and the castled crag of naughty Scylla, whose town has grown
prodigiously, we bade adieu to the 'tower of Pelorus.' Then we shaped
our course for the Islands of AEolus, or the Winds, and the Lipari
archipelago, all volcanic cones whose outlines were misty as Ossian's
spectres. And we plodded through the dreary dull-grey scene of drizzling
scirocco--

Till, when all veiled sank in darkling air,
Naught but the welkin and the wave was there.

Next morning showed us to port the Cone of Maritimo: it outlies Marsala,
whose wine caused the blinding of Polyphemus, and since that time has
brought on many an attack of liver. The world then became to us
_pontus et aer_. Days and nights were equally uneventful; the diary
tells only of quiet seas under the lee of Sardinia and of the Balearics,
ghostly glimpses of the North African coast and the steady setting in of
the normal wester, the indraught of 'the Straits.'

On Friday (November 9) the weather broke and deluged us with rain. At
Gibraltar the downpour lasted twenty-four hours. We found ourselves at
anchor before midnight with a very low barometer, which suggested
unpleasantries. Next morning we sighted the deep blue waters of the Bay,
and the shallow brown waters of the Bayside crested with foam by a
furious norther, that had powdered the far Ronda highlands with
snow. Before noon, however, the gale had abated and allowed me to
transfer myself and African outfit on board the _Fez_ (Capt. Hay),
Moroccan Steamship Company, trading to North Africa. This was a
godsend: there is no regular line between Gibraltar and Lisbon, and one
might easily be delayed for a week.