kick, so that, being uncertain which they will get for themselves, the boat screw are sure to make a fair division. These heaps are then divided and sold by auction in thousands, and then subdivided again and again. Of course it is always a matter of speculation, as to whether you get good pearls, bad pearls, or no pearls at all, though this last misfortune seldom happens. The love of gambling is inherent in every oriental mind, and the nearest beggar with but a few pies in his wallet to buy his daily food will invest them in a small number of oyster shells, hoping to find a pearl of great value. And should he fail to do so, he contents himself with eating the oyster and hoping for better luck next time. The shells are generally leapt on the sand in carefully guarded heaps till they die and open, when the pearls are extracted, and the fish left to decay. Some of the oysters are taken in sealed-up sacks to Colombo, Candy, and other inland places, in order to enable people to indulge their love of gambling and speculation, without the trouble of a journey to Manare. Though called oysters, they are not the proper oyster, but a sort of avicula, meleagrina margaritifera, being the name given by Samaric, very different from the large mother-of-pearl shells in which the South Sea pearls are found. I have not been able to keep my mind from running incessantly on Sir Emerson Tennant's delightful book on Ceylon, which describes places we have not ourselves visited, but which I wanted very much to see, and I have been so interested reading about them, that I cannot help thinking other people will share my feelings. It seems wonderful, that so much which is strange, beautiful, and interesting, should be so easy of access from England, and yet, that so few English travellers know comparatively anything of Ceylon, except Gaul and Colombo, and perhaps Candy and Trincomalee. Saturday, April the 7th. Today we passed close to the island of Minicoy, between the groups of islands called the Lakadives and Maldives, some of which we saw dotting the horizon, and still further to the south stretches the Chagos Archipelago. It was very hot all day, with hardly a breath of air, and we have all returned to our former light and airy costumes, the gentlemen to their shirts and trousers, the children to their pinafores and nothing else, and I to my beloved Tahitian dresses. Before we left England, we could not make ourselves believe what we were told about heat in the tropics, so we started with very few wind sails, and without any punkhas or double awnings. It was all very well in the Atlantic or Pacific, but between Hong Kong and Singapore, the state of things became simply unbearable. The carpenter has rigged up a punkha, and the men have improvised some double awnings. At Colombo they made some wind sails, so we are now better off than on our last hot voyage. It has been really hotter than ever today, but a pleasant breeze sprang up in the afternoon. Sunday, April the 8th. A delightful fresh morning after a cool night. Everybody looks quite different, and we begin to hope we shall carry the northeast monsoon right across, which would be an exceptional piece of good fortune. We had service in the saloon at eleven o'clock and at four, and though there was an unusually full attendance, it was cool and pleasant even without the punkha. The thermometer registers nearly the same as it did on Friday, when we were all dead with the heat. The apparently nice cool breeze that refreshes our heated bodies does not produce any corresponding effect on the glossy surface of the ocean. For we find today, as on previous occasions, that the temperature, both the water and the air, registered by the thermometer, does not by any means correspond with the effect on the human frame. The two Chinese servants we shipped at Hong Kong are a great success, as everyone on board agrees. Even the old sailing master is obliged to confess that the two heathen Chinese keep the messrooms, ships officers and servants' birth much cleaner and more comfortable than his own sailors ever succeeded in doing. At goal we shipped three black firemen, two from Bombay and one from Mozambique, a regular nigger, with his black woolly hair clipped into the shape of Prince of Wales Feathers. Their names are Muhammad, Abraham and Tom Dollar. They live in a little tent we have had pitched for them on deck, cooks their own food and do their work in the engine room exceedingly well. In the intervals they are highly amused with the children's picture books. The picture of the Durbar at Delhi delighted them, especially as they recognized the figures and learned a little English through them. They can say a few words already, and have told me all about their wives and children at Mozambique and Bombay, and have shown me the presents they are taking home to them. They have been nearly a year on board the P&O steamship Puna and appear to have saved nearly all their earnings. I do not suppose our own men could have stood the fearful heat below in the engine room for many days together, so it was fortunate we met with these amiable salamanders. Monday, April the 9th. No wind. We passed through a large shoal of porpoises, and at dusk we saw the light of a distant ship. At all the places we have recently visited, we have found excellent ice making machines, and have been able to get a sufficient supply to last us from port to port, which has been a great comfort. The machine at Colombo unfortunately broke down the day before we left, so that in the very hottest part of our voyage we have had to do without our accustomed luxury, and very much we miss it, not only for cooling our drinks, but for keeping provisions, etc. As it is, a sheep killed overnight is not good for dinner next day. Butter is just like oil, and today in opening a drawer my fingers touched a sticky mess. I looked and discovered six sticks of ceiling wax, running slowly about in a state resembling treacle. Wednesday, April the 11th. Hotter than ever, we could see a steamer in the far distance, about sunset we passed through a shoal of flying fish, the night was intensely hot, and everybody slept on deck. Friday, April the 13th. At six a.m. we made the island of Sokotra, and about seven o'clock saw the brothers, two islands where large quantities of turtle and amber greys are found. Though generally uninhabited, they are sometimes visited by the natives for the purpose of collecting articles of commerce. One of our large pigs took it into his head to jump overboard today. The helm was put round as quickly as possible, but the most anxious spying could not discover any trace of poor piggy's whereabouts, so we proceeded on our original course for a few minutes, when suddenly, to our great astonishment, we saw him alongside, having been nearly run down, but still gallantly swimming along. The dingy was lowered, and two men sent in pursuit. They had however no easy task before them, for as soon as they approached, piggy swam away faster than they could row, and bit and fought most furiously when they tried to get him into the boat. It was a good half-hour's work before he was secured, yet when he arrived he did not appear to be in the least exhausted by his long swim, but bit and barked at everybody so furiously, that he was condemned to death to prevent the possibility of further accidents. It is quite clear from the foregoing incident that some pigs can swim and swim very well too, without cutting their own throats in the process. All the afternoon a large steamer had been gradually gaining on us. We exchanged signals and made out that she was the Calypso of Glasgow. About half past five she altered her course and came alongside to speak us. The foredeck was crowded with the crew. On the bridge were many of the officers, and sitting bold upright on the stool, looking out forward in the most amusing manner, was the captain's little skyy terrier. The stern was crowded with passengers of every shade of color. To our surprise a voice from among them shouted out, three cheers from Mr Brassy, which was responded too by ringing shouts from all on board, and taken up again by some of our own men. It was a very pleasant and unexpected reading to hear in the middle of the Indian Ocean. The ship soon drew ahead again, but handkerchiefs and caps were waived till their owners faded away into the distance. Meeting and passing thousands of people as you at home do daily, you can hardly understand the excitement a little incident like this causes on board ship, where even a distant sail in those lonely oceans makes everybody leave his occupation and crowd to look at her. Soon after sunset we saw the island of Abd al-Quri, with its fantastic peaks melting into orange, gold and purple tints beneath the gorgeous Arabian afterglow. Saturday, April the 14th. We made Cape Russell here, formerly called Garda Fee, about nine o'clock yesterday evening, and passing it during the night, entered the Gulf of Aden. All today we have been going along the Somali coast. There is a good deal of trade carried on in native boats. Passing all these strange and comparatively unknown and little visited islands and coasts, from which all sorts of things in daily use at home are brought, one dimly realises what commerce means and how necessary one part of the world is to the other. We found considerable difficulty in making the light, and since our return there have been several wrecks and many lives lost on this dangerous point. Sunday, April the 15th. Still intensely hot. The usual services were held on deck at 11 and 4 o'clock. The land, both in Arabia and in Africa, could be seen the whole day, with precipitous mountains. In the afternoon we could make out the rock of Aden, and at sunset it stood grandly forth, looming in purple darkness against the crimson and blood-red sky, which gradually faded to tenderest stints of yellow and green, before it finally blazed forth into a radiant afterglow. At half past eight a gun from the fort of Aden summoned us to show our colours or other lights. At nine o'clock we dropped our anchor in the roads, a bolt came off with a bag of newspapers, and to ask for orders in the morning. It was sent by the great Parsi merchants here, who undertake to supply us with curls, provisions, water, and everything we want, and spare us all trouble. For the last three or four days we have had a nice little breeze as turn, and if we had not been in a hurry to cross the Indian Ocean before the south-west monsoon set in, we should certainly have been contended with four or five knots an hour under sail instead of eight and a half under steam. We have averaged over two hundred miles a day under steam alone, ever since we left Penang, and have burned only four tons of coal for every fifty miles. Monday, April the 16th. At one thirty a.m. I heard the signal gun fired, and shortly afterwards a great splash of boats and oars, and a vast chattering and shouting of tongues announced the arrival of a P&O steamer. She dropped her anchor just outside us, so we had the benefit of the noise all night. I got up at daylight and found the pilot just coming off. He took us to Abui, a little closer in, and soon the business of calling and watering commenced. We reached the shore about seven thirty, and landing at the pier had our first near view of the natives, who are most curious looking creatures. They have very black complexions, and long woolly hair, setting out like a mop all round, and generally dyed bright red or yellow by the application of lime. Mr. Kowijee had sent his own private carriage to meet us. It was a comfortable, open barouche, with a pair of nice horses, and two servants in eastern liveries, green vests and full trousers, and red and orange turbans. We went first to his store, which seemed to be an emporium for every conceivable article. There was carved sundalwood, and embroidered shawls from China, Surat and Gujarat, work from India, English medicines, French lamps, Swiss clocks, German toys, Russian caviar, a Greek lace, Havana cigars, American hides and canned fruits, besides many other things. The feathers did not look very tempting. There was a great deal of feather and very little stem about most of them, and only a few were white, the majority being a pretty sort of brown and drab. But this general store is only a very small part of their business, for about sixteen thousand tons of coal pass through their hands every year. We went on to the Hotel d'Europe, which was by no means in first-rate order, but allowances must be made for a new house. A delightful breeze was blowing in through the open windows, and although the thermometer registered 85 degrees in the dining room, it did not seem at all hot. The view over the bay is very pretty, and the scene on shore thoroughly Arabian, with the donkeys and camels patiently carrying their heavy loads, guided by the true bedavine of the desert, and people of all tinges of complexion, from jet black to pale copper color. A pair of tame ostriches, at least seven feet high, were strolling about the roadway, and a gazelle, some monkeys, parrots and birds, lived happily together beneath a broad veranda. After a little while, we went for a drive to see the camp and town of Aden, which is four or five miles from the point where everybody lands. On the way we met trains of heavily laden camels, bringing in wood, water, grain and fodder, for garrison consumption, and coffee and spices for exportation. After driving for about four miles, we reached a gallery pieced through the rock, which admits you into the precincts of the fort. The entrance is very narrow, the sides precipitous, and the place apparently impregnable. We went all through the town, or the towns, past the Arab village, the seapoy barracks, and the European barracks, to the water tanks. Stupendous works carved out of the solid rock, but until lately comparatively neglected, the residents depending entirely on distillation for their supply of water. There is a pretty little garden at the foot of the lowest tank, but the heat was intense in the bottom of the deep valley amongst the rocks, where every sunray seemed to be collected and reflected from the white glaring limestone, and every breath of air to be excluded. We saw a little more of the town and a market crowded with camels, the shops full of lion, leopard and hyena skins. We went to the officer's mess house, visited the Protestant and Roman Catholic churches, and the Mohammedan mosque, and then, passing through two long tunnels, bored and blasted into the solid rock, we looked over the fortifications. Finally, we returned to the point again, by way of the Isthmus, and went to government house, which gets a fresh breeze from every quarter. They say that today is hotter than usual, but it is never really very oppressive here, unless there is an exceptionally hot wind blowing from the desert, but even that is partially cooled before it arrives. To us it appears delightful after our sultry voyage and the heat at Penang and Singapore. We are all agreeably disappointed with Aden, and find that it is by no means the oven we expected. It is prettier, too, than I thought. The mountains and rocks are so peaked and pointed, and although the general effect is one of bareness, still, if you look closely, every crack and previs is full of something green. The soil, being of volcanic origin, is readily fertilized by moisture, and at once produces some kind of vegetation. This adds, of course, greatly to the effect of color, which in the rocks themselves is extremely beautiful, especially at sunrise and sunset. The sea, too, is delightfully blue on one side of the peninsula and pale green on the other, according to the wind, and the white surf curls and breaks on the sandy shore beyond the crisp waves. We went back to the hotel a little before one, and found many friends had called during our absence. After superintending the children's dinner, I went with Tom to launch an at-government house. It was very pleasant, General and Mrs. Schneider were more than kind, and the house felt deliciously cool and airy. We are told that 30 miles inland the country is sometimes very beautiful. There are exquisitely green valleys, with a stream running through them, amongst peaks and rocky mountains, which one rarely sees in the desert. Here the natives cultivate their crops of corn, such corn as it is, too, reaching six feet above a man's head. All sorts of useful vegetables grow abundantly, besides roses, fruits and fragrant flowers, large supplies of which are brought daily into Aden. About ten miles from the town, there are acres of the most fertile garden ground, which is cultivated to supply the garrison with vegetables. Sometimes a party of 70 or 80 men and 10 or 20 Arab Guides goes out for three weeks or a month at a time surveying. The natives are much more friendly than they used to be a few years ago, when people were afraid even to ride outside the town. Now pleasant excursions lasting a few days may be made, especially as there is very fair shooting to be got. After luncheon I was shown some lovely feathers. The contrast between these and the steamer feathers is ludicrous. The price, too, is proportionately cheaper, for the feathers are infinitely better. Long, white, full and curly feathers can be bought for much less than you give for them in England. We drove down to the town, finished our business transactions, and then went in the Vestal steam lounge on board the Gamma, one of the new Chinese gunboats on her way out to China. After afternoon tea, we all adjourned to the sunbeam, where we found many other friends already arrived or arriving. We had only just time to look around before the sun set, and the short twilight was succeeded by the swift tropical darkness. All too soon, goodbye had to be said, the anchor was raised, and we were actually drifting slowly along under our head canvas, before our friends took their departure. It was a lovely evening, with a light fair breeze, and although there appeared hardly any wind, it was wonderful how swiftly we crept out of the harbour, and, as sail after sail was spread, how rapidly we glided past the land. Our visit to Aden has been short but very agreeable. It is not by any means such a dreadful place as we had always fancied. Most of the people we have seen today seem rather to like it. There is good boating, excellent sea fishing, moderate shooting, and many rides and excursions. A vehicle of some sort is an absolute necessity, however, if you want to see anything of your friends. For the three divisions of the settlement are at least four miles apart, and the heat is far too great for driving or riding in the middle of the day except on business. I cannot say, however, that we ourselves found it intolerably hot today. End of Chapter 26 Chapter 27 of A Voyage in the Sunbeam, our home on the ocean for eleven months. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A Voyage in the Sunbeam, our home on the ocean for eleven months, by Anna Brassi. Chapter 27 to Suez. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away. Tuesday, April the 17th. The breeze still continued and freshened, and we sailed along pleasantly before it, finding it a great relief to be rid of the thud and beat of the engine. There is no vibration, but the noise is unpleasant. About eleven o'clock we passed the island of Perim, a most desolate-looking place. I do not wonder that officers so much dislike being quartered there. It is an important position, though, and is shortly to be strengthened, when water tanks will be built and attempts made to cultivate the soil. At present there does not appear to be a blade of vegetation, and on the side we passed, between the island and the coast of Arabia, nothing is to be seen, but the little white lighthouse and the path leading up to it. On the southern side there is a very fair harbor and a moderate town. On the shore, all around the island, turtles are caught at the season when they land to deposit their eggs. To pass the island of Perim we sailed through the straits of Bab el-Mandeb, or Gate of Tears, thus called, on account of the numerous wrecks which took place there in former years. Once through the straits we were fairly in the Red Sea. The color of the Red Sea is certainly the bluest of ultramarines. In the afternoon, the town of Moha Yaman, celebrated alike for its breed of Arab horses and its coffee, was visible from the must-head. It is a large white town, full of cupolas and minarets, surrounded with green, as far as irrigation extends, and looking like a pearl set in emeralds on the margin of the deep blue sea against the background of red and yellow sand mountains. Later in the afternoon we passed Great and Little Hummish, where the P and O boat Alma was wrecked some 15 years ago, and during the night sailed by Jebel Zibayar and Tukar. Wednesday, April the 18th. In the morning at daylight we were off Jebel Teir, Musava Island, Anasli Bay, lying 60 miles to the west. Our position was about 60 miles to the south-west of Musava Zulia, where the expedition under Lord Nepier of Magdala landed in 1867. At noon we had sailed 221 miles, and most unexpected run in the Red Sea. In the afternoon it fell calm, but the wind freshened again and we went on sailing until after midnight. Thursday, April the 19th. We commenced steaming at 1 am, stopped however at 5 am, and sailed all day. Yesterday we were surrounded by some beautiful blue birds, who hovered about us, and settled at intervals on the masts and yards. During the night two were caught napping by the men, and in the course of today two more, hotly pursued by a hawk, took refuge on board, and were also captured. One was given to me. It appears to be a very beautiful kind of jay, with feathers of the most brilliant shades of blue. The men have killed their birds for the sake of the skins, but I mean to try and keep mine alive. At Colombo several birds and two curiously starred tortoises were added to our collection, and we took on board at Aydin, a gazelle, a black cockatoo, and a green monkey. We passed Suakim today, the port of Nubia. It is about 275 miles, or 25 days camel journey, from Vance to Berber on the Nile. The road passes through Korrib, and among fine red granite and black basalt mountains, four thousand feet high. We left one of the firemen, Tom Dollar, behind at Aydin by mistake, and only found out yesterday that we had done so. It appears that he has a brother living there, whom he was most anxious to go and see directly the anchor was let go in the morning. Unfortunately he did not speak to us on the subject. He had never been in anything but a regular steamer before, and could not believe it possible that the sunbeam could spread her wings and be off without any preliminary fire worshipping. I am very sorry for the poor man, as he has left all his clothes and the wages he had earned on board the P&O steamer behind him. We must send them back from Suez and telegraph to someone to look out for him. The heat is intense, and we all sleep on deck at night. The sunrises and sunsets are magnificent. Friday, April the 20th. A little hotter still, there is no wind at all, and we are obliged to steam. In the morning we passed to the southward of Jeddo, the port of Mecca. Unfortunately it was so hazy that we could not distinguish anything whatever of the town or country. Only a line of mountains rearing their heads above the clouds. We had hoped to be at Suez early on Sunday, but now I fear we shall not arrive until Monday. Saturday, April the 21st. Hotter and still hotter every day, says the thermometer, and so we say also. Everybody told us these would be our two hottest days, and certainly the prediction has been verified. We did not see a single ship all day, but in the afternoon passed Zambal, the port of Medina. A little before midnight, we made the light of the dead loose shawl on the starboard bow. This being Muriel's fifth birthday, Mabel and the doctor and the men have been arranging a surprise for her all day, and none of us were allowed to go on the port side of the deck. But after dinner we were taken to a hastily fitted-up theater, very prettily decorated with flags and Japanese lanterns. On a throne, covered with the union jack, Muriel was seated, the two pugs being on footstalls on either side of her to represent lions cauchent. Some of the men had blackened their faces, and gave us a really very excellent Christie-Minstrow entertainment, in which, undreamed of talent came to light. It is very odd and interesting how one is perpetually finding out something new about the men. Some of the crew we thought the most unpromising when we started have turned out among our best men, always ready and willing for everything, while others, who at first appeared the best, have not proved so good. Many we knew well beforehand. On the whole, however, we have very little cause to complain of our crew. All pull well together when they are kept up to their work and have plenty to do. Sunday, April the 22nd. Clouds wailed the sunrise this morning, which was a welcome relief. Still, it was too hot for service in the saloon, and it was there for held on deck. A light breeze sprang up ahead during its performance, which cooled and refreshed us immensely. About twelve o'clock we passed another pair of brothers, a couple of odd-looking rocks or islands, like tables, rising straight out of the sea. There is a beacon on the northernmost one. While we were at lunch, the breeze freshened so much that we were all glad to add some wraps to our light and airy costumes. A little later, a summer gale was blowing ahead, making some of us feel very uncomfortable and long for the healthy on days of the past, even with the accompaniment of the inevitable heat. Such is mankind, and womankind too, for that matter, never blessed but always to be blessed. The gale freshened, the screw was raised, the yacht pitched and rolled, and we were obliged to put her off her course and under sail before night fell. The spray came over the decks, and there was a strong wind dead ahead. We all felt cold and miserable, though the thermometer still registered 75 degrees. The poor monkeys and parrots looked most wretched and unhappy, and had to be packed away as speedily as possible. Nine monkeys in an empty wine case seemed very happy and cuddled together for warmth, but the two larger and more aristocratic members of the party required a box to themselves. The gazelle had a little tent pitched for him specially in a sheltered corner, and the birds were all stowed away and battened over in the smoking fiddle. Dinner was rather a lame pretense, and it was not long before we all retired, and certainly no one wished to take his or her mattress on deck tonight. It is the first night I have slept in a bed on board the yacht for many weeks, and a very disturbed night it was, for the waves ran high, and we have lately been sailing so steadily over smooth seas that we did not know what to make of this. Monday, April the 23rd. The gale blew as hard as ever, and quite as dead ahead. About noon we made the island of Shaduan, or Isle of Seals, so named by the ancients, when the sea and gulf abounded with seals. There are still a few occasionally to be seen to the northward by the fishermen, and their skins are brought to Suez for sale. We are making tax backwards and forwards across the narrow sea, an exciting amusement for a yachtman, as it requires constant attention. The sailing directions say that this sea is ill surveyed except in the direct channel. There are many coral reefs and sunken rocks. On a whichever side you may happen to be wrecked, the natives are ready to rob, ill treat and kill you, or sell you as slaves in the interior. It was on the two projecting coral reefs from the island of Shaduan that the Carnatic was wrecked in 1869. She ran ashore at four o'clock in the morning of the thirteenth of September, soon after having made the light of Raskaril. We were in Suez in October of the same year, and everybody was then full of the sad particulars of the wreck, the soldiers being especially useful in bringing in the passengers' luggage, which had been recovered from the Arabs. One of our firemen, Abraham, was on board the Carnatic at the time of the disaster, and lost all his worldly goods. Not many, I should think, judging by what he has brought on board here. The sea was very rough and disagreeable all day. To us, the temperature appears quite cool, indeed cold, though the thermometer still remains at 75 degrees. Our friends at Aden, who prophesied that I should want my steel skin jacket before leaving the Gulf of Suez, were not so far wrong in their prognostications as I imagined at the time. Tuesday, April the 24th. We are still beating to windward against the head gale, and by noon had made sixty-five miles to the good, right in the wind's eye, not a bad performance, considering that the gale was blowing with a force of nine or ten. It has the merit of novelty too, for I suppose, that for years no sailing ships have been seen in the Gulf of Suez. The winds blow so steadily for months together, that for six months in the year you cannot get into the Red Sea, and for the other six months you cannot get out of it. We passed the island of Rosgaril, and soon afterward a steamer went by, altering her course a good deal to inspect us. She evidently thought we were a broken-down steamer and intended to come to our rescue. All yesterday and today we have been making flannel coats for the monkey, and covers for bird cages, and improvising shelters and snug corners for our pets. At night especially the wind is quite crisp. If this gale continues, it will be Thursday or Friday before we reach Suez, but it may possibly change tonight, and it looks now as if it were breaking. Wednesday, April the 25th. At last the gale has broken. There was not much wind when I went on deck at four a.m., and by seven o'clock it was so nearly calm that the funnel could be raised and fires lighted, and we were soon steaming straight for our destination. We could not see Mount Sinai on account of the mist, but made out the place where the Israelites are said to have crossed the Red Sea, and by four o'clock the town of Suez lay right ahead. The shores are very barren, not a blade of grass nor a scrap of vegetation being visible. Nothing is to be seen save mountain peaks, rocks, stones and sand. But even this barren scene has a special beauty of its own, particularly at sunrise and sunset. The shapes of mountain and rock are alike striking, the sharp shadows are lovely, and the contrast of reds, yellows and browns with the bright blue sea and crisp white waves are very beautiful. Even when the sun has set and the rich tins have faded away, the full moon adds another charm to the landscape. This afternoon, as we were steaming up towards Suez, I had a chat with Mohamed, one of our Indian firemen, who was fringing a piece of muslin for a turban. I asked him if it was English. No missy, no English, Switzerland, English no good, all gum and sticky stuff, makes fingers dirty, all wash out, leave nothing. In the South Sea and Sandwich Islands and the Meilai Peninsula, the natives make the same complaints as to the Manchester Cotons. At Hong Kong, some of the large shops had 50 expensive English ships' compasses on hand. They were all quite unsailable, owing to the liquid have gone bad, in consequence of its not having been properly prepared. Some American compasses of the same quality were in good order, and not in the least affected by the climate. It will be a bad day when the confidence in England's honesty is a nation throughout the world, and consequently, her well-earned supremacy in commerce have passed away. The burden, unfortunately, will not fall on the heads of the offenders alone, but as usual, the innocent will suffer with and for the guilty. After four o'clock, we came near two steamers lying at anchor, and were shortly afterwards boarded by the captain of the port, the health officer, and sundry other functionaries. After a short delay, we dropped anchor, and just as the sun was sitting in purple and gold behind the mountains of Arabia, we went ashore in the steam lounge. We landed at the Kennel Company's office, in front of which there is a bust of Leutnant Walkhorn, the inaugurator of the Overland Route. At the office, the sunbeam was entered on the company's books, and arrangements were made with the chief pilot for tomorrow, while the children amused themselves by riding a pony up and down, and jumping over the little brooks, and eyes strawed about, admiring, the enormous growth of the vegetation, since we were here, lost in 1869. We next steamed five miles further on, to the town of Suez, and landed opposite the big hotel, which is more uncomfortable than ever. The rooms are dirty, and the cooking execrable. There is nothing to see at Suez, but still, we went for a ramble to see that nothing. We cleared our boxes and our letters, and then went on anchor deep in sand, to the one European house, the railway station, the Arab Quarter and the Bazaars, where it is occasionally possible to pick up rather interesting little curiosities brought by the pilgrims from Mecca and Medina. Thursday, April the 26th. Such a sunrise as this morning's you could only see in Arabia or Egypt. There is a peculiarity about desert colouring at sunrise and sunset that can never be seen anywhere else. We had sundry visitors during the early morning, and before ten o'clock we were in the canal, and steaming on at regulation speed. As the sun rose, the heat became intense, ninety-six degrees in the shade, under double awnings. So far from there being a cool breeze to temper it, a hot wind blew from the desert, like the blast from a furnace. I stood on the bridge as long as I could bear the heat, to look at the strange desert view, which could be seen at great advantage in going through at the top of high water. Sand, sand everywhere. Here a train of camels, there a few Arab tents, now a whole party shifting their place off a boat. A group of women washing, or a draw of buffaloes in a small tributary stream. After going about eight miles, we stopped at Agheir, as the stopping places are called, to allow three vessels to pass. One was a fine steamer belonging to the Dukal line, the others were a Dutch and a German boat. One, the Friesland, has been since wrecked off Cape Finister in December 1877. The cleanliness and general smartness of the former presented a great contrast to her companions, on which the passengers looked very hot and uncomfortable. The center part of each vessel was crowded, with a large number of Dutch or German boys going out as soldiers to Aiken, who certainly did not appear to be enjoying their voyage. We passed Chalot and reached Ismaelie, just at nine o'clock, not without considerable effort on the part of the pilot. A steam lounge came off from the shore, and we, children and all, landed at once, and after a moonlight donkey ride, dined at the excellent Hotel de Paris, kept by an old Frenchman. Tabled hot was over, but they gave us a capital little dinner by ourselves. The children and I and some of the gentlemen start tomorrow over land via carol to join the yacht at Alexandria in order that they may see the pyramids. It was a glorious night as we rode off to the yacht under the bright beams of the full moon, and the air too was quite fresh and cool, a most refreshing change from the noontide heat. The traffic on the canal has increased during the last few years, and especially during the last few months. On an average, four or five ships pass through every day. Today they took six thousand at the Suez office alone. They have an excellent plan of the canal there, and little models of ships, which are arranged according to the telegrams constantly received, so that the chief officers at each end of the canal know exactly where every ship is. Instant information is of course sent of any stoppage or any accident, but these occur comparatively seldom. Some time ago, M. Lesseps bought a small canal partially stopped up leading from the Nile at Cairo to Ismaila. It has been widened and deepened, and was opened a few weeks ago with great ceremony and grand doings. Now any vessel not drawing more than fourteen feet can go direct from Suez or Port Said to Cairo. If we had had time, we might have done it in the yacht, and lain at anchor almost under the shadow of the pyramids of Cairo. The special object of the new canal is to make Cairo and Ismaila Egyptian ports as well as Alexandria, thereby saving much land, carriage and labour of shifting. Already several ships laden with grain from Upper Egypt have availed themselves of this new means of communication. Friday, April the 27th. Another glorious sunrise, the pilot was on board at 5 a.m., and the debauched fish, strawberries and fresh vegetables. This is a beautiful climate, though there is scarcely any rain. Only one very slight shower has occurred during the last three years at Suez, but the soil of the desert after denial overflow brings forth tenfold. The sunbeam was to start at eight o'clock, as soon as a large vessel had passed up from Port Said. There are only certain places in the canal where vessels can pass one another, so one ship is always obliged to wait for another. We landed at half past seven. The sun was already blazing with a burning fury, and we found it very hot riding up to the hotel on donkeys. We had an excellent breakfast at the same comfortable hotel, paid a very moderate bill, and left by the eleven o'clock train for Cairo. We stopped at Zagazig for an hour for luncheon in the nice cool dark room, and started again about three o'clock. The change in the face of the country since we were here eight years ago is something extraordinary. A vast desert of sand has been transformed into one large oasis of undulating fields of waving corn, where there used to be nothing but whirlwinds of sand. All this has been affected by irrigation. The wealth of Egypt ought greatly to increase, how the people managed to live before is a mystery. Now every field is full of laborers, reaping and stacking the corn, woman gleaning, and in some places the patient ugly black buffaloes ploughing the stubble for fresh crops. At half past six we reached Cairo, and we're convened in a large chair-banks to what was formerly shepherd's hotel, now partly rebuilt and much altered for the better. Even in this short drive we could see that the face of the capital of Egypt has altered as much as the country, though I am not sure that it is so greatly improved. After a refreshing dip in cool marble bath and a change of garments, we went down to the large tabled hut. Then we sat in the veranda looking on the street until we became tired of doing nothing, after which we started for a stroll in the Eski Beach Gardens, close by. They are beautifully laid out for evening promenade, but although the flowers are lovely and the turf, thanks to constant waterings, is deliciously green, all the large trees have been cut down. There is no seclusion, no shade, which seems a pity in a country where the greatest desire of life is shelter from the noonday heat. Tonight, both Arab and French bands were playing within the enclosure, and it was pleasant enough, listening to often-backed music under the beams of the full moonlight. Few people appeared to appreciate it, however, for the gardens were nearly empty, but then the season is over and everyone has fled before the coming heat. Saturday, April the 28th. We had settled to start at six o'clock this morning to visit the pyramids, an excursion which had been for some little time eagerly looked forward to, and talked about, but the younger members of our party. The morning was cold and gray, a strong northerly wind was blowing, and the change from the weather which had prevailed but a few hours previously was altogether most striking and unexpected. We drove rapidly through the streets and the outskirts of the town, where old houses are being pulled down and new ones rapidly built up, and where a general air of new bricks and old rubbish prevailed the scene. Then we crossed the Nile by a handsome iron bridge, and saw the Palace of Gezire, where the Prince of Wales and his suit were lodged. We passed the railway extension works, and to the great delight of the children saw two elephants busily employed, one of which was being made to lie down to enable his mahut to dismount. Soon the little ones gave a shout of the pyramids, and there before us stood those grand monuments of a nameless founder, which for centuries have stood out in the sands of the desert, while the burning African sun and the glorious African moon have risen and set on their heavenward pointing summits for countless days and nights. Even the earth has changed her position so much since they were erected, that the pole star no longer sheds its light in a direct line through the central passages, as it did when first they were designed. We drove along under avenues of now leafless trees to the foot of the hill on which the pyramids are situated. Here everybody was turned out to walk except Muriel and me, and a tremendous tug the horses had to drag even us two up to the real foot of the pyramids. On arriving we were at once surrounded by a crowd of Arabs. They are certainly a fine-looking lot of men, rather glamorous for backshish, and anxious to sell their curiosities real or imitation. They were, however, good-natured, civil and obliging, and amused me much during the hour I spent alone with them, while the rest of the party were ascending and descending the pyramids. Many could speak several languages quite fluently, and almost all of them took a great deal of interest in the war and the prospects of success on either side, while many had a fair knowledge of the geography of Europe. While all the rest were on the top of the one large pyramid, a man ran down from the summit and up to the top of the next smaller one, which is, however, more difficult to ascend, in eight minutes for a franc. This feat was repeated several times by different men, but it really occupied nearer ten minutes. We ate some bread and wine, bought a few curiosities, and then drove back to the city, feeling very cold and shivery, and regretting the drops we had left behind. We reached the hotel just in time for twelve o'clock table-toed breakfast, and after an acceptable rest, sailed forth again, this time on donkeys, to see the bazaars and the sunset from the citadel. We went across squares and gardens and through wide streets, for, alas, Cairo is being rapidly house-menized. For the capitalist or resident, Cairo may be improved, but for the traveler, the artist, the lover of the picturesque, the quaint, and the beautiful, the place is ruined. Cairo, as a beautiful and ancient oriental city, has ceased to exist, and is being rapidly transformed into a bad imitation of modern Paris, only with bluer skies, a more brilliant sun, and a more serene climate. Then it is possible to find in Europe. Only a few narrow streets and old houses are still left, with carved wooden lattices, where you can yet dream that the Arabian nights are true. We went to the gold and silver bazaar, and bought some quaint silver jewellery from Asudan, Sudan, and Abyssinia. Then, through the Turkish bazaar, the saddlery bazaars passed mosques and old houses, till at length, we emerged into new squares and new streets, before climbing the hill to the citadel, the Weisroys Palace, and the splendid mosque of Mehmet Ali, built of Egyptian alabaster. The view from the terrace is superb, over city, desert, river, palm trees, and pyramids. The sunset this evening was a disappointment, yellow, cold, and watery, a strong north wind bringing up all the sun from the desert. We returned to the hotel for dinner, and were all glad to go early to bed. Sunday, April the 29th. The children and I went to the English church, a semi-gothic building without a single window which could open. Though the church was nearly empty, the air felt like that of an exhausted receiver and made one gasp. In the cool of the afternoon we drove through Roulay, where the museum stands, in a beautiful garden close by the riverside, amid flowers in full bloom. After an early meal, hardly to be called dinner, we went to the station, just as all the people were going, for a drive to Shubra, in the smartest carriages and the prettiest toilets. Our journey to Alexandria in the evening was cool and pleasant. A huge break met us, and we drove to Abbott's Hotel, considerably improved, since our last visit in 1869. Monday, April the 30th. Got up at 5 am. After a deliciously soft but very muddy bath, I went for a donkey ride before breakfast with Mabel. Tom arrived from the yacht in time for 12 o'clock breakfast, and announced the voyage from Port Said to have been rough and unpleasant. We called on the Consul, the Vissa Consul and our old friend Consul Burton of Trist, Hajj Abdulah. He has just returned from a journey through the ancient land of Midian, undertaken at the special request of the viceroy. He describes the expedition as having been most successful. The climate is almost perfect from September to May. The land is well watered by little streams, flowing through fertile valleys, and full of fragrant flowers and luscious fruits. The corn reaches above the camelman's heads, which means a height of 14 or 15 feet. But the mineral wealth of the country, and its most extraordinary feature, he found traces of gold in the sand of the riverbeds, in spots pointed out to him by his fellow pilgrims on the way to Mecca 20 years ago, to say nothing of tin iron, etc. Perhaps the most interesting part of his discovery was the remains of eight ruined cities, with traces in the dry riverbeds of stone crushing and gold-seeking apparatus, which must have been used centuries ago. He is writing a book on the subject, which you may perhaps see before you read this. The Consul kindly sent a january with us to show us the Sultan's Palace. It is large and bare of furniture, and the general style of decoration is like that, of the palaces at Cherniga and Dolmabetscher. Thence we went to see Pompey's pillar and Cleopatra's needle, the Dachabia's ready to go up the Nile, etc., and returned to the hotel in time for dinner and a chat, afterwards in a cool courtyard. Tuesday May the first. I wrote from 3 a.m. to 6.30 a.m., in order to send letters off by the French mail, and at 7 Mabelle and I sellied forth on donkeys to visit the market. There was not much to see, however, everything being so crowded and jammed up, meat, fish, vegetables, and fruit, all close together. The crowd was amusing as all the European householders had negroes or Arabs following them, laden with their purchases. We found some lovely flowers in the street near the market, and then we went on to the big gold and silver bazaar, and to the Turkish and Syrian bazaars, where we saw all the specialties of Constantinople and Brusa, Damascus, and Jerusalem laid out before us. After breakfast the antics of two enormous apes, who came round on a donkey, accompanied by a showman and a boy, amused the children much. They were hideously ugly, but the cleverest monkeys I ever saw. They went through a regular little play, quarreled with one another, the man and the boy rode the ape, and made him kick. At last the ape was hurt and lay fainting in the man's arms limp and languid, just able to sip a little water. Then he died and dropped down stiff with his eyes shut. His tail was pulled, his lips and eyelids were forced open, but he never winked an eyelid or moved a hair of his whiskers. He was thrown about from side to side, remaining perfectly motionless still. At a sign from his master, he jumped up as well as ever, shouldered his gun, and mounted his ass to take his departure. He was promptly ordered to dismount and ask for backshish, which he did, kept in hand. Some of the crowd round about, not contributing to his master's satisfaction, the ape took a nasty, venomous-looking little snake out of a bag which he carried over his shoulder, and threw it among the bystanders, to their great consternation. At two o'clock we went to lunch with the consul, and what a pleasant lunch it was, prepared by a French cook and eaten in a cool, airy and shady room free from flies, which were kept out by a fine wire gauze placed in front of each well-shaded door and window. The table was one mass of the roses, for which Alexandria is so famous. Everybody had wondered about the world more or less, everybody was in good spirits, and we laughed and chatted and talked sense or nonsense as the fancy took us, till it was time to go and board the yacht and mass, and receive some visitors at tea. A few had arrived before us, but the children and some others of the party were on board, and had been doing the honors and showing them round. About five thirty p.m., our last guests departed, and all was ready for a start, but alas! we had to wait for an absurd steward, who had gone in search of the always-late linen, that plague of the poor yachtman's life when he has a large party on board. The sun was sinking fast, the wind was blowing fresh and fair, and if we did not start soon, it would be impossible to do so at all, and a night's work of more than one hundred and twenty miles would be lost. At last the welcome boat was seen coming from the shore, we unmoored and went ahead for about an hour, but the light gradually faded away, it became impossible to distinguish the beacon, the sand banks are numerous, and there are no lights. It was only endangering the ship and the lives of all on board to proceed, though the order was reluctantly given, hard a port. Round she went, in her own length almost, and very soon we let go the anchor just outside our old moorings, and spent the night after all in the harbor of Alexandria. End of Chapter 27 Chapter 28 of A Voyage in the Sunbeam, Our Home on the Ocean for 11 Months This is LibriVox Recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A Voyage in the Sunbeam, Our Home on the Ocean for 11 Months By Anna Brassi Chapter 28 Home She comes, majestic with her swelling sails, the gallant bark along her watery way, homeward she drives before the favoring gales, now flitting at their lengths the streamers fly, and now there a ripple with the ruffling breeze. Wednesday May the 2nd Steam was up at five o'clock, the wind being still fair but light. Soon it dropped to a calm, and then went round and blew with the great force exactly in the opposite direction dead ahead. The fires had to be put out, for it was so rough we could do no good steaming against the gale. The screw kept racing round and shaking the vessel terribly. Of course I was very ill, but the maids did not mind, and the children rather enjoyed the tumbling about and the water on the deck. We continued scutting along through the water, but not making much progress on our course. Thursday May the 3rd The wind kept on increasing, and at last blew quite a gale. We have gone a long way out of our course to the northward, ready for a favorable change, but we can scarcely make any way to the westward. Friday May the 4th A repetition of yesterday, beating beating all the day, but never a bit ahead. Saturday May the 5th Alal at last, and we are able to have the fires lighted, and to steam on our course. We made the island of Scarpanto in the morning. All the afternoon and evening we have been steaming along 10 miles to the southward of Crete. Its outline was very beautiful, surmounted by the snow-capped mountains. I was up on deck just in time to behold the most lovely sunset, with exquisite rosy purple and crimson tints on sea and sky. I have not quite got over my attack in Cairo yet, and for the last three days have been completely laid up with a various mixture of land illness and seasickness. We stopped steaming late in the day, but fires were lighted again in the middle of the night, as the wind was still ahead. There was a discussion whether or not to go round the north side of the island of Candia, so as to have a glimpse of the British fleet at anchor in Suda Bay, if they have already arrived there. Sunday May the 6th and Monday May the 7th Early in the morning the snowy mountains of Crete were still in sight. Service was held as usual at eleven, but it was too rough in the afternoon for it to be repeated. Sail and steam, wind and calm, alternated with one another all day. Tom is anxious to sail every mile he can, and yet not to lose any unnecessary time, and finds it exceedingly difficult to combine those two objects. Tuesday May the 8th A fine morning was a cold strong head breeze. At noon we rejoiced to think that Malta was not more than a few miles ahead, or we should assuredly have failed to reach our port before nightfall. About three we closed in with the land about Marsa Skiroko and Delamara Point, and after one or two tacks rounded the point of ricasol, and leaving Port Saint Elmo on our right, we swiftly glided into the grand harbour of Malta. We have been here so often that it feels quite like reaching home. We soon found ourselves in our old quarters in the dockyard creek, and had scarcely moored before one of the officers came on board with the usual complimentary offers of assistance, whilst, directly afterwards, came an invitation to a far-well ball at the palace, given to the Duke of Edinburgh. Our old boatman, Bubbly Joe, took us ashore to dinner, and we found everything looking as bright and cheerful and steep, as it always does and always will do. Not the least bit altered or modernized. The landlord of the hotel Tangletier was delighted to see us again, and so were his servants, who came flocking from all parts of the house, nearly pulling the children to pieces, and plying our own servants with questions in their anxiety to know all about us. We had to go back on board the yacht to dress, and then return for the ball, by which time I was so thoroughly tired, and had so bad a headache, that I could not enjoy it much, pleasant as it was. Very soon after supper we came away, and had a charming row across the harbour, to our snug quarters on board the sunbeam. These sudden bursts of dissipation on shore are a delightful change after days and weeks at sea. Wednesday, May the 9th. I was up soon after sunrise, and admired this often abused creek as much as I always do. The stone houses, the carved and colored verandas of bright flowers, the water lapping the very door steps, the gaily painted boats with their high prowls at either end, the women in their black dresses and feldetas, and black-robed priests, all helped to carry the imagination over the Mediterranean and up the Adriatic to lovely Venice. At this hour in the morning, there were not many English soldiers or sailors to spoil the illusion. Malta is essentially a borderland, African by geographical configuration, European politically, and assuredly Asiatic in its language, its buildings, and in the manners of customs of the natives. We gave everybody on board a holiday, and the chance of a run assured today to stretch their legs after their long sea voyage. Tom went on board the Salton to see the Duke of Edinburgh and his splendid ship. Whilst at breakfast I received an intimation that the Duke of Edinburgh wished to come and examine the yacht. His royal highness arrived soon afterwards, quite unattended, in a beautiful ten-oared barge, and paid us a long visit, inspecting the yacht minutely and looking at all the pets. He took a great interest in our voyage and courses, as well as in the numerous curiosities, knowing at once from what place each had been procured. The Duke, who had taken very nearly the same cruise himself in the Galatia a few years ago, inquired very kindly after all his old friends at Tahiti, Hilo, Honolulu, and many other places. The Duke is very kind to everybody here. He is much liked by his brother officers and the squadron, and both his royal highness and the Duchess seem to have made themselves most popular here during the winter. The officers of the Salton, several of whom are old friends of ours, appear to sting themselves fortunate indeed in having such a commanding officer. Whilst on shore, his approaching departure is universally regretted. Everybody seems full of the royal highness's winter ball, which must have been a most brilliant affair. After the Duke's departure we went ashore again, called on various friends before luncheon, and went over the palace and through the armory. Then we took a walk down the Strada Rial, the shopping street of Valetta, until it was time to go on board to receive some friends to tea. The shops are full of coral, lace, gold and silver filigree work, and the new sort of lace they make in gozo, of white silk in beautiful patterns. It has been manufactured only during the last few years, and varies much in quality and design. Some 40 or 50 friends came on board and amused themselves looking at our curiosities and photographs, until long past the dinner hour. We had to hurry on shore to dine and go afterwards to the opera manuel. The new grand opera house is not to be opened until next October. It had been blowing fresh and strong from the westward all day, but tonight, as we rode across the harbour, the breeze had dropped to a flat calm, and Tom is most anxious to be off at daybreak. Thursday, May the 10th. I was up before sunrise. A fresh, fair wind was blowing, and as soon as the children could be got ready, we all went ashore to the market, which was crowded with people, and full of fish, meat, and all spring vegetables and fruit. We were to start at 6.30, though there was no time to lose, and laid in with lovely bouquets of flowers we hastened on board. But it was 9 o'clock after all our haste, before we were fairly off, through some mistake about the Bill of Health. Malta is certainly the most delightful place for yachting winter quarters, with its fine, healthy harbour, charming society, very cheap living, and abundance of everything good. It is in proximity to many pleasant places, and most interesting excursions can easily be made to Sicily and Italy, or the coast of Africa. Today we glided along the coast, past the strongly fortified little island of Consino, standing boldly out in mid-channel between Malta and Gozo. The Mediterranean appears to us a highway, after the lonely oceans and seas we have been sailing over. Within one hour this morning, we saw more ships than in the whole of our passage from Valparaiso to Tahiti and Yokohama. Towards the evening we could see the island of Pantellaria in the distance. We retain a lively remembrance of it, from having been become just off it in the albatross, for three weary days and nights. It was after this and a long series of other vexations and delays that Tom and I registered a vow never to go on long voyage again in a yacht, without at least auxiliary steam power. Friday, May the 11th. At 2.30 am, Pantellaria was a being. At five, the homeward-bound P&L steamer passed us quite close, and at six we met the outward-bound P&L steamer. At eight, we passed Cape Bourne and sailed across the mouth of the Bay of Tunis, in the center of which is Goleta, the port of Tunis, the site of the ancient city of Carthage. Once we anchored close by that place for two or three days, and on that occasion I collected enough varieties of marble and mosaic from the old palaces to make some beautiful tables when we got home. In the afternoon and evening we made the Fratelli and the Sorel rocks, and still later the little island of Goleta. There were many steamers going in all directions, and it struck one very forcibly how much this little island in mid-channel stands in need of a light. Sunday, May the 13th. The wind was dead ahead, and the sea of that remarkably confused character for which the Mediterranean is famous. It seemed as if the wind of yesterday, the wind of tomorrow, and the wind of today all had met and were bent on making a night of it. We hit service at eleven and four. The chart, now a good old friend, for it has been used by us on so many Mediterranean voyages, showed that this is the fourth moontide we have spent within a radius of 30 miles of this particular spot. Within a radius of 60 miles we have spent at least three weeks of our lives at various periods. This does not, of course, include voyages in steamers which are not recorded in the chart. Monday, May the 14th. About breakfast time today we crossed the Meridian of Greenwich, and this virtually completed our voyage round the world, our original point of departure having really been Rochester, which is a few minutes to the east of Greenwich. The wind changed in the middle of the day, and we passed through a large fleet of merchant men who too, under shelter of Cape de Garte, where they had collected, I suppose, from various ports in Spain and Italy. Tuesday, May the 15th. This was a somewhat sad day, many of our pets dying from the effects of the cold wind or from accidents. The Stuart's mockingbird from Siam, which talked like a Christian and followed him about like dog, died of acute bronchitis early this morning, and his monkey, the most weird little creature, with the affectionate ways of a human friend, died in the afternoon of inflammation and congestion of the lungs. Two other monkeys and several birds also expired in the course of the day. This evening, beyond Brummel, the little pig I brought from Bow Island in the South Pacific, died of a broken spine, as the doctor, who made a postmortem examination in each case, discovered. A spar must have dropped upon poor Piggy accidentally, whilst he was running about on deck, though of course no one knew anything about it. I'm very sorry, for though I must confess he was somewhat greedy and pig-like in his habits. He was extremely amusing in his ways. He ran about and went to sleep with the pugs, just like one of themselves. Besides, I do not think anyone else in England could have boasted of a pig, given to them by a South Sea Island chief. Probably Bill Brummel was a linear descendant of the pigs Captain Cook took out in the endeavour. The bodies were all placed together in a neat little box and committed to the deep at sunset, a few tears being shed over the departed pets, especially by the children. Tuesday, May the 15th. Cape de God was a beam early this morning. The wind fell light, but Tom hoped it would freshen again. Otherwise, with steam, we might easily have got into Gibraltar tonight. As it was, fires were not lighted until ten o'clock. Wednesday, May the 16th. At 3 a.m. I was called to see the light on Europa Point and stayed on deck to watch the day dawn and the rising of the sun. It was not, however, a very agreeable morning. The levantor was glowing, the signal station was enveloped and missed. The tops of the mountains of Africa were scarcely discernible above the clouds, and Coyta and Apes Hill were invisible. Algericas and Sanrogue gleamed white on the opposite shore of the bay, while the dear old rock itself looked fresher and cleaner than usual, exhaling a most delicious perfume of flowers. As the sun rose, the twitterings of the birds in the Alameda sounded most home-like and delightful. We had dropped our anchor inside the new mole, about 4.30, and before 6, the familiar sounds of English martial music could be heard from all the different barracks, as the regiments came marching down the hill and along the Alameda to the north front, with all their baggage, military trains, tents and ambulances, for a day's camping out. We were anxious to get on shore to see about coals, water and revisions, but no health boat came near us. About 7 o'clock we started in despair, first to hail a policeman on shore, at the most respectful distance, to inquire where we could get pratique. Then we procured it and sent word back to the sunbeam that she was out of quarantine, and might hoist a yellow flag. We landed, went to the market, bought some lovely carnations, stuck in a prickly pear, left to keep them fresh, and then went to the Hotel Royale, kept by the landlord of the old clubhouse hotel, where we had so often stayed to order breakfast. Our old friends, the servants, greeted us at the very step from the house door to the coffee room, and we were taken special care of by a waiter who remembered us. After breakfast we went to pay some visits. We thought we ought to go and look at the galleries and signal station, as one or two of our party had never been here before. So we started, some on foot and some on donkeys. All the way up the steep streets of the Moorish castle, girls met us, selling lovely scarlet carnations and yellow roses. The galleries have not changed in the least since our last visit, but our soldier guide told us they were daily expecting some big guns to come out, and he gave us a minute explanation how they were to be mounted. It was a pleasant ride, neither too hot nor too cold. Every crevice and interstice between the rocks was full of wild flowers, looking bright and pretty, so somewhat insignificant after the gorgeous tropical blossoms our eyes have been lately accustomed to. The fog had cleared off and the view was beautiful. Ships lay in the bay below us from all parts, including a portagees gunboat. We saw also one of the two old eagles sitting near her nest in the accustomed place. This year she has only one young one. We did not see the monkeys on account of the Levantor, but their number has increased up to 24, so that there is no immediate fear of their becoming extinct. At half past 6 p.m. we weighed anchor and steamed out of the anchorage inside the new moor. In the straits the wind was fair, so the funnel was soon lowered, and the screw feathered, and we were racing along under sail alone. Off Tarifa we found quite a gale blowing, and the wind continued fresh and fair throughout the night. Thursday, May 17. The strong fair wind dropped, and then came dead ahead, and off Cadiz we had to get upstream. There was a strong wind off the mountains near Cape Sagres, and while Tom was below and the men were busy riffing the sails, we nearly ran ashore. Luckily I noticed our danger and called Tom, who came up just in time to alter the helm, when the yacht went round like a top, though the shore was too close to be pleasant. It only shows how easily an accident may occur. Both our fishermen mates could not bear to be idle, and always considered looking out an insignificant occupation, and so neglected that important duty to assist with the sails. Off Cape St. Vincent it blew so hard, that we were afraid we should be obliged to bring up in the Bay of Sacres, but we found that it was only a land breeze, and that it was much smoother outside than we had expected. Friday, May 18. Fresh breeze. We met many steamers going down the coast with all sails set. After passing Cape Espichel, the wind increased to a northerly gale, against which it was impossible to proceed. We therefore put into Lisbon, the mountains at the mouth of the Tagus, the tower and church of Belen, and the noble river itself looked even more beautiful in the sunset than my recollection led me to expect. We soon landed and had an excellent dinner at the Hotel Braganza, where we had stayed before, and where we were at once recognized and cordially received by the same landlord and landlady we remembered in 1861. After dinner we went for a walk. One of the things we saw during our stroll was the fine statue of Louis de Commoens, especially interesting to us, as we had so recently seen the place where he passed many of the weary years of his exile. Rolling motion square was as giddy as ever. It was a curious fancy to pave it in such a way as to make it look like the waves of the sea perpetually moving, and it must be a severe trial to the peripatitic powers of those who have not quite recovered their sea legs. Saturday, May the 19th. We were off early, it was a lovely day, and we had a pleasant drive to Sintra. On our arrival we mounted donkeys and went to Pena, the beautiful palace of the X King Ferdinand, situated at the top of the mountains. It is an extraordinarily looking place, the different parts being built in every imaginable style of architecture, with exquisite carving and old tiles that would delight the heart of a connoisseur. One of the most prominent objects near the palace of Pena is the statue of Vasco de Gama, nobly placed on a pedestal of natural rocks, piled on the summit of Mountain Peak, and worthy of the adventurous traveler it is erected to commemorate. The gardens are full of camellias, roses, bougainvillie, etc. We launched at the excellent hotel and came to the conclusion that Sintra is the place not only to spend a happy day, but many happy months. It is always pleasant to revisit places of which you have agreeable reminiscences and to find your expectations surpassed instead of disappointed. We had a hot drive back to Lisbon, and then went by tram to Belém, where we spent some time in the church and in wandering through its exquisite cloisters. The first stone was laid in 1500, and the name changed from Beirut de Restelo to Belém or Bethlehem by Prince Henry of Portugal, the great promoter of maritime discovery in that century. It was built specially to commemorate the successful voyage of Vasco de Gama, who returned from the discovery of India in 1499. Tom met us with the yacht, and we went on board with the intention of proceeding straight to sea. But after passing through the canal denort, a heavy gale obliged us to anchor in Cascay's Bay for the night, not far from a small schoolner yacht with three ladies on board. It was rather rough, and we were very tired, or I think we should have ventured to pay them a visit, even at the late hour. It is absurd to stand up on ceremony when travelling, but I scarcely know what the strict etiquette would be on such an occasion. Whether they, as first anchored in the bay, should call on us, or we on them, as probably is the greater travellers an outlonger at sea. Sunday, May the 20th. Wait at 5 am. There was a dense fog of Cape Del Roca, and the steam whistle, fog horns, and bell were constantly kept going with lugabrious effect. We had service at 11 and 4.30, past the burlings at 1.30, how we swell all day. Monday, May the 21st. Rough and disagreeable, off Viana at noon, past Oporto and Vigo in the course of the afternoon. Tuesday, May the 22nd. If yesterday was bad, today was worse. We hoped to for some time, and there's a shelter of Cape Finister, then went on again for a short distance, but at 1.30 am, on the 23rd, we were obliged to put round and wait for daylight. Wednesday, 23rd, and Thursday, 24th. In the course of the day, the weather mended, though the sea still continued rough, and our course was really in the direction of America rather than England. In the evening of the 24th, we were able to light fires, and with the assistance of steam to keep nearly on our proper course. Saturday, May the 26th. Saw the first English land, the start, at 2.30 am. Wind continued fresh and fair, but at noon dropped calm, and we had to steam through the needles instead of sailing, as we had done on our way out. We reached Coase about 3 pm, and were immediately welcomed by several yachts, who dipped their enzymes and fired their guns. We landed, and were warmly greeted by many friends, and after sending off telegrams and letters, re-embarked and proceeded towards Hastings. We were anxious to land by daylight, but this was not to be. So it turned out to be midnight before we reached Beachy Head, and could discern the lights of Hastings shining in the distance. As we drew near to our anchorage, we could see two boats coming swiftly towards us from the shore. The crews were members of the Royal Naval Artillery Volunteers, and as they came alongside, they raised a shout of welcome. Hastings had been expecting us all the afternoon, and late as was the hour, on 3 pm, we were immediately surrounded by a fleet of boats, and many willing hands seized our heterogeneous cargo and multitudinous packages, and before daylight all had been safely landed on the pier. We committed ourselves to the care of AirNAV, and landed in their boats, and at 4.30, proceeding to the Queen's Hotel, we had a joyous meeting with TAB and Maud. How can I describe the warm greetings that met us everywhere, or the crowds that surrounded us, not only when we landed, but as we came out of church? How, along the whole ten miles from Hastings to battle, people were standing by the roadside and at their cottage doors to welcome us? How the battle bell-bringers never stopped ringing except during service time? Or how the warmest of welcomes ended our delightful year of travel, and made us feel we were home at last, with thankful hearts for the providential care which had watched over us wither so ever we roamed? I traveled among unknown men in lands beyond the sea. Nor England did I know till then what love I bore to thee. End of Chapter 28 Our voyage in the Sunbeam, our home on the ocean for eleven months, by Anna Brassi, Appendix. When we finally sailed from Coase on July 6, 1876, the list of persons on board the yacht was as fellows. Thomas Brassi, Esquire MP, owner, Mrs Brassi, Thomas Olnott Brassi, Mabel Anne Brassi, Muriel Agnes Brassi, Mary Adelaide Brassi, Honourable A. Y. Bingham, F. Hubert Freer, Esquire, Commander James Brown, R. N. Captain Squire, T. S. Lackey, R. N. R. Henry Percy Potter, Esquire, Surgeon, Isiah Powell, Sailing Master, Henry Kindred Boatsman, John Ridge Templeman, Carpenter, Charles Cook, Signalman and Gunner, James Allen, Cockswain of the Gig, James Walford, Captain of the Hold, John Fale, Cockswain of the Cutter, Henry Parker, Second Cockswain of the Gig, William Seaborne, A. B., Walter Seaborne, Turner Enew, William Moulton, A. B., Albert Wiseman, John Green, Thomas Taylor, Frederick Butt, Henry Tichner, Thomas Powell of Four Cossel Cook, William Cole Boy, Robert Traubottom, Engineer, Charles McKechnie, Second Engineer, Thomas Kirkham, Leading Fireman, George Burridge, Fireman, George Leslie Steward, William Ainsworth, Bedroom Steward, Frederick Parsons, Saloon Steward, George Bassett, Second Saloon Steward, William Pride Cook, Joseph Southgate, Cook's Maid, Emma Adams Nurse, Harriet Ho, Ladies Maid, Mary Phillips, Stewardess. The list of those who were temporarily on board the yacht during the voyage comprised the following persons. Arrivals. Crew of Monshaven came on board the Sunbeam September 28. Arthur Turner, one of the crew, remained on board the Sunbeam as an able-bodied seaman. John Seaborne from U.S. Ashwell at Hong Kong, John Shaw, under Cook Hong Kong, Isiak Ayak Hong Kong, John Ahan Hong Kong, Mahomet Fireman Goal, Abrahan Fireman Goal, Tom Dollar Fireman Goal, Mr. and Mrs. Woodruff Ismaila, Total 24. Departures. T. Alnut Brassi, Rio. Crew of Monshaven, 14, placed on board the ultimate October the 5th. Captain Leckie, Buenos Aires. Geo Leslie, Ensenada. Captain Brown, Honolulu. William Pride, Honolulu. John Fail, Malaka. Mahomet Fireman Suez, Abrahan Fireman Suez, Tom Dollar Fireman Eden. Mr. and Mrs. Woodruff Port Said, Total 25. Note. Many were the preparations to be made before starting out our voyage. The crew had to be selected. We had to decide whether all, any, or none of the children should be taken. What friends we should invite to accompany us, what tours and provisions we should take, and to select from our little fleet of boats, those which seemed best suited for the various requirements of the voyage. The whole number comprised the gleam, lifeboat cutter, the glance, large gig, the ray, light gig, the trap to catch a sunbeam, steam lounge, the moat, dingy, the flash, light outrigger. Of these, the trap and the ray had to be left behind. A letter from the Times of June the 2nd, 1877, to the editor of the Times, Sir, believing it possible that some interest may attach to the voyage completed on May the 27th by the arrival of the sunbeam at Coves, adventure to offer to your readers a short narrative of our proceedings. The expedition is in some respects unprecedented. A circumnavigation of 35,400 miles has never before been made in the short period of 46 weeks, from which must be deducted 112 days of well-earned repose in Harbour. We had it is true, the advantage of steam, without which such a performance would have been an impossibility. But we travelled 20,517 miles under sail alone, and the consumption of coal has not exceeded 350 tons. The sunbeam sailed from Coves on July the 6th, called a Torbay, Madeira, Teneriff and the Cappeverde, crossed the line on August the 8th, and carrying a favourable breeze in the south-east trades, without even a momentary lull, a distance of 2,500 miles, arrived at Rio Janeiro on August the 17th. Following the coasts of South America, we visited Montevideo, Buenos Aires and Ensenada, steamed through the straits of Magellan and Smith's Channel, and reached Valparaiso on October the 21st. While on the coast of Patagonia, it was our privilege to rescue a crew of 15 hands from the bark morgue-shaven, laden with an inflatable cargo of smelting coals, which had been on fire six days, when we most providentially described her signals of distress. On October the 30th, we commenced our long and lonely voyage of 12,330 miles across the Pacific. We touched at Bo Island in the low archipelago, Maitea and Tahiti, in the society islands, and Hawaii and Oahu in the sandwich group. On January the 21st, we sighted Assumption in the Ladrones, and on the 29th arrived at Yokohama. While in Japan, we were present at the opening of the railway from Osaka to Kyoto by the Mikudo, and subsequently cruised in the inland sea in severe winterly weather. At Simonoseki we found that people much agitated by the recent outbreak of the Satsuma clan. On February the 19th, we bade a reluctant farewell to Japan, and following the most direct route to England, visited in succession Hong Kong, Canton, Macau, Singapore, Johor, Malacca, Penyang, Gal, Colombo, Aden, Alexandria, Malta, Gibraltar and Lisbon. Having given the principal dates, the story of the voyage will be most rapidly completed by entering our successive passages in a tabular statement. Tames and English Channel Orutava to Tarafal Bay, San Antonio Cappeverde, Miles, Steam, 35, Sale, 886, Total, 921, Tarafal Bay to Rio de Janeiro, Miles, Steam, 689, Sale, 2647, Total, 3336, Rio to Montevideo and Buenos Aires, Miles, Steam, 509, Sale, 712, Total, 1221, Buenos Aires to Possession Bay, Straits of Magellan, Miles, Steam, 816, Sale, 524, Total, 1340, In Straits of Magellan and Smith Channel, Miles, Steam, 565, Sale, 9, Total, 565, Tolotta and Valparaiso, Miles, Steam, 634, Sale, 500, Total, 1134, Valparaiso to Yokohama, calling at Haoh into Pomoto Group, Maitea and Tahiti in the Society Islands, and Hawaii on Oahu in the Sandwich Group, Miles, Steam, 2108, Sale, 10225, Total, 12333, Yokohama to Kobe and Simonoseki through the Inland Sea, Miles, Steam, 653, Sale, None, Total, 653, Simonoseki to Hong Kong, Miles, Steam, 395, Sale, 1015, Total, 1410, Hong Kong to Singapore, Miles, Steam, 312, Sale, 1251, Total, 1563, Singapore to Point de Gaulle, calling at the Straits Settlements, Miles, Steam, 1668, Sale, None, Total, 1668, Gaulle to Colombo on Aiden, Miles, Steam, 2202, Sale, None, Total, 2202, Aiden to Suez, Miles, Steam, 807, Sale, 551, Total, 1358, Suez to Alexandria, Miles, Steam, 436, Sale, None, Total, 436, Alexandria to Coase, touching at Malta, Gibraltar and Lisbon, Miles, Steam, 2440, Sale, 934, Total, 3374, All in Total, Miles by Steam, 14979, Miles by Sale, 20396, Miles Total, 35375. Having sketched the voyage in Outline, the following details may not be devoid of interest to readers with nautical tastes. Every yachtsman should be a lover of sailing, in the cruises of the sunbeam, although expedition was an essential consideration, steam has been used almost exclusively in colms or in narrow waters, or when, as it has often happened, we have sailed at sunset after a hard day's work on board, intending to make an offering during the night and set sails in the morning. Of the total distance of 15,000 knots under steam, 12,000 were traversed under those special circumstances, which seemed to justify even a yachtsman in a wailing himself of the unromantic but invaluable engine. The best run under steam alone was 230 knots, and the most successful continuous performance was on the passage from Penan to Gaul in the wake ending April 15th, when the sunbeam steamed 1,451 knots with a daily consumption of four and one-fourth of tons of coal. The best runs under sail from noon to noon were 298 and 299 knots respectively. The first was on the passage from Honolulu to Yokohama, sailing along the 16th parallel of North latitude, and between 163rd degree and 168th degree and 15 minutes east. The second was in the Formosa Channel. The highest speed ever attained under sail was 15 knots in a squall in the North Pacific. On 28 days the distance under sail alone has exceeded and often considerably exceeded 200 knots. The best consecutive runs under sail only were 1. Week ending August 13th, South Atlantic. In the southeast trades, wind a beam, force five, 1,456 knots. 2. Week ending November 19th, South Pacific, southeast trades, wind aft, force five, 1,360 knots. 3. Four days, January 15th to 18th, North Pacific, northeast trades, wind on the quarter, force five, to nine, 1,027 knots. The average speed in this case was 107 knots an hour. The following were the average speeds of the longer passages. Cape Verto Torrio. Days at sea 18, total distance miles, 3,336, distance under steam miles, 689, daily average miles, 185. While Paraiso to Yokohama, days at sea 72, total distance 12,333 miles, distance under steam, 2,108 miles, daily average, 171 miles. Simonoseki and Aiden. Days at sea, 37, total distance 6,391 miles, distance under steam, 4,577 miles, daily average 187 miles. The vessel which has carried us so rapidly and safely around the globe claims a brief description. She was designed by Mr. Sinclair Barn of Liverpool and may be technically defined as a composite three mast top sail yard schooner. The engines by Mr. Slaird are of seven nominal or 350 indicated horsepower and developed a speed of 10.13 knots on the measured mile. The bunkers contain 80 tons of coal. The average daily consumption is four tons and the speed eight knots in fine weather. The principal dimensions of the hull are lengths for tonnage 157 feet, beam extreme 27 feet 6 inches, displacement tonnage 531 tons, area of midship section 202 square feet. With an addition of 20 feet to the length and more engine power, the sunbeam presents a type which might be found efficient for naval services in distant waters, where good sailing qualities are essential and large ships are not required. On looking back and contrasting the anticipated difficulties with the actual experiences of the voyage, the ease and certainty with which every passage has been made are truly surprising. Our track has been for the most part within the tropics. The storms of the Cape of Good Hope and Cape Horn have been avoided in the inland passages of the Straits of Magellan and the Suez Canal. We have encountered no continuous stormy weather except during the four days preceding our arrival at Yokohama. We have suffered discomfort from heat and detention in combs, but storms have disturbed us seldom and they have not lasted long. Our experience of gales include a northeast gale of Cape Finister. On the outward voyage, a northerly gale between Rio and the River Plate, a westerly gale of the east coast of Patagonia, short but severe gales on each of the four days preceding our arrival at Yokohama. A severe gale from the northwest in the inland sea, a northeast gale in the Formosa Channel, a northerly gale in the Straits of Jubal, a westerly gale of Port Said, and an easterly gale on the south coast of Candia. On the passage homewards from Gibraltar, we met strong northerly winds on the coast of Portugal and a northeast gale of Cape Finister. The navigation has presented few difficulties. All the coasts we have visited have been surveyed. Lighthouses are now as numerous and efficient on the coasts of China and Japan as on the shores of Europe. Such is the perfection of the modern chronometer, that lunar observations, the only difficult work in ocean navigation, are no longer necessary, and the wind charts published by the Admiralty supply to the amateur navigator accumulated information and valuable hints for every stage of his voyage. How infinitely easy is the task of the modern circumnavigator compared with the hazardous explorations of muggy lands and Captain Cook, when the chronometer was an instrument of rude and untrustworthy quality, when there were no charts, and the roaring of the breakers in the dead of night was the mariners' first warning that a coral reef was near. Our comprehensive and varied cruise has strengthened my former convictions that the disasters due to negligence bear a large proportion to the number of inevitable losses. Every coast is dangerous to the careless commander, but there are no frequented seas where, with the exercise of caution and reasonable skill, the dangers cannot be avoided. These remarks do not, of course, apply to cases of disaster from stress of weather. In fogs, there must be delay, though not necessarily danger. In these days of lamentation over the degeneracy of the British seaman, my experience may be accepted as a contribution to the mass of evidence on this vexed question. I have not been surrounded by such smart seaman, as can only be found on a man of war, but I have no ground for general or serious complaint. Many of my crew have done their duty most faithfully. In emergencies, everybody has risen to their occasion, and has done best when his skill or endurance was most severely tried. My mariners, souls that have toyed and brought and sought with me, that ever with a frolic welcome took the thunder and the sunshine. It is always in stormy weather that the good qualities of the British seaman are displayed to the greatest advantage. The difficulty is to keep up his interest and energies in long intervals of fine weather, when nothing accures to rouse him to an effort, and the faculties of the seaman before the mast, no less than those of his officer, are benumbed by the monotony and isolation from mankind, which are the gravest drawbacks of a sailor's life. It is in these dull moments that men are tempted to drink and quarrel, that officers become tyrannical, and their crews in subordinate, or even mutinous. Lest it should be thought that my impressions of the average sailor are derived from an exceptional crew or picked men, I have only to add that the manning of the sunbeam was a family job. The sailing master was related by blood or marriage to the majority of his subordinates, fishermen from the coast of Essex, who had received their early training among the banks and shoals at the mouth of the Thames. In this connection I tender my sincere tribute of praise to the officers of the navy for their success in maintaining the efficiency and spirit of their crews, through long commissions on foreign stations, much time being necessarily spent in harbour, in many cases in the most enervating climates. The discipline of the service seems to be admirable, and the seamen are reconciled to it by tradition, by early training, and perhaps by an instinctive perception of its necessity. I am equally bound to commend the efficiency of our consular service in the remotest outposts of civilisation, which we have visited, and evidences of good colonial administration are abundantly manifest in Hong Kong, Singapore, Penang, Ceylon and Aden, in the prosperity and contentment of the people. It is scarcely necessary to observe, in conclusion, that experiences may be gathered in a voyage of circumnavigation, which are not to be gleaned from blue books, or from shorter cruises in European waters. A more vivid impression is formed of the sailor's daily life, of his privations at sea, and his temptations on shore. The services required of the navy are more clearly appreciated after a visit to distant foreign stations. Such a voyage indeed is a serious effort, it demands many laborious days and anxious nights of watching. For my safe return to those pale, those white-faced shores, so welcome to the homeward bound, accompanied, happily, by the adventurous little family who have taken part in the expedition, I'm truly thankful. I am, sir, your obedient servant, Thomas Brassie, Coves. End of the appendix. And this is also the end of A Voyage in the Sunbeam, our home on the ocean, for eleven months, by Anna Brassie.