"Well!" exclaimed Captain Ladds when Weston finished his narrative; "you certainly have had a run of ill-luck! Let us hope that brighter days are in store for you. The tide must turn at last, you know; and you shall not want friends to help you to retrieve your fortunes." "No, indeed!" cried Master Tom impulsively. "If the _pater_ don't stand by you, I'm jolly well mistaken. You must come to Rustenburg until something turns up. But I say, Mr Weston," he went on; "you've had about enough of the sea! I'd try my luck on `terra firma' now, if I were you!" "I'm inclined to agree with you, Tom," Mr Weston replied; "and I might do worse than settle down in Cape Colony. The anxieties and dangers of my last voyage have rather sickened me, and if there is a suitable berth to be found on shore, I don't think I shall be tempted to go afloat again." CHAPTER FIVE. THE END OF THE VOYAGE--TABLE BAY--"DOTH NOT A MEETING LIKE THIS, MAKE AMENDS!" "The perils and the dangers of the voyage are past, And the barque has arrived at--at--at Cape Town at last; The sails are furled, and the anchor's cast, And the happiest of the--" "Passengers is Master Thomas Flinders!" laughed Captain Ladds, interrupting our hero, who was giving utterance to his joyful feelings by trolling forth the above verse with, it must be confessed, more energy than harmony. "Yes, Tom, my son," he continued, "here we are safe in old Table Bay; and there's the port-captain's boat putting off from the quay. You'll be at Rustenburg in time for `tiffin.' Mr Rogerson, see that the accommodation ladder is ready; Captain Morrison is coming off." It was a most glorious morning when the _Surat Castle_ ran into Table Bay, and brought up off the old wooden quay, which half a century ago served as the principal landing-place at Cape Town; for the splendid Alexandra Docks, affording ample accommodation for the three-thousand tonners of the Union Company, and Donald Currie's Royal Mail Lines, were not yet designed; the South African metropolis being in a chrysalis sort of condition, and not having reached any great degree of commercial prosperity--though it was a favourite resort of invalided Anglo-Indians, who found it a very pleasant place in which to spend a few months' sick leave, after broiling in the "gorgeous east" for the best part of their lives. Tears of pleasure dimmed Tom's eyes at the sight of home (for home is home, whether we live within the sound of "Bow Bells" or at the Antipodes) and the thought of meeting his parents and sisters after a five years' separation. How familiar was the scene upon which he gazed.