August 12th, 1873. Fine.

At half past six in the morning we weighed anchor and left the harbour of Galle to sail along the southern coast of Ceylon.

This southern part is the most mountainous region of the island. From the ship we could see a mass of mountains with ridges coiling and writhing before sweeping down to the plains. The trees were a deep green. The grass, still wet with the rain which had fallen during the night, was a carpet of emerald. The mists of kingfisher blue around the mountain-tops seemed about to turn to rain; the air was crystal clear. Topographically, the whole of Ceylon consists of long chains of mountains interspersed with plains and gently sloping foothills. The entire island is made up of this kind of scenery. Nowhere is there landscape like this in the world, we were told. In every country mountains rise up and water flows down, but the colours and features of the landscape are different. The more we saw of the fantastic variations of Creation, the more astonished we were.

August 14th. Cloudy.

Today we were sailing across the middle of the Bay of Bengal. On the north coast of this bay lies Calcutta, one of India's most important ports.

The Japanese, having been inspired by Westerners to embark on voyages, now depart for Europe in droves, entirely ignoring India and the southern seas.