And a sea voyage on the Atlantic is of no use--voyage too short, sea too rough.

The peaceful Indian and Pacific Oceans and the long stretches of time are the healing thing.
May 2, AM.

A fair, great ship in sight, almost the first we have seen in these weeks of lonely voyaging.

We are now in the Mozambique Channel, between Madagascar and South Africa, sailing straight west for Delagoa Bay.
Last night, the burly chief engineer, middle-aged, was standing telling a spirited seafaring tale, and had reached the most exciting place, where a man overboard was washing swiftly astern on the great seas, and uplifting despairing cries, everybody racing aft in a frenzy of excitement and fading hope, when the band, which had been silent a moment, began impressively its closing piece, the English national anthem.

As simply as if he was unconscious of what he was doing, he stopped his story, uncovered, laid his laced cap against his breast, and slightly bent his grizzled head.