"After the sea-ship, after the whistling winds,
After the white-grey sails, taut to their spars and ropes,
Below a myriad, myriad waves hastening, lifting up their necks,
Tending in ceaseless flow toward the track of the ship,
A motley procession with many a fleck of foam and many fragments,
Following the stately and rapid ship, in the wake following."
Whitman's _Leaves of Grass_.
Scene: The _Gloaming Star_ standing in towards the land, which looks
like a long low greenish cloud on the horizon. The sky is a burning
blue, the day is hot and sultry, and the pitch boils in the seams of the
deck. Land birds, some very pretty, and hosts of butterflies as large
as small fans, and surpassingly radiant in colour, are hovering about
the vessel. Medusae, like open umbrellas, and whose limbs seem studded
with gems, float around the ship, while now and than huge turtles can be
seen, each one as big and as broad as a blacksmith's bellows.
The log before me is so water-stained, so yellow with age, and so worn,
that I cannot make out--do what I may--the latitude and longitude of the
_Gloaming Star_ at this particular time. But from all I have read and
from all I know of these oceans and islands, I think the land now in
sight must have been either Tasmania itself or some of the isles not far
off. Seeing, on a nearer approach, no signs of a harbour, nor any deep
water, only the white foaming breakers booming on a low sandy beech; and
the green woods beyond, and the wind coming on to blow higher and higher
from the west, they put to sea again, and stood away still farther
north.
In the morning, land was in sight again, and not far off, and the coast
was rocky and wild; the wind, too, had gone down considerably, so sail
was made, and seeing a wide gap in the rocks they made for it, and found
themselves in an hour's time in a lovely wood-girt bay. But wood is too
tame a term to apply to it. Primeval forest is surely better. Never
before had any one on board beheld such wondrous trees, nor such a
wealth of vegetation. The ferns, which were of gigantic size, were a
special feature in this tree-scape, while immense climbing plants, with
gorgeous hanging flowers, made an intricate wildery of this forest land.
Great flocks of pigeons sometimes rose into the air, which they almost
darkened. Ibises grey and red sat and nodded on the rocks, looking like
rows of soldiers and riflemen, while the woods resounded with the cries
of strange birds and the chattering of innumerable monkeys.
Boats landed about noon, and came off laden with fruit, but they could
find no water that was not brackish.
An expedition was accordingly got up to go farther inland and search for
it. Both Leonard and Douglas went with it. They were fortunate enough
to find a running stream. The casks were filled, and after a rest, they
were preparing to return, when a wild war-whoop rent the air, and they
found themselves suddenly confronted by a dozen nearly naked savages,
armed with club, and spear, and shield. The march shore-wards, however,
was commenced, and carried out in perfect order, the natives following
slowly on after them, and threatening their rear. They grew bolder when
they noticed the intention of the men to embark with their casks.
Spears were thrown, and more than one man was wounded. Then Leonard and
Douglas lost their patience and fired. Two savages bit the dust. The
others stood as if petrified. They had evidently never heard of or seen
such a thing as a gun before. Then recovering themselves, with one
unearthly shriek they turned and fled away into the darkness of the
forest.
Nothing was to be gained by stopping here and fighting those dusky sons
of the woods, so anchor was got up that evening, and the _Gloaming Star_
resumed her voyage. Although the ship was still, to some extent, scarce
of water, they trusted to future good fortune, as brave sailors were in
the habit of doing in those days.
After coasting about for nearly a fortnight, with variable winds, land
breezes, sea breezes, and even half-gales, they found themselves one
forenoon once more approaching the land. The wind was fair, the day was
fine, and men were kept constantly in the chains lest, the water
suddenly shoaling, the vessel might get stranded.
There was plenty of dash and "go" about Captain Blunt, but no such thing
as rashness, a quality which in a commander is oftentimes fatal, and
involves the loss of many a gallant ship and thousands of lives
annually.
Strange birds such as they had never seen before kept constantly
wheeling and screaming around the vessel, and there were stranger
creatures still in the water. They had all heard of sea-serpents or of
_the_ sea-serpent, but here they were on this particular bank in scores
and in hundreds, gliding along in the water or floating in knots--
ugly-looking flat-tailed creatures, though of no great size. I have
heard of a lieutenant having been killed by the bite of one of these
strange snakes; at the same time I can hardly believe it. The story,
briefly told, is as follows:--