The sun came up in his glory from the morning sea; the blue waters rolled around us in light, and curled their crested waves before the soft west wind. The huge dark shadows of Balclutha's double Dun fell far along the azure bosom of the Clyde, when the steamer's anchor was apeak, and the propeller began to dash the water into foam astern, making a sweep of nearly twenty feet at each impetuous turn, and objects on the beach began to lessen, change or pass each other, and we stood in groups looking at the fading mountains few of us might ever see again.
Summer had passed away with all its bloom and verdure; no longer laden with rosy blossoms,
'Fruitful Clydesdale's apple bowers
Were mellowing in the moon;'
the peach and the nectarine had glowed there in clusters and been gathered, and now the woods of leafy green were being tinged by russet brown and golden yellow.
On leaving the mouth of the Clyde, we found the water rough; the wind blew keenly and chopped about; thus the Vestal pitched and lurched heavily off Ailsa Craig, amid the mist and spray. This somewhat damped the military pride of the youngsters, and as the motion increased when we entered the North Channel, the very idea of breakfast or dinner excited a qualmy horror within me; and the jokes of Catanagh, Mac Pherson, and other older soldiers, failed to rouse my spirit either to fun or anger—in short I was sick, miserably sick, and would gladly have exchanged my hopes of a marshal's baton and a tomb in Westminster for a safe footing on the nearest point of land.
On, on we sped, and ere long a faint white line at the horizon marked where the chalky brows of the Land's-end faded into the evening sea, and we bade 'a long good night to old England.'
We had on board six companies of the Rifle Brigade—all jolly fellows; and on recovering our 'sea legs,' we found the hours pass delightfully.
The Vestal was commanded by John Crank, an old, fiery, passionate and red-faced naval lieutenant, who had served under Nelson as a middy, and lost his 'starboard toplight, when boarding the Holy Joe,' as he irreverently named the San Josef.
The proportion of tonnage for troops in a transport is two tons per soldier; but on board our old donkey Vestal, the Highlanders were stowed away with only eighteen inches per man for sleeping-room; and as the weather grew warm on our approaching the Mediterranean, they suffered great discomfort—and the poor women were crammed away among the rank and file, unheeded and uncared for by all but their husbands.
I was subaltern of the watch, on the morning we anchored off Gibraltar, where we remained for four and twenty hours, waiting for despatches direct from London. As soon as they arrived, the mail was transferred on board the Vestal; the steam was again got up, and long before evening, the giant peak, the tremendous rock-built batteries of Gibel-al-taric—the rock of the old Moorish wars—faded into the blue waters as we bore on towards that land of death and battle, suffering and disaster, where Britannia was exchanging her ancient oak leaves and laurels for the funeral cypress and the baleful yew.