Ormon the Gulfer by John Arthur Barry

As I said before, since the day, now seven years ago, that my mate had left me to die at the bottom of the shaft on Wild Horse Creek, Fortune had been far from kind to me. For a time I had followed the sea; then, leaving it, I went on to the diggings again--west to Coolgardie, outside to New Guinea and Sud Est; but never more than making a living, and not too good a one at that.

And at last, stranded in Brisbane, I had shipped as quartermaster on a small London barque called the Ulundi that had put in for some repairs on a passage from Foo-Chow to Melbourne, with tea. From the latter we went to Colombo, thence to Port Elizabeth in South Africa, taking a cargo of coffee; loaded wool at the port; and had now come round to Capetown to fill up for home. As we lay in the bay, under the shadow of the mighty rock, our topsails loose, and cable up-and down, the captain was growling to the mate about the non-appearance of a passenger.