Sunday, October 1st.—­A fine morning, with a fair wind.  At eleven we had a short service, at four a longer one, with an excellent sermon from Tom, specially adapted to the rescue of the crew of the burning ship.  As usual, the sunset, which was magnificent, was succeeded by a slight storm, which passed over without doing us any harm.

I have said that it was found impossible to save any provisions from the ‘Monkshaven.’  As far as the men are concerned, I think this is hardly to be regretted, for I am told that the salt beef with which they were supplied had lain in pickle for so many years that the saltpetre had eaten all the nourishment out of it, and had made it so hard that the men, instead of eating it, used to amuse themselves by carving it into snuff-boxes, little models of ships, &c.  I should not, however, omit to mention that Captain Runciman managed to bring away with him four excellent York hams, which he presented to us, and one of which we had to-day at dinner.

Wednesday, October 4th.—­At 6 a.m., on going on deck I found we were hove-to under steam and closely-reefed sails, a heavy gale blowing from the south-west, right ahead.  The screw was racing round in the air every time we encountered an unusually big wave; the spray was dashing over the vessel, and the water was rushing along the deck—­altogether an uncomfortable morning.  As the sun rose, the gale abated, and in the course of the day the reefs were shaken out of the sails, one by one, until, by sunset, we were once more under whole canvas, beating to windward.  There were several cries of ‘land ahead’ during the day, but in each case a closer examination, through a glass, proved that the fancied coast-line or mountain-top existed only in cloud-land.

Thursday, October 5th.—­We made the land early, and most uninteresting it looked, consisting, as it did, of a low sandy shore, with a background of light clay-coloured cliffs.  Not a vestige of vegetation was anywhere to be seen, and I am quite at a loss to imagine what the guanacos and ostriches, with which the chart tells us the country hereabouts abounds, find to live upon.  About twelve o’clock we made Cape Virgins, looking very like Berry Head to the north of Torbay, and a long spit of low sandy land, stretching out to the southward, appropriately called Dungeness.

Some of the charts brought on board by Captain Runciman were published by Messrs. Imray, of London, and in one of them it is represented that a fine fixed light has been established on Cape Virgins.[2] This we knew to be an impossibility, not only on account of the general character of the country, but because no indication is given of the light in our newest Admiralty charts.  Captain Runciman, however, had more confidence in the correctness of his own chart, and could hardly believe his eyes when he saw that the light really had no existence on the bare bleak headland.  His faith was terribly shaken, and I hope he will not omit to call Messrs. Imray’s attention to the matter on his return home; for the mistake is most serious, and one which might lead to the destruction of many a good ship.