This was really the first holiday in
my life, and I enjoyed it thoroughly. Nothing of unusual interest
occurred on the outward voyage; for one thing, because there were no
unusual people among the passengers; for another, because the vessel
behaved admirably. The same cannot be said of the return voyage: and with
it my story really begins. Misfortune followed us out of Sydney harbour.
We broke a crank-shaft between there and Port Phillip, Melbourne; a fire
in the hold occurred at Adelaide; and at Albany we buried a passenger who
had died of consumption one day out from King George's Sound. At Colombo,
also, we had a misfortune, but it was of a peculiar kind, and did not
obtrude itself at once; it was found in an addition to our passenger
list. I had spent a day in exploring Colombo--visiting Arabi Pasha,
inspecting Hindu temples, watching the jugglers and snake-charmers,
evading guides and the sellers of brummagem jewellery, and idling in the
Cinnamon Gardens. I returned to the ship tired out. After I had done some
official duties, I sauntered to the gangway, and, leaning against the
bulwarks, idly watched the passengers come on board from the tender.
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