Five or six times a day the
flying East India or colonial-bound English ships, under every
stitch of square sail, would appear as tiny specks on the horizon
astern, come up with us, pass like a flash, and fade away ahead,
going at least two knots to our one. I could not help feeling a
bit home-sick and tired of my present surroundings, in spite of
their interest, when I saw those beautiful ocean-flyers devouring
the distance which lay before them, and reflected that in little
more than one month most of them would be discharging in
Melbourne, Sydney, Calcutta, or some other equally distant port,
while we should probably be dodging about in our present latitude
a little farther east.
After a few days of our present furious rate of speed, I came on
deck one morning, and instantly recognized an old acquaintance.
Right ahead, looking nearer than I had ever seen it before, rose
the towering mass of Tristan d'Acunha, while farther away, but
still visible, lay Nightingale and Inaccessible Islands. Their
aspect was familiar, for I had sighted them on nearly every
voyage I had made round the Cape, but I had never seen them so
near as this. There was a good deal of excitement among us, and
no wonder.
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