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. 



70 



