Thursday, Dec. 10th.—­At about 2.30 P.M. a French steamer passed the Gap, going to the southward.  Afterwards informed by the Commander that it was the mail steamer from Saigon, for Singapore.  The Saigon people are expecting us there.

Friday, Dec. 11th.—­In the afternoon the Commander and Surgeon came on board, bringing us a bullock! and some vegetables.

Sunday, Dec. 13th.—­The crew dined off the Commander’s bullock to-day, being the first meal of fresh meat since leaving Simon’s Town, nearly three months ago; and yet we have no one on the sick list!  Causes—­good water, temperance, strict government, and, as a consequence, a reasonable degree of contentment, and moderate and constant employment.  The crew has had several runs on shore, too, without the possibility of getting drunk.  A present of cocoa-nuts this morning from the Commander.  This young Frenchman is very attentive to us.

Monday, Dec. 14th.—­To-day we applied the principle of the coffer-dam to the replacement of the copper around our delivery or blow-pipe, some three feet below water.  The operation proved quite simple and easy of accomplishment.  Getting ready for sea.  The news of our “whereabouts” probably reached Singapore on the evening of Saturday, and it is only two days from Singapore here, for a fast steamer; and so, whilst the enemy, should there be one at Singapore, is coming hitherward, we must be going thitherward to seek coal and provisions.

Tuesday, Dec. 15th.—­At daylight got under way, under sail, and stood out of the harbour—­lighting and banking the fires.  On account of our proximity to the shore, and the very light breeze, we had barely room to pass the point—­not more than a ship’s length to spare, in case we had been obliged to let go our anchor.  I felt quite nervous for a few minutes, but held on, and we caught a light breeze that soon sent us ahead out of danger.

Well, we are on the sea once more, with our head turned westward, or homeward.  Shall we ever reach that dear home which we left three years ago, and which we have yearned after so frequently since?  Will it be battle, or shipwreck, or both, or neither?  And when we reach the North Atlantic, will it still be war, or peace?  When will the demon-like passions of the North be stilled?  These are solemn and interesting questions for us, and an all-wise Providence has kindly hidden the answers behind the curtain of Fate.  A lengthened cruise would not be politic in these warm seas.  The homeward trade of the enemy is now quite small—­reduced probably to twenty or thirty ships per year; and these may easily evade us by taking the different passages to the Indian Ocean, of which there are so many, and so widely separated.  The foreign coasting trade (as between one port in China and another, and the trade to and from Calcutta and to and from Australia), besides facilities for escape, are almost beyond our