254 THE SALT OF MY LIFE 



of the vernacular might merely scent reference 

 to a famous racehorse. 



An hour after the sun was gone, when darkness 

 fell so swiftly on the face of the waters as to remind 

 us how near we were to Africa, each boat kindled 

 its torch, and night after night the riva] constel- 

 lations marked the two mackerel-grounds. On 

 more than one evening we sacrificed the pleasures 

 of table d'hote and took an abbreviated dinner at 

 our own time in order to fish with the fleet, and 

 within ten minutes of embarking at the hotel 

 steps we were anchored on the spot Next to us 

 was a boat from Cama de Lobos, but the occupants 

 on this occasion were peaceable. Cama is the 

 beauty spot on that south coast, and, besides 

 being a busy fishing centre, it is in the chief wine- 

 growing district on the is]and. It has, moreover, 

 the advantage, from the visitor's pcint of view, 

 of lying on the New Road, .practically the only 

 one in all Madeira on which you can get a canter 

 of more than a hundred yards without a more than 

 sporting chance of breaking your neck. The road 

 goes, in fact, from the hotel gate. The town owes 

 its name to the traditional occurrence of seals 

 among its rocks, but these have long since dis- 

 appeared, and none occur in these days nearer 

 than the islands of Deserta and Bugio, away on 

 the south-eastern horizon. 



We are anchored as close to the Cama boat as 



