Before nightfall on the 11th of January, we were under way for the Cape of Good Hope from St. Helena.
“The fleets that sweep before the eastern blast,
Shall hear their sea-boys hail it from the mast;
When Victory’s Gallic column shall but rise,
Like Pompey’s pillar, in a desert’s skies,
The rocky isle, that holds, or held his dust,
Shall crown the Atlantic like the hero’s bust.”
CHAPTER III.
We reached Cape Town after a run of thirteen days. On the morning of the 24th of January we made the long, low sandhills in the vicinity of Saldanha bay, South Africa, and continuing our run in sight of the coast during the day, anchored after nightfall, with bright moonlight around, in Table bay. We encountered the whole way a strong head wind and sea, and at one time doubted whether our coal would be sufficient to enable us to reach our port. The men were exercised at target practice, with pistol and musket. On the 15th, the sun being vertical, the friendly wish “May your shadow never be less,” would have been superfluous, as on that day the thing was impossible. As we neared the guano islands, lying off the harbor, we were surrounded by booby-birds and sea-gulls innumerable; the “albatross” also “did cross,” and very large birds they were.