As we moved away from the 'Yorkshire,' with a good bundle of
newspapers and the other articles signalled for, and looked back upon
our ship, she really looked a grand object on the waters. The sun
shone full upon her majestic hull, her bright copper now and then
showing as she slowly rose and sank on the long swell. Above all were
her towers of white canvas, standing out in relief against the
leaden-coloured sky. Altogether, I don't think I have ever seen a more
magnificent sight. As we parted from the ship, the hundred or more
people on board gave us a ringing cheer.

Our men now pulled with a will towards the still-distant ship. As we
neared her, we observed that she must have encountered very heavy
weather, as part of her foremast and mainmast had been carried away.
Her sides looked dirty and worn, and all her ironwork was rusty, as if
she had been a long time at sea. She proved to be the 'Lord Raglan,'
of about 800 tons, bound from Bankok, in Siam, to Yarmouth.

The captain was delighted to see us, and gave us a most cordial
welcome. He was really a very nice fellow, and was kindness itself.
He took us down to his cabin, and treated us to Chinese beer and
cigars. The place was cheerful and comfortable-looking, and fitted up
with Indian and Chinese curiosities; yet I could scarcely reconcile
myself to living there. There was a dreadful fusty smell about, which,
I am told, is peculiar to Indian and Chinese ships. The vessel was
laden with rice, and the fusty heat which came up from below was
something awful.

The 'Lord Raglan' had been nearly two years from London. She had run
from London to Hong-Kong, and had since been engaged in trading
between there and Siam. She was now eighty-three days from Bankok. In
this voyage she had encountered some very heavy weather, in which she
had sprung her foremast, which was now spliced up all round. What
struck me was the lightness of her spars and the smallness of her
sails, compared with ours. Although her mainmast is as tall, it is not
so thick as our mizen, and her spars are very slender above the first
top. Yet the 'Raglan,' in her best days, used to be one of the crack
Melbourne clipper ships.

The kindly-natured captain was most loth to let us go. It was almost
distressing to see the expedients he adopted to keep us with him for a
few minutes longer. But it was fast growing dusk, and in the tropics
it darkens almost suddenly; so we were at last obliged to tear
ourselves away, and leave him with his soap, milk, and newspapers. He,
on his part, sent by us a twenty-pound chest of tea, as a present for
the chief mate (who was with us) and the captain. As we left the
ship's side we gave the master and crew of the 'Raglan' a hearty
"three times three." All this while the two vessels had been lying
nearly becalmed, so that we had not a very long pull before we were
safely back on board our ship.

For about five days we lie nearly idle, making very little progress,
almost on the Line. The trade-winds have entirely left us. The heat is
tremendous--130В° in the sun; and at midday, when the sun is right
overhead, it is difficult to keep the deck. Towards evening the
coolness is very pleasant; and when rain falls, as it can only fall in
the tropics, we rush out to enjoy the bath. We assume the thinnest of
_bizarre_ costumes, and stand still under the torrent, or vary the
pleasure by emptying buckets over each other.

We are now in lat. 0В° 22', close upon the Equator. Though our sails
are set, we are not sailing, but only floating: indeed, we seem to be
drifting. On looking round the horizon, I count no fewer than sixteen
ships in sight, all in the same plight as ourselves. We are drawn
together by an under-current or eddy, though scarcely a breath of wind
is stirring. We did not, however, speak any of the ships, most of them
being comparatively distant.

We cross the Line about 8 P.M. on the twentieth day from Plymouth. We
have certainly had a very fine run thus far, slow though our progress
now is, for we are only going at the rate of about a mile an hour; but
when we have got a little further south, we expect to get out of the
tropical calms and catch the southeast trade-winds.

On the day following, the 24th March, a breeze sprang up, and we made
a run of 187 miles. We have now passed the greatest heat, and shortly
expect cooler weather. Our spirits rise with the breeze, and we again
begin to think of getting up some entertainments on board; for, though
we have run some 4,800 miles from Plymouth, we have still some fifty
days before us ere we expect to see Melbourne.

One thing that strikes me much is the magnificence of the tropical
sunsets. The clouds assume all sorts of fantastic shapes, and appear
more solid and clearly defined than I have ever seen before. Towards
evening they seem to float in colour--purple, pink, red, and yellow
alternately--while the sky near the setting sun seems of a beautiful
green, gradually melting into the blue sky above. The great clouds on
the horizon look like mountains tipped with gold and fiery red. One of
these sunsets was a wonderful sight. The sun went down into the sea
between two enormous clouds--the only ones to be seen--and they blazed
with the brilliant colours I have described, which were constantly
changing, until the clouds stood out in dark relief against the still
delicately-tinted sky. I got up frequently to see the sun rise, but in
the tropics it is not nearly so fine at its rising as at its setting.

A ship was announced as being in sight, with a signal flying to speak
with us. We were sailing along under a favourable breeze, but our
captain put the ship about and waited for the stranger. It proved to
be a Yankee whaler. When the captain came on board, he said "he
guessed he only wanted newspapers." Our skipper was in a "roaring wax"
at being stopped in his course for such a trivial matter, but he said
nothing. The whaler had been out four years, and her last port was
Honolulu in the Sandwich Islands. The Yankee captain, amongst other
things, wanted to know if Grant was President, and if the 'Alabama'
question was settled; he was interested in the latter question, as the
'Alabama' had burnt one of his ships. He did not seem very comfortable
while on board, and when he had got his papers he took his leave. I
could not help admiring the whale-boat in which he was rowed back to
his own vessel. It was a beautiful little thing, though dirty; but, it
had doubtless seen much service. It was exquisitely modelled, and the
two seamen in the little craft handled it to perfection. How they
contrived to stand up in it quite steady, while the boat, sometimes
apparently half out of the water, kept rising and falling on the long
ocean-swell, seemed to me little short of marvellous.




CHAPTER IV.

THE 'BLUE JACKET.'

APRIL FOOLS' DAY--A SHIP IN SIGHT--THE 'PYRMONT'--THE RESCUED 'BLUE
JACKET' PASSENGERS--STORY OF THE BURNT SHIP--SUFFERING OF THE LADY
PASSENGERS IN AN OPEN BOAT--THEIR RESCUE--DISTRESSING SCENE ON BOARD
THE 'PYRMONT.'


_1st. April_.--I was roused early this morning by the cry outside of
"Get up! get up! There is a ship on fire ahead!" I got up instantly,
dressed, and hastened on deck, like many more. But there was no ship
on fire; and then we laughed, and remembered that it was All Fools'
Day.

In the course of the forenoon we descried a sail, and shortly after we
observed that she was bearing down upon us. The cry of "Letters for
home!" was raised, and we hastened below to scribble a few last words,
close our letters, and bring them up for the letter-bag.

By this time the strange ship had drawn considerably nearer, and we
saw that she was a barque, heavily laden. She proved to be the
'Pyrmont,' a German vessel belonging to Hamburg, but now bound for
Yarmouth from Iquique, with a cargo of saltpetre on board. When she
came near enough to speak to us, our captain asked, "What do you
want?" The answer was, "'Blue Jacket' burnt at sea; her passengers on
board. Have you a doctor?" Here was a sensation! Our April Fools'
alarm was true after all. A vessel _had_ been on fire, and here were
the poor passengers asking for help. We knew nothing of the 'Blue
Jacket,' but soon we were to know all.

A boat was at once lowered from the davits, and went off with the
doctor and the first mate. It was a hazy, sultry, tropical day, with a
very slight breeze stirring, and very little sea. Our main-yard was
backed to prevent our further progress, and both ships lay-to within a
short distance of each other. We watched our boat until we saw the
doctor and officer mount the 'Pyrmont,' and then waited for further
intelligence.

Shortly after we saw our boat leaving the ship's side, and as it
approached we observed that it contained some strangers, as well as
our doctor, who had returned for medicines, lint, and other
appliances. When the strangers reached the deck we found that one of
them was the first officer of the unfortunate 'Blue Jacket,' and the
other one of the burnt-out passengers. The latter, poor fellow, looked
a piteous sight. He had nothing on but a shirt and pair of trowsers;
his hair was matted, his face haggard, his eyes sunken. He was without
shoes, and his feet were so sore that he could scarcely walk without
support.

And yet it turned out that this poor suffering fellow was one of the
best-conditioned of those who had been saved from the burnt ship. He
told us how that the whole of the fellow-passengers whom he had just
left on board the 'Pyrmont' wanted clothes, shirts, and shoes, and
were in a wretched state, having been tossed about at sea in an open
boat for about nine days, during which they had suffered the
extremities of cold, thirst, and hunger.

We were horrified by the appearance, and still more by the recital, of
the poor fellow. Every moment he astonished us by new details of
horror. But it was of no use listening to more. We felt we must do
something. All the passengers at once bestirred themselves, and went
into their cabins to seek out any clothing they could spare for the
relief of the sufferers. I found I could give trowsers, shirts, a pair
of drawers, a blanket, and several pocket-handkerchiefs; and as the
other passengers did likewise, a very fair bundle was soon made up and
sent on board the 'Pyrmont.'

Of course we were all eager to know something of the details of the
calamity which had befallen the 'Blue Jacket.' It was some time before
we learnt them all; but as two of the passengers--who had been
gold-diggers in New Zealand--were so good as to write out a statement
for the doctor, the original of which now lies before me, I will
endeavour, in as few words as I can, to give you some idea of the
burning of the ship and the horrible sufferings of the passengers.

The 'Blue Jacket' sailed from Port Lyttleton, New Zealand, for London
on the 13th February, 1869, laden with wool, cotton, flax, and 15,000
ounces of gold. There were seven first-cabin passengers and seventeen
second-cabin. The ship had a fine run to Cape Horn and past the
Falkland Islands. All went well until the 9th March, when in latitude
50В° 26' south, one of the seamen, about midday, observed smoke issuing
from the fore-hatchhouse. The cargo was on fire! All haste was made to
extinguish it. The fire-engines were set to work, passengers as well
as crew working with a will, and at one time it seemed as if the fire
would be got under. The hatch was opened and the second mate attempted
to go down, with the object of getting up and throwing overboard the
burning bales, but he was drawn back insensible. The hatch was again
closed, and holes were cut in the deck to pass the water down; but the
seat of the fire could not be reached. The cutter was lowered,
together with the two lifeboats, for use in case of need. About 7.30
P.M. the fire burst through the decks, and in about half an hour the
whole forecastle was enveloped in flames, which ran up the rigging,
licking up the foresail and fore-top. The mainmast being of iron, the
flames rushed through the tube as through a chimney, until it became
of a white heat. The lady-passengers in the after part of the ship
must have been kept in a state of total ignorance of the ship's
danger, otherwise it is impossible to account for their having to rush
on board the boats, at the last moment, with only the dresses they
wore. Only a few minutes before they left the ship, one of the ladies
was playing the 'Guards' Waltz on the cabin piano!

There was no hope of safety but in the boats, which were hurriedly got
into. On deck, everything was in a state of confusion. Most of the
passengers got into the cutter, but without a seaman to take charge
of it. When the water-cask was lowered, it was sent bung downwards,
and nearly half the water was lost. By this time the burning ship was
a grand but fearful sight, and the roar of the flames was frightful to
hear. At length the cutter and the two lifeboats got away, and as they
floated astern the people in them saw the masts disappear one by one
and the hull of the ship a roaring mass of fire.

In the early grey of the morning the three boats mustered, and two of
the passengers, who were on one of the lifeboats, were taken on board
the cutter. It now contained 37 persons, including the captain, first
officer, doctor, steward, purser, several able-bodied seamen, and all
the passengers; while the two lifeboats had 31 of the crew. The boats
drifted about all day, there being no wind, and the burning ship was
still in sight. On the third day the lifeboats were not to be seen;
each had a box of gold on board, by way of ballast.

A light breeze having sprung up, sail was made on the cutter, the
captain intending to run for the Falkland Islands. The sufferings of
the passengers increased from day to day; they soon ran short of
water, until the day's allowance was reduced to about two
tablespoonfuls for each person. It was pitiful to hear the little
children calling for more, but it could not be given them: men, women,
and children had to share alike. Provisions failed. The biscuit had
been spoiled by the salt water; all that remained in the way of food,
was preserved meat, which was soon exhausted, after which the only
allowance, besides the two tablespoonfuls of water, was a
tablespoonful of preserved soup every twenty-four hours. Meanwhile the
wind freshened, the sea rose, and the waves came dashing over the
passengers, completely drenching them. The poor ladies, thinly clad,
looked the pictures of misery.

Thus seven days passed--days of slow agony, such as words cannot
describe--until at last the joyous words, "A sail! a sail," roused the
sufferers to new life. A man was sent to the masthead with a red
blanket to hoist by way of signal of distress. The ship saw the signal
and bore down upon the cutter. She proved to be the 'Pyrmont,' the
ship lying within sight of us, and between which and the 'Yorkshire'
our boat kept plying for the greater part of the day.

Strange to say, the rescued people suffered more after they had got on
board the 'Pyrmont' than they had done during their period of
starvation and exposure. Few of them could stand or walk when taken on
board, all being reduced to the last stage of weakness. Scarcely had
they reached the 'Pyrmont' ere the third steward died; next day the
ship's purser died insane; and two days after, one of the second-cabin
passengers died. The others, who recovered, broke out in sores and
boils, more particularly on their hands and feet; and when the
'Yorkshire' met them, many of the passengers as well as the crew of
the burnt 'Blue Jacket' were in a most pitiable plight.

I put off with the third boat which left our ship's side for the
'Pyrmont.' We were lying nearly becalmed all this time, so that
passing between the ships by boat was comparatively easy. We took with
us as much fresh water as we could spare, together with provisions and
other stores. I carried with me a few spare books for the use of the
'Blue Jacket' passengers.

On reaching the deck of the 'Pyrmont,' the scene which presented
itself was such as I think I shall never forget. The three rescued
ladies were on the poop; and ladies you could see they were, in spite
of their scanty and dishevelled garments. The dress of one of them
consisted of a common striped man's shirt, a waterproof cloak made
into a skirt, and a pair of coarse canvas slippers, while on her
finger glittered a magnificent diamond ring. The other ladies were no
better dressed, and none of them had any covering for the head. Their
faces bore distinct traces of the sufferings they had undergone. Their
eyes were sunken, their cheeks pale, and every now and then a sort of
spasmodic twitch seemed to pass over their features. One of them could
just stand, but could not walk; the others were comparatively
helpless. A gentleman was lying close by the ladies, still suffering
grievously in his hands and feet from the effects of his long exposure
in the open boat, while one side of his body was completely paralysed.
One poor little boy could not move, and the doctor said he must lose
one or two of his toes through mortification.

One of the ladies was the wife of the passenger gentleman who had
first come on board of our ship. She was a young lady, newly married,
who had just set out on her wedding trip. What a terrible beginning of
married life! I found she had suffered more than the others through
her devotion to her husband. He was, at one time, constantly employed
in baling the boat, and would often have given way but for her. She
insisted on his taking half her allowance of water, so that he had
three tablespoonfuls daily instead of two; whereas she had only one!

While in the boat the women and children were forced to sit huddled up
at one end of it, covered with a blanket, the seas constantly breaking
over them and soaking through everything. They had to sit upright, and
in very cramped postures, for fear of capsizing the boat; and the
little sleep they got could only be snatched sitting. Yet they bore
their privations with great courage and patience, and while the men
were complaining and swearing, the women and children never uttered a
complaint.

I had a long talk with the ladies, whom I found very resigned and most
grateful for their deliverance. I presented my books, which were
thankfully received, and the newly-married lady, forgetful of her
miseries, talked pleasantly and intelligently about current topics,
and home news. It did seem strange for me to be sitting on the deck of
the 'Pyrmont,' in the middle of the Atlantic, talking with these
shipwrecked ladies about the last new novel!

At last we took our leave, laden with thanks, and returned on board
our ship. It was now growing dusk. We had done all that we could for
the help of the poor sufferers on board the 'Pyrmont,' and, a light
breeze springing up, all sail was set, and we resumed our voyage
south.

Two of the gold-diggers, who had been second-class passengers by the
'Blue Jacket,' came on board our ship with the object of returning
with us to Melbourne, and it is from their recital that I have
collated the above account of the disaster.




CHAPTER V.

IN THE SOUTH ATLANTIC.

PREPARING FOR ROUGH WEATHER--THE 'GEORGE THOMPSON' CLIPPER--A RACE AT
SEA--SCENE FROM 'PICKWICK' ACTED--FISHING FOR ALBATROSS--DISSECTION
AND DIVISION OF THE BIRD--WHALES--STRONG GALE--SMASH IN THE
CABIN--SHIPPING A GREEN SEA--THE SEA BIRDS IN OUR WAKE--THE CROZET
ISLANDS.


_11th April_.--We are now past the pleasantest part of our voyage, and
expect to encounter much rougher seas. Everything is accordingly
prepared for heavy weather. The best and newest sails are bent; the
old and worn ones are sent below. We may have to encounter storms or
even cyclones in the Southern Ocean, and our captain is now ready for
any wind that may blow. For some days we have had a very heavy swell
coming up from the south, as if there were strong winds blowing in
that quarter. We have, indeed, already had a taste of dirty weather
to-day--hard rain, with a stiffish breeze; but as the ship is still
going with the wind and sea, we do not as yet feel much inconvenience.

A few days since, we spoke a vessel that we had been gradually coming
up to for some time, and she proved to be the 'George Thompson,' a
splendid Aberdeen-built clipper, one of the fastest ships out of
London. No sooner was this known, than it became a matter of great
interest as to whether we could overhaul the clipper. Our ship,
because of the height and strength of her spars, enables us to carry
much more sail, and we are probably equal to the other ship in lighter
breezes; but she, being clipper-built and so much sharper, has the
advantage of us in heavier winds. The captain was overjoyed at having
gained upon the other vessel thus far, for she left London five days
before we sailed from Plymouth. As we gradually drew nearer, the
breeze freshened, and there became quite an exciting contest between
the ships. We gained upon our rival, caught up to her, and gradually
forged ahead, and at sundown the 'George Thompson' was about six miles
astern. Before we caught up to her she signalled to us, by way of
chaff, "Signal us at Lloyd's!" and when we had passed her, we
signalled back, "We wish you a good voyage!"

The wind having freshened during the night, the 'George Thompson' was
seen gradually creeping up to us with all her sail set. The wind was
on our beam, and the 'George Thompson's' dark green hull seemed to us
sometimes almost buried in the sea, and we only saw her slanting deck
as she heeled over from the freshening breeze. What a cloud of canvas
she carried! The spray flew up and over her decks, as she plunged
right through the water.

The day advanced; she continued to gain, and towards evening she
passed on our weather-side. The captain, of course, was savage; but
the race was not lost yet. On the following day, with a lighter wind,
we again overhauled our rival, and at night left her four or five
miles behind. Next day she was not to be seen. We had thus far
completely outstripped the noted clipper.[1]

We again begin to reconsider the question of giving a popular
entertainment on board. The ordinary recreations of quoit-playing, and
such like, have become unpopular, and a little variety is wanted. A
reading from 'Pickwick' is suggested; but cannot we contrive to _act_
a few of the scenes! We determine to get up three of the most
attractive:--1st. The surprise of Mrs. Bardell in Pickwick's arms;
2nd. The notice of action from Dodson and Fogg; and 3rd. The Trial
scene. A great deal of time is, of course, occupied in getting up the
scenes, and in the rehearsals, which occasion a good deal of
amusement. A London gentleman promises to make a capital Sam Weller;
our clergyman a very good Buzfuz; and our worthy young doctor the
great Pickwick himself.

At length all is ready, and the affair comes off in the main-hatch,
where there is plenty of room. The theatre is rigged out with flags,
and looks quite gay. The passengers of all classes assemble, and make
a goodly company. The whole thing went off very well--indeed, much
better than was expected--though I do not think the third-class
passengers quite appreciated the wit of the piece. Strange to say,
the greatest success of the evening was the one least expected--the
character of Mrs. Cluppins. One of the middies who took the part, was
splendid, and evoked roars of laughter.

Our success has made us ambitious, and we think of getting up another
piece--a burlesque, entitled 'Sir Dagobert and the Dragon,' from one
of my Beeton's 'Annuals.' There is not much in it; but, _faute de
mieux_, it may do very well. But to revert to less "towny" and much
more interesting matters passing on board.

We were in about the latitude of the Cape of Good Hope when we saw our
first albatross; but as we proceeded south, we were attended by
increasing numbers of those birds as well as of Mother Carey's
chickens, the storm-birds of the South Seas. The albatross is a
splendid bird, white on the breast and the inside of the wings, the
rest of the body being deep brown and black.

One of the most popular amusements is "fishing" for an albatross,
which is done in the following manner. A long and stout line is let
out, with a strong hook at the end baited with a piece of meat, buoyed
up with corks. This is allowed to trail on the water at the stern of
the ship. One or other of the sea-birds wheeling about, seeing the
floating object in the water, comes up, eyes it askance, and perhaps
at length clumsily flops down beside it. The line is at once let out,
so that the bait may not drag after the ship. If this be done
cleverly, and there be length enough of line to let out quickly, the
bird probably makes a snatch at the meat, and the hook catches hold of
his curved bill. Directly he grabs at the pork, and it is felt that
the albatross is hooked, the letting out of the line is at once
stopped, and it is hauled in with all speed. The great thing is to
pull quickly, so as to prevent the bird getting the opportunity of
spreading his wings, and making a heavy struggle as he comes along on
the surface of the water. It is a good heavy pull for two men to get
up an albatross if the ship is going at any speed. The poor fellow,
when hauled on deck, is no longer the royal bird that he seemed when
circling above our heads with his great wings spread out only a few
minutes ago. Here he is quite helpless, and tries to waddle about like
a great goose; the first thing he often does being to void all the
contents of his stomach, as if he were seasick.

The first albatross we caught was not a very large one, being only
about ten feet from tip to tip of the wings; whereas the larger birds
measure from twelve to thirteen feet. The bird, when caught, was held
firmly down, and despatched by the doctor with the aid of prussic
acid. He was then cut up, and his skin, for the sake of the feathers
and plumage, divided amongst us. The head and neck fell to my share,
and, after cleaning and dressing it, I hung my treasure by a string
out of my cabin-window; but, when I next went to look at it, lo! the
string had been cut, and my albatross's head and neck were gone.

All day the saloon and various cabins smelt very fishy by reason of
the operations connected with the dissecting and cleaning of the
several parts of the albatross. One was making a pipe-stem out of one
of the long wing-bones. Another was making a tobacco pouch out of the
large feet of the bird. The doctor's cabin was like a butcher's shop
in these bird-catching times. Part of his floor would be occupied by
the bloody skin of the great bird, stretched out upon boards, with the
doctor on his knees beside it working away with his dissecting
scissors and pincers, getting the large pieces of fat off the skin.
Esculapius seemed quite to relish the operation; whilst, on the other
hand the clergyman, who occupied the same cabin, held his handkerchief
to his nose, and regarded the dГ©bris of flesh and feathers on the
floor with horror and dismay.

Other birds, of a kind we had not before seen shortly made their
appearance, flying round the ship. There is, for instance, the
whale-bird, perfectly black on the top of the wings and body, and
white underneath. It is, in size, between a Mother Carey and a
Molly-hawk, which latter is very nearly as big as an albatross.
Ice-birds and Cape-pigeons also fly about us in numbers; the latter
are about the size of ordinary pigeons, black, mottled with white on
the back, and grey on the breast.

A still more interesting sight was that of a great grampus, which rose
close to the ship, exposing his body as he leapt through a wave.
Shortly after, a few more were seen at a greater distance, as if
playing about and gambolling for our amusement.

_17th April_.--The weather is growing sensibly colder. Instead of
broiling under cover, in the thinnest of garments, we now revert to
our winter clothing for comfort. Towards night the wind rose, and
gradually increased until it blew a heavy gale, so strong that all the
sails had to be taken in--all but the foresail and the main-topsail
closely reefed. Luckily for us, the wind was nearly aft, so that we
did not feel its effects nearly so much as if it had been on our beam.
Tonight we rounded the Cape, twenty-four days from the Line and
forty-five from Plymouth.

On the following day the wind was still blowing hard. When I went on
deck in the morning, I found that the mainsail had been split up the
middle, and carried away with a loud bang to sea. The ship was now
under mizen-topsail, close-reefed main-topsail, and fore-topsail and
foresail, no new mainsail having been bent. The sea was a splendid
sight. Waves, like low mountains, came rolling after us, breaking
along each side of the ship. I was a personal sufferer by the gale. I
had scarcely got on deck when the wind whisked off my Scotch cap with
the silver thistle in it, and blew it away to sea. Then, in going down
to my cabin, I found my books, boxes, and furniture lurching about;
and, to wind up with, during the evening I was rolled over while
sitting on one of the cuddy chairs, and broke it. Truly a day full of
small misfortunes for me!

In the night I was awakened by the noise and the violent rolling of
the ship. The mizen-mast strained and creaked; chairs had broken loose
in the saloon; crockery was knocking about and smashing up in the
steward's pantry. In the cabin adjoining, the water-can and bath were
rambling up and down; and in the midst of all the hubbub the Major
could be heard shouting, "Two to one on the water-can!" "They were
just taking the fences," he said. There were few but had some mishap
in their cabins. One had a hunt after a box that had broken loose;
another was lamenting the necessity of getting up after his
washhand-basin and placing his legs in peril outside his bunk. Before
breakfast I went on deck to look at the scene. It was still blowing a
gale. We were under topsails and mainsail, with a close-reefed
top-sail on the mizen-mast. The sight from the poop is splendid. At
one moment we were high up on the top of a wave, looking into a deep
valley behind us; at another we were down in the trough of the sea,
with an enormous wall of water coming after us. The pure light-green
waves were crested with foam, which curled over and over, and never
stopped rolling. The deck lay over at a dreadful slant to a landsman's
eye; indeed, notwithstanding holding on to everything I could catch, I
fell four times during the morning.

With difficulty I reached the saloon, where the passengers had
assembled for breakfast. Scarcely had we taken out seats when an
enormous sea struck the ship, landed on the poop, dashed in the saloon
skylight, and flooded the table with water. This was a bad event for
those who had not had their breakfast. As I was mounting the cuddy
stairs, I met the captain coming down thoroughly soaked. He had been
knocked down, and had to hold on by a chain to prevent himself being
washed about the deck. The officer of the watch afterwards told me
that he had seen his head bobbing up and down amidst the water, of
which there were tons on the poop.

This was what they call "shipping a green sea,"--so called because so
much water is thrown upon the deck that it ceases to have the frothy
appearance of smaller seas when shipped, but looks a mass of solid
green water. Our skipper afterwards told us at dinner that the captain
of the 'Essex' had not long ago been thrown by such a sea on to one of
the hen-coops that run round the poop, breaking through the iron bars,
and that he had been so bruised that he had not yet entirely recovered
from his injuries. Such is the tremendous force of water in violent
motion at sea.[2]

When I went on deck again, the wind had somewhat abated, but the sea
was still very heavy. While on the poop, one enormous wave came
rolling on after us, seeming as if it must engulf the ship. But the
stern rose gradually and gracefully as the huge wave came on, and it
rolled along, bubbling over the sides of the main-deck, and leaving it
about two feet deep in water. As the day wore on the wind gradually
went down, and it seemed as if we were to have another spell of fine
weather.

[Illustration: (Map of the Ship's Course, Plymouth to Melbourne)]

Next morning the sun shone clear; the wind had nearly died away,
though a heavy swell still crossed our quarter. Thousands of sea-birds
flew about us, and clusters were to be seen off our stern, as far as
the eye could reach. They seemed, though on a much larger scale, to be
hanging upon our track, just as a flock of crows hang over the track
of a plough in the field, and doubtless for the same reason--to pick
up the food thrown up by the mighty keel of our ship. Most of them
were ice-birds, blue petrels, and whale-birds, with a large admixture
of albatrosses and Mother Carey's chickens. One of the passengers
caught and killed one of the last-named birds, at which the captain
was rather displeased, the sailors having a superstition about these
birds, that it is unlucky to kill them. An ice-bird was caught, and a
very pretty bird it is, almost pure white, with delicate blue feet and
beak. Another caught a Cape pigeon, and I caught a stink-pot, a large
bird measuring about eight feet from wing to wing. The bird was very
plucky when got on deck, and tried to peck at us; but we soon had him
down. As his plumage was of no use, we fastened a small tin-plate to
his leg, with 'Yorkshire' scratched on it, and let him go. But it was
some time before he rose from his waddling on the deck, spread his
wings, and sailed into the air.

Some of the passengers carry on shooting at the numerous birds from
the stern of the ship; but it is cruel sport. It may be fun to us, but
it is death to the birds. And not always death. Poor things! It is a
pitiful sight to see one of them, pricked or winged, floating away
with its wounds upon it, until quite out of sight. Such sport seems
cruel, if it be not cowardly.

_23rd April_.--We are now in latitude 45.16В° south, and the captain
tells us that during the night we may probably sight the Crozet
Islands. It seems that these islands are inaccurately marked on the
charts, some of even the best authorities putting them from one and a
half to two degrees out both in latitude and longitude, as the captain
showed us by a late edition of a standard work on navigation. Once he
came pretty well south on purpose to sight them; but when he reached
the precise latitude in which, according to his authority, they were
situated, they were not to be seen.

At 8 P.M. the man on the look-out gave the cry of "Land ho!" "Where
away?" "On the lee beam." I strained my eyes in the direction
indicated, but could make out nothing like land. I could see
absolutely nothing but water all round. Two hours passed before I
could discern anything which could give one the idea of land--three
small, misty, cloud-looking objects, lying far off to the south, which
were said to be the islands. In about an hour more we were within
about five miles of Les ApГґtres, part of the group, having passed
Cochon in the distance. Cochon is so called because of the number of
wild pigs on the island. The largest, Possession Island, gave refuge
to the shipwrecked crew of a whaler for about two years, when they
were at length picked off by a passing ship. The Crozets are of
volcanic origin, and some of them present a curious, conical, and
sometimes fantastic appearance, more particularly Les ApГґtres. The
greater number of them are quite barren, the only vegetation of the
others consisting of a few low stunted bushes.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: It may, however, be added, that though we did not again
sight the 'George Thompson' during our voyage, she arrived at
Melbourne about forty-eight hours before our ship.]

[Footnote 2: Mr. G. Stevenson registered a force of three tons per
square foot at Skerryvore during a gale in the Atlantic, when the
waves were supposed to be twenty feet high.]




CHAPTER VI.

NEARING AUSTRALIA--THE LANDING.

ACTING ON BOARD--THE CYCLONE--CLEANING THE SHIP FOR PORT--CONTRARY
WINDS--AUSTRALIA IN SIGHT--CAPE OTWAY--PORT PHILLIP HEADS--PILOT TAKEN
ON BOARD--INSIDE THE HEADS--WILLIAMSTOWN--SANDRIDGE--THE LANDING.


More theatricals! 'Sir Dagobert and the Dragon' is played, and comes
off very well. The extemporised dresses and "properties" are the most
amusing of all. The company next proceed to get up 'Aladdin and the
Wonderful Scamp' to pass the time, which hangs heavy on our hands. We
now begin to long for the termination of our voyage. We have sailed
about 10,000 miles, but have still about 3000 more before us.

_30th April_.--To-day we have made the longest run since we left
Plymouth, not less than 290 miles in twenty-four hours. We have before
made 270, but then the sea was smooth, and the wind fair. Now the wind
is blowing hard on our beam, with a heavy sea running. About 3 P.M. we
sighted a barque steering at right angles to our course. In a short
time we came up with her, and found that she was the Dutch barque
'Vrede,' ninety-eight days from Amsterdam and bound for Batavia. She
crossed so close to our stern that one might almost have pitched a
biscuit on board.

During the night the sea rose, the wind blowing strong across our
beam, and the ship pitched and rolled as she is said never to have
done since she was built. There was not much sleep for us that night.
The wind increased to a strong gale, until at length it blew quite a
hurricane. It was scarcely possible to stand on deck. The wind felt as
if it blew solid. The ship was driving furiously along under
close-reefed topsails. Looking over the side, one could only see the
black waves, crested with foam, scudding past.

It appears that we are now in a cyclone--not in the worst part of it,
but in the inner edge of the outside circle. Skilful navigators know
by experience how to make their way out of these furious ocean winds,
and our captain was equal to the emergency. In about seven hours we
were quite clear of it, though the wind blew fresh, and the ship
rolled heavily, the sea continuing for some time in a state of great
agitation.

For some days the wind keeps favourable, and our ship springs forward
as if she knew her port, and was eager to reach it. A few more days
and we may be in sight of Australia. We begin almost to count the
hours. In anticipation of our arrival, the usual testimonial to the
captain is set on foot, all being alike ready to bear testimony to his
courtesy and seamanship. On deck, the men began to holystone the
planks, polish up the brasswork, and make everything shipshape for
port. The middies are at work here on the poop, each "with a sharp
knife and a clear conscience," cutting away pieces of tarry rope. New
ratlines are being fastened up across the shrouds. The standing
rigging is re-tarred and shines black. The deck is fresh scraped as
well as the mizen-mast, and the white paint-pot has been used freely.

_9th May._--We are now in Australian waters, sailing along under the
lee of Cape Leeuwin, though the land is not yet in sight. Australian
birds are flying about our ship, unlike any we have yet seen. We beat
up against the wind which is blowing off the land, our yards slewed
right round. It is provoking to be so near the end of our voyage, and
blown back when almost in sight of port.

_14th May._--After four days of contrary wind, it changed again, and
we are now right for Melbourne. Our last theatrical performance came
off with great _Г©clat_. The captain gave his parting supper after the
performance; and the _menu_ was remarkable, considering that we had
been out eighty-one days from Gravesend. There were ducks, fowls,
tongues, hams, with lobster-salads, oyster pattГ©s, jellies,
blanc-manges, and dessert. Surely the art of preserving fresh meat and
comestibles must have nearly reached perfection. To wind up, songs
were sung, toasts proposed, and the captain's testimonial was
presented amidst great enthusiasm.

_18th May._--We sighted the Australian land to-day about thirteen
miles off Cape Otway. The excitement on board was very great; and no
wonder, after so long a voyage. Some were going home there, to rejoin
their families, relatives, and friends. Others were going there for
pleasure or for health. Perhaps the greater number regarded it as the
land of their choice--a sort of promised land--where they were to make
for themselves a home, and hoped to carve out for themselves a road to
competency if not to fortune.

We gradually neared the land, until we were only about five miles
distant from it. The clouds lay low on the sandy shore; the dark-green
scrub here and there reaching down almost to the water's edge. The
coast is finely undulating, hilly in some places, and well wooded.
Again we beat off the land, to round Cape Otway, whose light we see.
Early next morning we signal the lighthouse, and the news of our
approaching arrival will be forthwith telegraphed to Melbourne. The
wind, however, dies away when we are only about thirty miles from Port
Phillip Heads, and there we lie idly becalmed the whole afternoon, the
ship gently rolling in the light-blue water, the sails flapping
against the masts, or occasionally drawing half full, with a fitful
puff of wind. Our only occupation was to watch the shore, and with the
help of the telescope we could make out little wooden huts half hidden
in the trees, amidst patches of cultivated land. As the red sun set
over the dark-green hills, there sprang up the welcome evening breeze,
which again filled our canvas, and the wavelets licked the ship's
sides as she yielded to the wind, and at last sped us on to Port
Phillip.

At midnight we are in sight of the light at the entrance of the bay.
Then we are taken in tow by a tug, up to the Heads, where we wait
until sunrise for our pilot to come on board. The Heads are low necks
of sandy hillocks, one within another, that guard the entrance to the
extensive bay of Port Phillip. On one side is Point Lonsdale, and on
the other Point Nepean.

_21st May._--Our pilot comes on board early, and takes our ship in
charge. He is a curious-looking object, more like a Jew bailiff than
anything else I can think of, and very unlike an English "salt." But
the man seems to know his work, and away we go, tugged by our steamer.

A little inside the Heads, we are boarded by the quarantine officer,
who inquires as to the health of the ship, which is satisfactory, and
we proceed up the bay. Shortly after, we pass, on the west,
Queenscliffe, a pretty village built on a bit of abrupt headland, the
houses of which dot the green sward. The village church is a pleasant
object in the landscape. We curiously spy the land as we pass. By the
help of the telescope we can see signs of life on shore. We observe,
amongst other things, an early tradesman's cart, drawn by a
fast-trotting pony, driving along the road. More dwellings appear,
amidst a pretty, well cultivated, rolling landscape.

At length we lose sight of the shore, proceeding up the bay towards
Melbourne, which is nearly some 30 miles distant, and still below the
horizon. Sailing on, the tops of trees rise up; then low banks of
sand, flat tracts of bush, and, slightly elevated above them,
occasional tracts of clear yellow space. Gradually rising up in the
west, distant hills come in sight; and, towards the north, an
undulating region is described, stretching round the bay inland.

We now near the northern shore, and begin to perceive houses, and
ships, and spires. The port of Williamstown comes in sight, full of
shipping, as appears by the crowd of masts. Outside of it is Her
Majesty's ship 'Nelson,' lying at anchor. On the right is the village
or suburb of St. Kilda, and still further round is Brighton.
Sandridge, the landing-place of Melbourne, lies right ahead of us, and
over the masts of shipping we are pointed to a mass of houses in the
distance, tipped with spires and towers, and are told, "There is the
city of Melbourne!"

At 5 P.M. we were alongside the large wooden railway-pier of
Sandridge, and soon many of our fellow-passengers were in the arms of
their friends and relatives. Others, of whom I was one, had none to
welcome us; but, like the rest, I took my ticket for Melbourne, only
some three miles distant; and in the course of another quarter of an
hour I found myself safely landed in the great city of the Antipodes.

[Illustration: (View of Melbourne, Victoria)]




CHAPTER VII.

MELBOURNE.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF MELBOURNE--SURVEY OF THE CITY--THE
STREETS--COLLINS STREET--THE TRAFFIC--NEWNESS AND YOUNGNESS OF
MELBOURNE--ABSENCE OF BEGGARS--MELBOURNE AN ENGLISH CITY--THE CHINESE
QUARTER--THE PUBLIC LIBRARY--PENTRIDGE PRISON--THE YARRA RIVER--ST.
KILDA--SOCIAL EXPERIENCES IN MELBOURNE--A MARRIAGE BALL--MELBOURNE
LADIES--VISIT TO A SERIOUS FAMILY.


I arrive in Melbourne towards evening, and on stepping out of the
railway-train find myself amidst a glare of gas lamps. Outside the
station the streets are all lit up, the shops are brilliant with
light, and well-dressed people are moving briskly about.

What is this large building in Bourke Street, with the crowd standing
about? It is the Royal Theatre. A large stone-faced hall inside the
portico, surrounded by bars brilliantly lit, is filled with young men
in groups lounging about, talking and laughing. At the further end of
the vestibule are the entrances to the different parts of the house.

Further up the same street, I come upon a large market-place, in a
blaze of light, where crowds of people are moving about, buying
vegetables, fruit, meat, and such like. At the further end of the
street the din and bustle are less, and I see a large structure
standing in an open space, looking black against the starlit sky. I
afterwards find that it is the Parliament House.

Such is my first introduction to Melbourne. It is evidently a place
stirring with life. After strolling through some of the larger
streets, and everywhere observing the same indications of wealth, and
traffic, and population, I took the train for Sandridge, and slept a
good sound sleep in my bunk on board the 'Yorkshire' for the last
time.

Next morning I returned to Melbourne in the broad daylight, when I was
able to make a more deliberate survey of the city. I was struck by the
width and regularity of some of the larger streets, and by the
admirable manner in which they are paved and kept. The whole town
seems to have been laid out on a systematic plan, which some might
think even too regular and uniform. But the undulating nature of the
ground on which the city is built serves to correct this defect, if
defect it be.

The streets are mostly laid out at right angles; broad streets one
way, and alternate broad and narrow streets crossing them. Collins and
Bourke Streets are, perhaps, the finest. The view from the high
ground, at one end of Collins Street, looking down the hollow of the
road, and right away up the hill on the other side, is very striking.
This grand street, of great width, is probably not less than a mile
long. On either side are the principal bank buildings, tall and
handsome. Just a little way up the hill, on the further side, is a
magnificent white palace-like structure, with a richly ornamented
façade and tower. That is the New Town Hall. Higher up is a fine
church spire, and beyond it a red brick tower, pricked out with
yellow, standing in bold relief against the clear blue sky. You can
just see Bourke and Wills' monument there, in the centre of the
roadway. And at the very end of the perspective, the handsome grey
front of the Treasury bounds the view.

Amongst the peculiarities of the Melbourne streets are the deep, broad
stone gutters, on either side of the roadway, evidently intended for
the passage of a very large quantity of water in the rainy season.
They are so broad as to render it necessary to throw little wooden
bridges over them at the street-crossings. I was told that these open
gutters are considered by no means promotive of the health of the
inhabitants, which one can readily believe; and it is probable that
before long they will be covered up.

Walk over Collins and Bourke Street at nine or ten in the morning, and
you meet the business men of Melbourne on their way from the
railway-station to their offices in town: for the greater number of
them, as in London, live in the suburbs. The shops are all open,
everything looking bright and clean. Pass along the same streets in
the afternoon, and you will find gaily-dressed ladies flocking the
pathways. The shops are bustling with customers. There are many
private carriages to be seen, with two-wheeled cars, on which the
passengers sit back to back, these (with the omnibuses) being the
public conveyances of Melbourne. Collins Street may be regarded as the
favourite promenade; more particularly between three and four in the
afternoon, when shopping is merely the excuse of its numerous
fashionable frequenters.

One thing struck me especially--the very few old or grey-haired people
one meets with in the streets of Melbourne. They are mostly young
people; and there are comparatively few who have got beyond the middle
stage of life. And no wonder. For how young a city Melbourne is! Forty
years since there was not a house in the place.

Where the Melbourne University now stands, a few miserable Australian
blacks would meet and hold a corroboree; but, except it might be a
refugee bush-ranger from Sydney, there was not a white man in all
Victoria. The first settler, John Batman,[3] arrived in the harbour
of Port Phillip as recently as the year 1835, since which time the
colony has been planted, the city of Melbourne has been built, and
Victoria covered with farms, mines, towns, and people. When Sir Thomas
Mitchell first visited the colony in 1836, though comprehending an
area of more than a hundred thousand square miles, it did not contain
200 white people. In 1845 the population had grown to 32,000;
Melbourne had been founded, and was beginning to grow rapidly; now it
contains a population of about 200,000 souls, and is already the
greatest city in the Southern Hemisphere.