confinement below, and their miserable state of illness, had pretty well
swept away the recollection of the drowning scene, and beyond one or two
looks and a whisper passed on from one to the other, which I felt were
about me, there was nothing to make me feel nervous and red.

I am not going to give a description of our long voyage round by the
Cape, for that was our course in those days; let it suffice if I say
that we sailed south into warmer seas, with the torrid sun beating down
upon us in a way which Captain Brace said would prepare us for what was
to come. We had storms in rounding the Cape, and then we sailed on
again north and east.

It was a long, slow, monotonous voyage, during which I went on learning
a good deal of my profession, for there was drilling every morning on
deck, and the draft of men were marched and countermarched till the
rough body of recruits began to fall correctly into the various
movements, while I supplemented the knowledge I had acquired as a cadet,
and more than once obtained a few words of praise from the sergeant with
the draft, and what were to me high eulogies from Captain Brace.

"Nothing like mastering the infantry drill, Vincent," he said to me one
day. "Young officers know, as a rule, far too little of foot drill. It
will save you a good deal of trouble when we get there."

It was monotonous but not unpleasant, that voyage out. We had the
customary sports on crossing the line; we fished and caught very little,
though the men captured the inevitable shark with the lump of salt pork;
and used the grains, as they called the three-pronged fork, to harpoon
dolphins. I had my first sight of flying fish, and made friends with
the officers. Then there was music and dancing on the hot moonlit
nights; deck quoits under the awning by day; a good deal more sleep than
we took at home; and at last we reached Ceylon and touched at Colombo,
where everything struck me as being wonderfully unlike what I had
pictured in my own mind.

"Well," said Captain Brace one evening, after we had had a run together
on the shore, "what do you think of the Cingalese?"

"That they look so effeminate," I said.

"Exactly," he replied, nodding his head as I went on.

"They are not bad looking; but it looks so absurd to see those elderly
men dressed in muslins, with drawers and clothes that put me in mind of
little girls about to go to a children's party or a dance."

He looked amused, and I contin