December 16th, 1872. Fine.

At half past six in the morning we packed our bags and left the Buckingham Palace Hotel for Victoria Station at a quarter past seven. At this time of year the sun rises at eight o'clock, and on days when light cloud fills the morning sky the waning light of the moon can still be seen filtering through the haze at daybreak, while gaslights in the streets glow dimly in the gloom. This scene of sad city streets bereft of traffic was to be our parting image of London as we left to catch the train.

As usual, a train had been especially arranged for us by the British government, and General Alexander and Mr. Aston travelled with us as far as Dover to see us off. From Dover to the port of Calais, in France, is a distance of twenty-one miles, and although Britain is often misty and the sky overcast, on clear days the coast on the other side of the Channel can be seen. As soon as ships reach the open sea a thick mist may obscure the land and the waves can be high, for this strait is normally rough and it is a notoriously difficult crossing for navigators.

Today, however, the sea was calmer than usual. Our mail-boat was a most beautiful vessel, about two hundred feet in length. There were no cabins on the main deck but there were two or three large saloons on the deck below.