Alooa Bay, October 23, 1975.

Two days ago we steamed out of Table Bay, on just such a grey, drizzling afternoon as that on which we entered it. But the weather cleared directly we got out to sea, and since then it has carried us along as though we had been on a pleasant summer cruise. All yesterday we were coasting along the low downs which edge the dangerous sea-board for miles upon miles. From the deck of the Edinburgh Castle the effect is monotonous enough, although just now everything is brightly green, and with their long riband fringe of white breaker-foam glinting in the spring sunshine, the stretch of undulating hillocks looked its best. This part of the coast is well lighted, and it was always a matter of felicitation at night, when every eighty miles or so the guiding ray of a lighthouse shone out in the soft gloom of a starlight night. One of these lonely towers stands more than 800 feet above the sea level, and warns ships off the terrible Agulhas Bank.

We have dropped our anchor this fresh, bright morning, a mile or so from the shore on which Port Elizabeth stands.