The Straits of Malacca. 277 



proved a most admirable deck companion, and every day at 

 sunset the picture which opens this entry in "My Ocean 

 Log" was hung up in Nature's artistically-lighted picture 

 gallery. 



The sunsets were quite indescribable. All too brief as 

 they were in duration, they combined colours that no painter 

 could imitate without being condemned as a wild dreamer. 

 After the usual golden proclamation of approaching depar- 

 ture, the sun would swiftly descend into the depths, and then 

 would begin flushes and blushes of the most delicate carmine, 

 rose, orange, blood red, purple, and ' violet, tinging the fan- 

 tastic shapes assumed by the clouds according to the condi- 

 tion of the atmosphere. The dinner bell would generally 

 ring as we watched in silence the glorious scene, but few 

 stirred from the deck until the final fold of the curtain of 

 dusk had fallen. Those who had lost loved ones thought of 

 them, associating with the spectacle the idea that the angel 

 world must lie somewhere beyond such radiant portals. The 

 seriously-inclined involuntarily remembered the description 

 of the city whose walls were of jasper, whose foundations 

 were garnished with all manner of precious stones, whose 

 gates were pearls, and whose streets were pure gold, as if it 

 were transparent glass — a description, however, prefaced by 

 the significant statement " and there was no more sea." On 

 sea as on land, no doubt it is a beautiful world. 



When we have crossed the Bay of Bengal, blue as indigo, 

 and a good deal ruffled by the change of monsoons, we must 

 look more closely to our courses, for upon entering the 

 Straits of Malacca we naturally feel that another phase of 

 the voyage opens. 



From the captain of a Dutch troopship lying at Singa- 

 pore, on her way from Acheen to Batavia, it was possible to 

 obtain reply to a question which we had a couple of days 



