During our stay at Cape Town we had made many kind friends. Among them were Mr. Beverley, the rector of Holy Trinity Church, and Mrs. Beverley. They had helped us in looking for a house, helped in shopping, helped in packing, insisted on our taking our last meal with them, and came with us to the steamer. We found the steamer very crowded, the passengers quite outnumbering the berths, and it was not until evening that we could procure a cabin. But one thing I much appreciated: our collie was allowed to be with us during the day. We had only had him a few days, but he behaved excellently, lying at our feet most of the time. He came to us as "Whisky," but was promptly re-named "Rob."
[Illustration: THE PEAK SHOWING ABOVE CLOUDS]
On the early morning of the eighth day--it was Palm Sunday--the mountainous cliffs of Tristan could dimly be discerned. My husband had gone up on deck two or three times while it was yet dusk to see if land was visible; while I kept looking out of the porthole, although it was not a very large outlook. At about four o'clock he dressed and wrote several letters. At six o'clock, accompanied by Rob, I went on to the lower deck and could see Tristan enshrouded in mist. At about nine o'clock we arrived opposite the settlement. A high wind was blowing and the sea was rough. But this did not prevent the islanders setting off in two of their canvas boats to board the steamer. It was with great interest I went on deck to speak to them. I was greeted by an Italian, who in broken English said--