Bertram Mitford
"The Luck of Gerard Ridgeley"
Chapter One.
Crossing the Durban Bar.
The steamship Amatikulu was drawing near the end of her voyage.
A fresh breeze was ploughing up the blue waves of the Indian Ocean, hurling off their crests in white, foamy masses, casting showers of salt spray upon the wet decks of the vessel as she plunged her nose into each heaving, tossing billow, and leaped up again with a sudden jerk which was more than lively, and calculated to produce the most distressful of throes in the systems of her passengers. But these were well salted by this time, for, as we have just stated, they were at the end of their voyage.
This being so, it was pleasant work coasting along the Natal shore; pleasant to gaze on the green slopes and luxuriant tropical foliage, with here and there a planter’s bungalow peeping out from the tall canes; trebly pleasant, indeed, after a month of sea and sky-line, unvaried by any sight or diversion save such as the ocean could afford; for the Amatikulu was not in the mail service, but owned by a private firm, and, being advertised to “sail direct for Natal,” had touched nowhere save at Madeira, a week out from home.
“I reckon you two youngsters will be glad to stretch your legs ashore.”