Arrival at Port Denison, Queensland--A lecture--Reminiscences of
Captain Cook--Lecturing for charity at Cooktown--A happy escape from a
coral reef--Home Island, Sunday Island, Bird Island--An American
pearl-fisherman--Jubilee at Thursday Island--A new ensign for the
_Spray_--Booby Island--Across the Indian Ocean--Christmas Island.
On the morning of the 26th Gloucester Island was close aboard, and the
_Spray_ anchored in the evening at Port Denison, where rests, on a
hill, the sweet little town of Bowen, the future watering place and
health-resort of Queensland. The country all about here had a
healthful appearance.
The harbor was easy of approach, spacious and safe, and afforded
excellent holding-ground. It was quiet in Bowen when the _Spray_
arrived, and the good people with an hour to throw away on the second
evening of her arrival came down to the School of Arts to talk about
the voyage, it being the latest event. It was duly advertised in the
two little papers, "Boomerang" and "Nully Nully," in the one the day
before the affair came off, and in the other the day after, which was
all the same to the editor, and, for that matter, it was the same to
me.
Besides this, circulars were distributed with a flourish, and the
"best bellman" in Australia was employed. But I could have keelhauled
the wretch, bell and all, when he came to the door of the little hotel
where my prospective audience and I were dining, and with his
clattering bell and fiendish yell made noises that would awake the
dead, all over the voyage of the _Spray_ from "Boston to Bowen, the
two Hubs in the cart-wheels of creation," as the "Boomerang" afterward
said.
Mr. Myles, magistrate, harbor-master, land commissioner, gold warden,
etc., was chairman, and introduced me, for what reason I never knew,
except to embarrass me with a sense of vain ostentation and embitter
my life, for Heaven knows I had met every person in town the first
hour ashore. I knew them all by name now, and they all knew me.
However, Mr. Myles was a good talker. Indeed, I tried to induce him to
go on and tell the story while I showed the pictures, but this he
refused to do. I may explain that it was a talk illustrated by
stereopticon. The views were good, but the lantern, a thirty-shilling
affair, was wretched, and had only an oil-lamp in it.
I sailed early the next morning before the papers came out, thinking
it best to do so. They each appeared with a favorable column, however,
of what they called a lecture, so I learned afterward, and they had a
kind word for the bellman besides.
From Port Denison the sloop ran before the constant trade-wind, and
made no stop at all, night or day, till she reached Cooktown, on the
Endeavor River, where she arrived Monday, May 31, 1897, before a
furious blast of wind encountered that day fifty miles down the coast.
On this parallel of latitude is the high ridge and backbone of the
tradewinds, which about Cooktown amount often to a hard gale.
I had been charged to navigate the route with extra care, and to feel
my way over the ground. The skilled officer of the royal navy who
advised me to take the Barrier Reef passage wrote me that H. M. S.
_Orlando_ steamed nights as well as days through it, but that I, under
sail, would jeopardize my vessel on coral reefs if I undertook to do
so.
Confidentially, it would have been no easy matter finding anchorage
every night. The hard work, too, of getting the sloop under way every
morning was finished, I had hoped, when she cleared the Strait of
Magellan. Besides that, the best of admiralty charts made it possible
to keep on sailing night and day. Indeed, with a fair wind, and in the
clear weather of that season, the way through the Barrier Reef
Channel, in all sincerity, was clearer than a highway in a busy city,
and by all odds less dangerous. But to any one contemplating the
voyage I would say, beware of reefs day or night, or, remaining on the
land, be wary still.
"The _Spray_ came flying into port like a bird," said the longshore
daily papers of Cooktown the morning after she arrived; "and it seemed
strange," they added, "that only one man could be seen on board
working the craft." The _Spray_ was doing her best, to be sure, for it
was near night, and she was in haste to find a perch before dark.
[Illustration: The _Spray_ leaving Sydney, Australia, in, the new suit
of sails given by Commodore Foy of Australia. (From a photograph.)]
Tacking inside of all the craft in port, I moored her at sunset nearly
abreast the Captain Cook monument, and next morning went ashore to
feast my eyes on the very stones the great navigator had seen, for I
was now on a seaman's consecrated ground. But there seemed a question
in Cooktown's mind as to the exact spot where his ship, the
_Endeavor_, hove down for repairs on her memorable voyage around the
world. Some said it was not at all at the place where the monument now
stood. A discussion of the subject was going on one morning where I
happened to be, and a young lady present, turning to me as one of some
authority in nautical matters, very flatteringly asked my opinion.
Well, I could see no reason why Captain Cook, if he made up his mind
to repair his ship inland, couldn't have dredged out a channel to the
place where the monument now stood, if he had a dredging-machine with
him, and afterward fill it up again; for Captain Cook could do 'most
anything, and nobody ever said that he hadn't a dredger along. The
young lady seemed to lean to my way of thinking, and following up the
story of the historical voyage, asked if I had visited the point
farther down the harbor where the great circumnavigator was murdered.
This took my breath, but a bright school-boy coming along relieved my
embarrassment, for, like all boys, seeing that information was wanted,
he volunteered to supply it. Said he: "Captain Cook wasn't murdered
'ere at all, ma'am; 'e was killed in Hafrica: a lion et 'im."
Here I was reminded of distressful days gone by. I think it was in
1866 that the old steamship _Soushay_, from Batavia for Sydney, put in
at Cooktown for scurvy-grass, as I always thought, and "incidentally"
to land mails. On her sick-list was my fevered self; and so I didn't
see the place till I came back on the _Spray_ thirty-one years later.
And now I saw coming into port the physical wrecks of miners from New
Guinea, destitute and dying. Many had died on the way and had been
buried at sea. He would have been a hardened wretch who could look on
and not try to do something for them.
The sympathy of all went out to these sufferers, but the little town
was already straitened from a long run on its benevolence. I thought
of the matter, of the lady's gift to me at Tasmania, which I had
promised myself I would keep only as a loan, but found now, to my
embarrassment, that I had invested the money. However, the good
Cooktown people wished to hear a story of the sea, and how the crew of
the _Spray_ fared when illness got aboard of her. Accordingly the
little Presbyterian church on the hill was opened for a conversation;
everybody talked, and they made a roaring success of it. Judge
Chester, the magistrate, was at the head of the gam, and so it was
bound to succeed. He it was who annexed the island of New Guinea to
Great Britain. "While I was about it," said he, "I annexed the
blooming lot of it." There was a ring in the statement pleasant to the
ear of an old voyager. However, the Germans made such a row over the
judge's mainsail haul that they got a share in the venture.
Well, I was now indebted to the miners of Cooktown for the great
privilege of adding a mite to a worthy cause, and to Judge Chester all
the town was indebted for a general good time. The matter standing so,
I sailed on June 6,1897, heading away for the north as before.
Arrived at a very inviting anchorage about sundown, the 7th, I came
to, for the night, abreast the Claremont light-ship. This was the only
time throughout the passage of the Barrier Reef Channel that the
_Spray_ anchored, except at Port Denison and at Endeavor River. On the
very night following this, however (the 8th), I regretted keenly, for
an instant, that I had not anchored before dark, as I might have done
easily under the lee of a coral reef. It happened in this way. The
_Spray_ had just passed M Reef light-ship, and left the light dipping
astern, when, going at full speed, with sheets off, she hit the M Reef
itself on the north end, where I expected to see a beacon.
She swung off quickly on her heel, however, and with one more bound on
a swell cut across the shoal point so quickly that I hardly knew how
it was done. The beacon wasn't there; at least, I didn't see it. I
hadn't time to look for it after she struck, and certainly it didn't
much matter then whether I saw it or not.
But this gave her a fine departure for Cape Greenville, the next point
ahead. I saw the ugly boulders under the sloop's keel as she flashed
over them, and I made a mental note of it that the letter M, for which
the reef was named, was the thirteenth one in our alphabet, and that
thirteen, as noted years before, was still my lucky number. The
natives of Cape Greenville are notoriously bad, and I was advised to
give them the go-by. Accordingly, from M Reef I steered outside of the
adjacent islands, to be on the safe side. Skipping along now, the
_Spray_ passed Home Island, off the pitch of the cape, soon after
midnight, and squared away on a westerly course. A short time later
she fell in with a steamer bound south, groping her way in the dark
and making the night dismal with her own black smoke.
From Home Island I made for Sunday Island, and bringing that abeam,
shortened sail, not wishing to make Bird Island, farther along, before
daylight, the wind being still fresh and the islands being low, with
dangers about them. Wednesday, June 9, 1897, at daylight, Bird Island
was dead ahead, distant two and a half miles, which I considered near
enough. A strong current was pressing the sloop forward. I did not
shorten sail too soon in the night! The first and only Australian
canoe seen on the voyage was encountered here standing from the
mainland, with a rag of sail set, bound for this island.
A long, slim fish that leaped on board in the night was found on deck
this morning. I had it for breakfast. The spry chap was no larger
around than a herring, which it resembled in every respect, except
that it was three times as long; but that was so much the better, for
I am rather fond of fresh herring, anyway. A great number of
fisher-birds were about this day, which was one of the pleasantest on
God's earth. The _Spray_, dancing over the waves, entered Albany Pass
as the sun drew low in the west over the hills of Australia.
At 7:30 P.M. the _Spray_, now through the pass, came to anchor in a
cove in the mainland, near a pearl-fisherman, called the _Tarawa_,
which was at anchor, her captain from the deck of his vessel directing
me to a berth. This done, he at once came on board to clasp hands. The
_Tarawa_ was a Californian, and Captain Jones, her master, was an
American.
On the following morning Captain Jones brought on board two pairs of
exquisite pearl shells, the most perfect ones I ever saw. They were
probably the best he had, for Jones was the heart-yarn of a sailor. He
assured me that if I would remain a few hours longer some friends from
Somerset, near by, would pay us all a visit, and one of the crew,
sorting shells on deck, "guessed" they would. The mate "guessed" so,
too. The friends came, as even the second mate and cook had "guessed"
they would. They were Mr. Jardine, stockman, famous throughout the
land, and his family. Mrs. Jardine was the niece of King Malietoa, and
cousin to the beautiful Faamu-Sami ("To make the sea burn"), who
visited the _Spray_ at Apia. Mr. Jardine was himself a fine specimen
of a Scotsman. With his little family about him, he was content to
live in this remote place, accumulating the comforts of life.
The fact of the _Tarawa_ having been built in America accounted for
the crew, boy Jim and all, being such good guessers. Strangely enough,
though, Captain Jones himself, the only American aboard, was never
heard to guess at all.
After a pleasant chat and good-by to the people of the _Tarawa,_ and
to Mr. and Mrs. Jardine, I again weighed anchor and stood across for
Thursday Island, now in plain view, mid-channel in Torres Strait,
where I arrived shortly after noon. Here the _Spray_ remained over
until June 24. Being the only American representative in port, this
tarry was imperative, for on the 22d was the Queen's diamond jubilee.
The two days over were, as sailors say, for "coming up."
Meanwhile I spent pleasant days about the island. Mr. Douglas,
resident magistrate, invited me on a cruise in his steamer one day
among the islands in Torres Strait. This being a scientific expedition
in charge of Professor Mason Bailey, botanist, we rambled over Friday
and Saturday islands, where I got a glimpse of botany. Miss Bailey,
the professor's daughter, accompanied the expedition, and told me of
many indigenous plants with long names.
The 22d was the great day on Thursday Island, for then we had not only
the jubilee, but a jubilee with a grand corroboree in it, Mr. Douglas
having brought some four hundred native warriors and their wives and
children across from the mainland to give the celebration the true
native touch, for when they do a thing on Thursday Island they do it
with a roar. The corroboree was, at any rate, a howling success. It
took place at night, and the performers, painted in fantastic colors,
danced or leaped about before a blazing fire. Some were rigged and
painted like birds and beasts, in which the emu and kangaroo were well
represented. One fellow leaped like a frog. Some had the human
skeleton painted on their bodies, while they jumped about
threateningly, spear in hand, ready to strike down some imaginary
enemy. The kangaroo hopped and danced with natural ease and grace,
making a fine figure. All kept time to music, vocal and instrumental,
the instruments (save the mark!) being bits of wood, which they beat
one against the other, and saucer-like bones, held in the palm of the
hands, which they knocked together, making a dull sound. It was a show
at once amusing, spectacular, and hideous.
The warrior aborigines that I saw in Queensland were for the most part
lithe and fairly well built, but they were stamped always with
repulsive features, and their women were, if possible, still more ill
favored.
I observed that on the day of the jubilee no foreign flag was waving
in the public grounds except the Stars and Stripes, which along with
the Union Jack guarded the gateway, and floated in many places, from
the tiniest to the standard size. Speaking to Mr. Douglas, I ventured
a remark on this compliment to my country. "Oh," said he, "this is a
family affair, and we do not consider the Stars and Stripes a foreign
flag." The _Spray_ of course flew her best bunting, and hoisted the
Jack as well as her own noble flag as high as she could.
On June 24 the _Spray_, well fitted in every way, sailed for the long
voyage ahead, down the Indian Ocean. Mr. Douglas gave her a flag as
she was leaving his island. The _Spray_ had now passed nearly all the
dangers of the Coral Sea and Torres Strait, which, indeed, were not a
few; and all ahead from this point was plain sailing and a straight
course. The trade-wind was still blowing fresh, and could be safely
counted on now down to the coast of Madagascar, if not beyond that,
for it was still early in the season.
I had no wish to arrive off the Cape of Good Hope before midsummer,
and it was now early winter. I had been off that cape once in July,
which was, of course, midwinter there. The stout ship I then commanded
encountered only fierce hurricanes, and she bore them ill. I wished
for no winter gales now. It was not that I feared them more, being in
the _Spray_ instead of a large ship, but that I preferred fine weather
in any case. It is true that one may encounter heavy gales off the
Cape of Good Hope at any season of the year, but in the summer they
are less frequent and do not continue so long. And so with time enough
before me to admit of a run ashore on the islands en route, I shaped
the course now for Keeling Cocos, atoll islands, distant twenty-seven
hundred miles. Taking a departure from Booby Island, which the sloop
passed early in the day, I decided to sight Timor on the way, an
island of high mountains.
Booby Island I had seen before, but only once, however, and that was
when in the steamship _Soushay_, on which I was "hove-down" in a
fever. When she steamed along this way I was well enough to crawl on
deck to look at Booby Island. Had I died for it, I would have seen
that island. In those days passing ships landed stores in a cave on
the island for shipwrecked and distressed wayfarers. Captain Airy of
the _Soushay_, a good man, sent a boat to the cave with his
contribution to the general store. The stores were landed in safety,
and the boat, returning, brought back from the improvised post-office
there a dozen or more letters, most of them left by whalemen, with the
request that the first homeward-bound ship would carry them along and
see to their mailing, which had been the custom of this strange postal
service for many years. Some of the letters brought back by our boat
were directed to New Bedford, and some to Fairhaven, Massachusetts.
There is a light to-day on Booby Island, and regular packet
communication with the rest of the world, and the beautiful
uncertainty of the fate of letters left there is a thing of the past.
I made no call at the little island, but standing close in, exchanged
signals with the keeper of the light. Sailing on, the sloop was at
once in the Arafura Sea, where for days she sailed in water milky
white and green and purple. It was my good fortune to enter the sea on
the last quarter of the moon, the advantage being that in the dark
nights I witnessed the phosphorescent light effect at night in its
greatest splendor. The sea, where the sloop disturbed it, seemed all
ablaze, so that by its light I could see the smallest articles on
deck, and her wake was a path of fire.
On the 25th of June the sloop was already clear of all the shoals and
dangers, and was sailing on a smooth sea as steadily as before, but
with speed somewhat slackened. I got out the flying-jib made at Juan
Fernandez, and set it as a spinnaker from the stoutest bamboo that
Mrs. Stevenson had given me at Samoa. The spinnaker pulled like a
sodger, and the bamboo holding its own, the _Spray_ mended her pace.
Several pigeons flying across to-day from Australia toward the islands
bent their course over the _Spray_. Smaller birds were seen flying in
the opposite direction. In the part of the Arafura that I came to
first, where it was shallow, sea-snakes writhed about on the surface
and tumbled over and over in the waves. As the sloop sailed farther
on, where the sea became deep, they disappeared. In the ocean, where
the water is blue, not one was ever seen.
In the days of serene weather there was not much to do but to read and
take rest on the _Spray_, to make up as much as possible for the rough
time off Cape Horn, which was not yet forgotten, and to forestall the
Cape of Good Hope by a store of ease. My sea journal was now much the
same from day to day-something like this of June 26 and 27, for
example:
June 26, in the morning, it is a bit squally; later in, the day
blowing a steady breeze.
On the log at noon is
130 miles
_Subtract_ correction for slip 10 "
---------
120 "
_Add_ for current 10 "
--------
130 "
Latitude by observation at noon, 10 degrees 23' S.
Longitude as per mark on the chart.
There wasn't much brain-work in that log, I'm sure. June 27 makes a
better showing, when all is told:
First of all, to-day, was a flying-fish on deck; fried it in butter.
133 miles on the log.
For slip, off, and for current, on, as per guess, about equal--let it
go at that.
Latitude by observation at noon, 10 degrees 25' S.
For several days now the _Spray_ sailed west on the parallel of 10
degrees 25' S., as true as a hair. If she deviated at all from that,
through the day or night,--and this may have happened,--she was back,
strangely enough, at noon, at the same latitude. But the greatest
science was in reckoning the longitude. My tin clock and only
timepiece had by this time lost its minute-hand, but after I boiled
her she told the hours, and that was near enough on a long stretch.
On the 2d of July the great island of Timor was in view away to the
nor'ard. On the following day I saw Dana Island, not far off, and a
breeze came up from the land at night, fragrant of the spices or what
not of the coast.
On the 11th, with all sail set and with the spinnaker still abroad,
Christmas Island, about noon, came into view one point on the
starboard bow. Before night it was abeam and distant two and a half
miles. The surface of the island appeared evenly rounded from the sea
to a considerable height in the center. In outline it was as smooth as
a fish, and a long ocean swell, rolling up, broke against the sides,
where it lay like a monster asleep, motionless on the sea. It seemed
to have the proportions of a whale, and as the sloop sailed along its
side to the part where the head would be, there was a nostril, even,
which was a blow-hole through a ledge of rock where every wave that
dashed threw up a shaft of water, lifelike and real.
It had been a long time since I last saw this island; but I remember
my temporary admiration for the captain of the ship I was then in, the
_Tawfore_, when he sang out one morning from the quarter-deck, well
aft, "Go aloft there, one of ye, with a pair of eyes, and see
Christmas Island." Sure enough, there the island was in sight from the
royal-yard. Captain M----had thus made a great hit, and he never got
over it. The chief mate, terror of us ordinaries in the ship, walking
never to windward of the captain, now took himself very humbly to
leeward altogether. When we arrived at Hong-Kong there was a letter in
the ship's mail for me. I was in the boat with the captain some hours
while he had it. But do you suppose he could hand a letter to a
seaman? No, indeed; not even to an ordinary seaman. When we got to the
ship he gave it to the first mate; the first mate gave it to the
second mate, and he laid it, michingly, on the capstan-head, where I
could get it.