Next morning we leave Goa behind, and at noon have the Laccadive group of islands to starboard. The coast of India is still in sight--a belt of sand, over which the surf rolls in from the sea, surmounted by a fringe of coco-palms. On the morning of October 17 we pass the southernmost point of India, Cape Comorin. Here our course is changed to southeast, and about midday the coast of Ceylon can be distinguished on the horizon. From a long distance we can see the white band of breakers dashing against the beach, and as we approach closer a forest of steamer funnels, sails, and masts, and beyond them a long row of Asiatic and European buildings. That is Colombo, the capital of Ceylon, and a very important port for all vessels which ply between Europe and the Far East. Gently the _Delhi_ enters the passage between the harbour moles, and is at once surrounded by a fleet of rowing boats from the shore. Singalese and Hindus swarm up the gangways, and throw themselves with much jabbering on the traveller's possessions. They are scantily clothed with only a shirt or a white sash round the loins and a cloth or a comb on the head. We go on shore and find in the principal streets of the town a curious jumble of copper-brown coloured people, carriages, tramways, and small, two-wheeled "rickshas" which are pulled by half-naked men. The huts of the natives and the dwelling-houses of the Europeans nestle among groves of the slender coco-palm. The next day the steamer _Moldavia_ (also belonging to the P. & O.) arrived from England, and was moored close to the _Delhi_ in order to transfer to her passengers and goods for the Far East, after which the _Moldavia_ was to continue her voyage for two weeks more to Australia. When all is ready the _Delhi_ swings out to sea again, the band of the _Moldavia_ playing a march and her crew and passengers cheering. In the evening we double the southern point of Ceylon, turning due east--a course we shall hold as far as the northern cape of Sumatra, 1000 miles away. THE SUNDA ISLANDS On the morning of October 21 all field-glasses are pointed eastwards. Two small, steep islands stand up out of the sea, a white ring of surf round their shores, and beyond them several other islands come into sight, their woods ever green in the perpetual summer of these hot regions. Now islands crop up on all sides, and we are in the midst of quite an archipelago. To the south-west we can see rain falling over Sumatra.