The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 
end of the linen being teased out into streamers. 
Occasionally I lost the hook, and the greater 
part of the thick line, owing to a tuna or tunny- 
fish taking the bait. With a rod and line spe- 
cially built for the purpose great sport might be 
had with these latter fish. 
On board the Widgeon we had run short of 
food supplies, and anxiously awaited the arrival 
of the Government steamer in order that we 
might replenish our commissariat, which had 
come down to salt pork and weevily ship’s 
biscuits. 
After a few more days in Ascension we sailed 
for St. Helena, where I meant to leave the 
Widgeon as she was bound for Tristan D’Acunha, 
an island in the South Atlantic. Once a year a 
warship called at this lonely island to find out 
if the few inhabitants, who lived in the most 
primitive way, obtaining what supplies they 
could not produce themselves from passing 
whalers, required a doctor or other assistance. 
On arrival at Georgetown, St. Helena, I made 
a pilgrimage to Longwood, immortalized by its 
connexion with Napoleon, and hearing that a 
small bungalow was to be let I took it for a month. 
Longwood is situated on the very highest part — 
of the island, and Longwood Old House, built 
on a great plateau, is more or less as it was when | 
Napoleon died. Within half a mile of the house 
is the place where he was first buried. 
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