We first take possession of our cabin, which opens into the dining-saloon. Then we go up on the bridge, where we are introduced to Colonel Gourko, who is also on his way to the Transvaal, as Russian military attaché. We had met him the evening before at the station, for he arrived by the same train as ourselves. But his fluent French, and his rosette of the Legion of Honour, which he always wears by courtesy in France, had made us take him for some important functionary on his way to Madagascar!... We ask his pardon. But the minutes pass. Hand-shakings, good wishes, bursts of emotion, the time-honoured formula of departure have been gone through; the gangways are taken up, the ropes cast off; we steam out of port. The handkerchiefs that flutter on the quay and on the pier gradually diminish, the houses seem to flatten, Notre Dame de la Garde dwindles, becomes smaller and smaller, till at last it is a mere speck on the horizon. Then it disappears altogether; we are on the open sea. I shall not thrill with ecstasy, nor pour out a tribute of emotion to the ’blue immensity,’ for, though I have many parts--as you, my readers, will readily believe, especially such of you as do not know me--I am no poet. The dinner-bell finds De C---- and me prosaically wrangling over 150 points at piquet. The dining-saloon is large, but there are few diners. We take a general survey. The captain, who is supposed to preside over the meals, is not well, and does not appear. In fact, we scarcely see him at table during the passage. Colonel Gourko, Captain Ram, and Lieutenant Thomson, the Dutch military attachés, Captain D---- of the Marines, with his charming young wife and their son Guy--who is soon one of our firmest friends--an engineer, a naval doctor, a young lady on her way to set up as a milliner at Tananariva, an English journalist, and Henry de Charette, a volunteer for the Transvaal, where his health will prevent him from playing a very active part, make up the sum total of diners, or very nearly so. We further discovered on board Messieurs de Breda, a former cavalry officer, Pimpin, Michel, a distinguished artillery officer, and a few others destined to be our pleasant comrades in the future. As at least fifteen of us are bound for Lourenço Marques, and as we have reason to fear a visit from some English cruiser not unaccustomed to such travellers, we have all adopted the most extraordinary callings. One of us is a commercial traveller in the wine or drug trade; another is a dealer in apparatus of various kinds. I also met a bird-seller, a manufacturer of blinds, and an agent for bitumens! C---- and I are modest! We are in quest of purchasers for ’Calaya,’ a febrifuge of extraordinary virtues, a specific for fever, dysentery, headache, toothache, etc. The weather is superb; but our boat is slow, and we rarely make 300 miles in the twenty-four hours.