Walked with Sullivan and King to the coast near the Ramhead (Rame Head) and there saw a wild stormy sea breaking on the rocks. We passed through a village of the name of Corsan (Cawsand) one of the most curiously built places I ever saw. None of the streets are for thirty yards in the same straight line, and all so narrow that a cart certainly could not pass up them. It is situated in a very pretty little bay, which shelters numerous fishing and smugling boats from the sea. Our old enemy the SW Gale is whistling through the rigging: today it drove back a Brig which left Plymouth three weeks ago, so that we ought to be instead of being discontented, most thankful for remaining in our present snug anchorage.
The novelty of finding myself at home on board a ship is not as yet worn away, nor have I ceased to wonder at my extraordinary good fortune in obtaining what in the wildest castles in the air I never had even imagined. If it is desirable to see the world, what a rare and excellent opportunity this is.
It is necessary to have gone through the preparations for sea to be throughily aware what an arduous undertaking it is. It has fully explained to me the reasons so few people leave the beaten path of travellers.
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