Toward midnight, on the twenty-eighth of July, as the moon was gently sinking behind the mountains which overlook the campong of Angier, a light land-breeze suddenly sprung up. Orders were immediately given to weigh anchor. The shrill whistle of the boatswain and his two mates, followed by their deep grum voices, calling all hands, “roused many a heavy sleeper, unwillingly from his hammock,” wishing the boatswain, and his call together, in Davy Jones’s locker. We were under way in a few minutes, in company with the Boxer, proceeding through the straits of Sunda, having once more launched into the Indian ocean. The lofty peak, of Crokatoa, the mountainous island of Tamarind, and the lesser islands of Thwart, the Way, the Button, and the Cap, with part of the coast of Sumatra, were distinctly visible. Before losing sight of Prince’s island, the wind came from the southward and eastward, accompanied with fine weather, which continued to waft us rapidly over the rolling billows to the westward, till the sixteenth of August, having run our westing down mostly between the latitude of 10° 11″ to secure strong breezes; being then in latitude about 2° south and 52″ east longitude, the wind veered to the southwest, but without any diminution of strength, or any alteration of the fine weather we had previously enjoyed. It continued until the evening of the twentieth, when we descried, first, the most easterly land on the continent of Africa, cape Orfui, otherwise called, by the Arabs, Ras Hafoon; then the mountains lying to the northward of this cape, called Gebel Jordafoon; and then cape Guardafui, or the cape of burials; the northeast extremity of Africa, and the southernmost cape of the gulf of Arabia. The land appeared like the outline of a well-defined cloud, high in the heavens. The next morning, we doubled close round this bold promontory, which was so formidable in ancient times to the timid Arabian mariner. [Sidenote: BURNT ISLAND.] “The shrill spirit of the storm sat not dim upon the bluff brow,” “nor enjoyed the death of the mariner,” for the morning was bright, and fair, and joyous. The loud roaring of the sea shamed not the thunder, as it was wont to do, for it was almost unruffled. The tremendous sound of the mysterious bell, which was wont to be heard high above the loud surges of the ocean, warning the mariner of his fate, if he approached too boldly, was hushed; and the bodiless hand, which was seen to give it motion, had disappeared in the lapse of ages. We kept close to the northern shore, as far as Metté, or Burnt island, to take the benefit of a current setting to the westward.