PELICAN SHOOTING. -- GALES. -- WRESTLING WITH DEATH.
The large estuary of the Swan affords ample scope for boating or
sailing in small pleasure-yachts.
Perth water, on the northern bank of which the capital is built,
extends from two to three miles in length, and about the same
distance in its broadest part, its form being that of a half moon.
It is connected with Melville water by an opening of a quarter of a
mile across. Melville water is some six miles long, and from three
to four broad; a splendid bay, called Freshwater Bay, developes
itself at the western extremity of this fine sheet of water; and the
river, or estuary, here makes a turn at right angles, and pursues its
course towards the sea between high precipitous rocks of marine
limestone, which are from six to seven hundred yards apart.
My pleasure-boat has enabled me to pass many agreeable hours upon
this estuary.
At first, especially, it was exceedingly pleasant to make expeditions
for the purpose of exploring the different bays and inlets, which
abounded with ducks, swans, and pelicans.
My youngest brother and myself would frequently rise at a good hour,
and having supplied our little vessel with a stock of provisions, and
a few bottles of ale or other drinkables, hoist the sails, and bear
away upon a cruise. The warm dry air, tempered by the sea-breeze,
made boating exceedingly pleasant; and as we often touched at gardens
situated at the mouth of the Canning, or on the shores of Melville
water, and procured a basket of grapes, or peaches and melons, we
managed to lunch luxuriously, having first cast anchor and bathed.
Many readers must have felt the excitement experienced by young
sportsmen when they have the luck to fall in with some bird or
animal not previously known to them. Every one remembers the
delight with which, when a boy, he shot his first wood-pigeon, or
lay in ambush behind a hedge for an old crow.
When first we beheld a group of huge tall birds, standing lazily in
the sunshine upon a sand-spit which ran far into Melville water, we
could scarcely believe our eyes that these were really live pelicans;
and it was not only with intense interest, but with feelings of
self-reproach, that we drew nigh with hostile intentions to birds
which in the days of our boyhood, when visiting Mr. Wombwell's
menagerie, had filled us with awe and reverence, as creatures that
were wont to evince the depth of parental devotion by feeding their
young with their own blood.
Our first overt act of hostility against the pelicans was
unsuccessful. The sea-breeze was blowing strong, and we had to beat
out against it close-hauled; just as we made the last board, and were
bearing down upon the enemy, the huge, heavy birds, awakening from
the siesta "with a start," raised their heads and looked about them.
Then the foremost began to flap his long wings, and lift himself on
tip-toe, whilst the others followed his example; and soon they were
all heavily skimming along the surface of the water, trying to launch
themselves fairly into the upward air; and having at length
succeeded, they rose higher and higher in wide gyrations. The leader
seemed resolved to hide himself in the distant blue of the cloudless
heavens; and upward -- up, up, up -- they continued to mount, going
round, and round, and round, in lessening circles -- whilst the
spectator gazed in wonder at the slowly diminishing specks, that were
almost lost in ether; and at length, moving slowly towards the east
-- the unknown, mysterious wilderness -- they altogether faded away.
We have heard of eagles soaring into the sun, but I doubt whether
even they could soar much higher, or look much grander, than the
noble pelican of the desert.
The sheets were eased off, the long boom of the graceful
sliding-gunter (a kind of latteen) sail, stretched far over the
gun-wale of the boat, which slipped along easily and rapidly through
the water, the rolling waves heaving up her stern, and sending her
forward with a gentle impulse. We were opening the broad mouth of
the Canning, when Meliboeus pointed out two other pelicans fishing
in-shore on the lee-bow. Gently we edged away towards them;
Meliboeus standing before the mast with his double-barrel ready, and
motioning to me how to steer, as the main-sail hid the birds from my
view.
They perceived us, and began to swim along shore at a rapid rate; the
water was shoaling fast, and we greatly feared they would escape, but
still we held on. The majestic birds rose slowly from the water, one
following the other, and made towards the Canning. "I'll let fly at
them" cried Meliboeus, in an intense whisper, "luff up! --
hard-a-lee!" The helm was jammed down, and the sheet hauled in; the
boat luffed into the wind, and became stationary, only bobbing upon
the waves, whilst her sails shivered and rattled in the breeze.
Meliboeus fired -- and the hindmost bird declined gradually towards
the water; its long wings became fixed and motionless at their widest
stretch, and slowly it sank down upon its heaving death-bed. Loud
shouted the sportsman; and momentary envy filled the heart of him who
steered.
Away goes the boat before the freshening breeze, and soon it dashes
past the body of the pelican, which is seized by the ready Meliboeus,
and with great difficulty hauled on board. A shot had penetrated to
its brain and killed it instantaneously. The wind up the Canning was
nearly abeam, and we dashed through the deep and narrow passage
called Hell's Gates, and held on till we came to the foot of a steep
and rounded hill, Mount Henry. The river here turns at right angles,
sweeping round the base of the hill, and leaving a broad and deep bay
called Bull's Creek, to the southward. This is a famous spot for
ducks and swans, and many a pleasant bivouac have I formed near it,
waiting for early morn when the birds are busy feeding. As we
rounded Mount Henry, we observed a large slate-coloured bird lazily
flying across the river ahead of us. The Canning is here about four
hundred yards broad, widening occasionally to a quarter of a mile.
The wind was now right aft, and we soon came upon the line of the
bird, which appeared to be a crested crane. The boom was topped-up
in a moment, the jib-sheet let fly, and the boat's nose ran crashing
through the sedges which in this part fringed the bank. The crane
had alighted on the very summit of a straight and lofty tree, and
there she sat, unconscious of the danger at hand.
Too much excited to care for any obstacles, and with eyes ever fixed
upon the game, I tore my way through brambles, thickets, water and
mud, until with no little difficulty I arrived at ground free from
underwood. The bird was still sitting patiently on her lofty perch,
and my heart beat anxiously with hope that I should be able to creep
within shot. What a moment of interest! It is still vivid in the
memory, with all its doubts and fears and wildly-beating hopes. The
crane seemed preparing to fly. Death! I felt nearly distracted with
apprehension. The interest and excitement became intense. I crept
from tree to tree, and whenever I thought I was observed, stood
motionless. My eye-balls became dry and hard with incessant gazing.
I feared to wink lest she should be gone. She extended her wings! I
bounded forward. She was just off, and barely within reach, as I
fired; a single number two shot struck her pinion, and down she
tumbled to the ground with a glorious wallop.
A loud shout from Meliboeus, who had sat in the boat scarcely daring
to breathe, proclaimed the presence of a witness to my triumph.
Since then I have shot cranes without emotion or much feeling of
interest.
Boating, as an amusement, ought only to be followed during the summer
months, from the 1st of October to the 1st of April. In the winter
season there are extremely violent gales of wind from the north-west,
that sometimes last for three days together. Their arrival is
generally foretold by the rapid falling of the barometer; and at
Perth it is almost always preceded by the rising of the estuary. A
singular storm visited the district of Australind in the night of the
17th June, 1842. It crossed the Leschenault estuary, and entered the
forest, making a lane through the trees from three to four hundred
yards wide. In this lane, which extended for many miles, nothing was
left standing but the stumps of trees; whilst the trees on either
wide of the land stood up like a wall and were perfectly uninjured.
The storm in its course, which was in a direct line from N.W. to S.E.
levelled the trees in the valleys as well as those on the hills. Its
effects were not like those of a whirlwind, when trees appear twisted
round, and scattered in every direction; in this lane the young
healthy trees, which were generally broken off about two or three
yards from the ground, all lay in the same direction.
Twice have I nearly paid dearly for my rashness in boating. My boat
was once capsized in a moment in a squall, and Hannibal and myself
were soused in the water before we knew what had happened. I caught
hold of the bilge of the boat, and nearly drowned myself with
laughing at the Son of Amilcar, who was splashing about shrieking
with terror, and swallowing quarts of salt-water, as his open mouth
popped every moment under a wave. In vain I called to him to come to
me, and lay hold of the boat; he could neither see nor hear, and
would have soon joined his illustrious namesake in the Elysian
fields, had I not managed to throw the bight of a rope round his
neck, and towed him within reach, when I held him up by the collar of
his jacket (ducking him under water occasionally to make him cease
from howling) until we were rescued by a fishing-boat.
One day, the 11th April, 1843, feeling disposed to take my book on
the water and enjoy the calm air, I embarked by myself -- a most
unusual occurrence, as I scarcely ever went out alone. What little
wind there was blew down the estuary, but only gently ruffled the
waters; and my boat glided noiselessly before it. A couple of hours
took me to the farther extremity of Melville water, and here it fell
calm. I now began to feel uncomfortable, for the air was close, and
dark clouds appeared rising in the north-west. The wind began to
blow in gusts; a sudden puff, curling the waters, would strike the
boat and make her heel over until her gunwale kissed the wave, as
with a sudden start she rushed forward under the impulse of the
blast. I was now making homeward. The heavens became black with
angry clouds; the wind first sighed and moaned like a reluctant
Spirit driven forth to fulfil its task of evil, feeling something of
remorse at crimes foreshadowed and inevitable; and then working
itself into fury, as though it would stifle thought, and crush out
the germ of pity, the Wind in its might and rage rushed roaring over
the waters, making the foam fly before it, and tearing up the face of
the estuary into rugged lines of wild tumultuous waves. The little
bark vainly strove to keep her head to the storm, which bore her down
until the water poured over the gunwale.
It was about six o'clock in the evening, and darkness, hurried on
prematurely by the tempest, spread suddenly around. The waves, as if
trying to leap beyond the reach of some internal agony, rolled high
above my head, as the "Fair Maid of Perth" sank hopelessly in the
deep channel, with rocking mast and shivering sails. But not yet
submerged, she rose again, and fronted the storm, struggling
desperately to reach the northern shore, which was not far distant.
But the skies grew blacker still; the storm became a hurricane; the
wind roared so loud that no voice of human agony or despair might be
heard above its tremendous fury; the waves grew higher and mightier,
and became rushing hills of water, overwhelming, irresistible. To
me, quailing in my frail bark, in all the consciousness of
helplessness and ruin, it seemed as though the winds and the waves
were really sentient beings combining to overwhelm me, and increasing
their efforts the more I struggled.
This is no fiction that I am relating, but a reality that happened to
myself, and which it would be impossible to exaggerate. Never shall
I forget the last tremendous wave that came down upon me, impelled by
a maddening gust which whirled tearing along through the wild air,
and scooping its deep passage through the waters. In vain was the
jib-sheet let fly; in vain did I luff into the wind. I could not
quit the helm, and therefore was unable to lower the sail which in
that hurricane could not have been got in easily, and in the meantime
the boat, breaking off from the wind, would have been swamped. I was
so near the shore that I hoped still to reach it, the wind being
abeam, in the course of a few minutes. But nothing could withstand
the last wave and blast. The boat lurched, and broke off. Hurled on
her beam-ends, the boom was in the water; the waves rushed over the
side; she struggled bravely, and tried to right herself; but after
staggering forwards a few seconds, the weight of the in-rushing water
bore her down, and she slowly fell over on her side. The sensation
was by no means pleasant. I felt her going, without being able to
prevent it. I glanced around for aid or hope; but there was neither.
I could see nothing but waves, and hear nothing but the roaring
blast. The shore was close to me, but the high waves, and the
darkness of the hurricane, prevented my discerning even the tops of
the trees. As the boat capsized, I kicked off my shoes and threw off
my coat and waistcoat, and seizing the main-sheet, let myself down in
the water, trying to find bottom, but there was none within reach.
I struck out towards the shore, but the ablest swimmer that ever swam
could have made no progress against that sea, and I could scarcely
swim at all.
I scrambled back to the boat, which now lay on her side, level with
the surface. On getting upon her, you may conceive -- but no! you
cannot -- the horror of the moment, as I felt her gradually go down
-- sink, sinking beneath me. All now seemed over. My time had
arrived; my last moment was come. I collected my thoughts, and
prepared for it.
I did not feel so much terror as I should have anticipated in such
a scene. Death seemed inevitable, and I nerved myself, and prayed.
All the past did NOT press upon me at this moment, in this death-
struggle, as some readers may imagine. I thought not of my sins, nor
of my friends, nor of time misspent and work left undone -- my whole
mind was absorbed in the sense of DEATH and FUTURITY. The glances,
rather than the thoughts which shot across my soul, seemed like
revealings of immortality. My sensations were mixed of horror and
hope; the CHANGE from the old to the new Life seemed beginning
within me. It might have been excess of terror, but I did not feel
terrified. I felt that all was over, and there was no room for the
anguish that arises from doubt. All struggling was vain, and though
in tumult and horror, I yet felt resigned. The World of Time was
past, and new being was at hand.
Such is the memory which I must ever bear of the hour when (yet
vigorous and full of Life) I was held in the arms of Death.
The boat went down. The waves rushed over me; the enemy held me by
the throat, and seemed to press me into the opening grave. Even as
the light faded from my eyes, and the Spirit waited for that quick,
sharp touch of the dart which should free it from the bonds of mortal
life, I perceived the stem of the boat rising slowly out of the
waves, whilst the stern was borne down by my weight.
Instinctively I swam forward, and got upon another part of the boat.
Down it went again; and as the water dashed against my face, I saw
the stern now rising up, whilst the stem plunged down into the depths
below. I scrambled amidships; the sea and the wind struck her, and
she rolled heavily over, righting herself for a moment, with her mast
and sail erect; but soon she lay on her larboard side, deep in the
water. I had been washed off her, but clung to the main-sheet, and
so got back again. I now held on to the side with one hand, whilst I
managed to strip off all my clothes except my shirt and flannel
waistcoat, first taking my knife out of my pocket. With this I tried
to cut away the stays which held the mast in its place, hoping that
it would then fall out, and relieve the boat of the sails which
weighed her down so low in the water. Most fortunately I had not
sand-ballast, in tarred bags, as most of our pleasure-boats had, but
water-ballast in breakers, which now proved no additional burthen to
the boat. It was also fortunate that she was built partly of deal,
and had only her lower streaks of jarra wood, which does not float.
The blade of the knife, which was only a pen-knife, soon broke, and I
was obliged to give up the attempt to remove the sails. Still the
hurricane blew on, wild and terrible as ever; the spray washed over
me like rain; the waves dashed me repeatedly from the boat, which was
whirled and tossed about in a strange manner; sometimes rolling
completely over, sometimes going down head, and sometimes stern
foremost, I had to scramble from part to part, and exercise a good
deal of agility in saving myself from being struck by the gunwale, or
by the boom and sail, as they rose from the water and fell back again.
And now I could see but small prospect of being eventually saved.
The only chance was that the boat would drift, in the course of time,
across the estuary, here nearly four miles broad. Then I tried, and
for a long time vainly, to ascertain whether she drifted at all. The
anchor, with about five-and-twenty feet of cable, had doubtless
fallen out, and the boat was probably stationary. Night had set in,
and it was too dark to distinguish even the shore with its forest of
trees. These gales sometimes continue three days, and I knew it
would be impossible to exist many hours immersed in water. I dreaded
lest I should become benumbed and unable to hold on to the boat.
In order to keep up circulation as much as possible, I shouted aloud,
and rubbed my breast and thighs with my disengaged hand.
Some dark object was on the water near me. It moved; it came quickly
towards me. I could just discern that it was a whale-boat containing
several men. It had no sails or oars, yet it flew before the blast.
I shouted and screamed as it went by, not twenty yards from me; and
the men turned their heads and waved their arms, and doubtless
answered, but the gale roared with unabated fury, the waves
intercepted them from my sight, and I could not hear their voices.*
[footnote] *These men were about a mile and a half astern of me, when
the hurricane began, and tried to pull in shore; but just as they
thought to have reached it, one of their oars broke, and being now
helpless, they were obliged to scud before the wind. By good fortune
they were carried up the Canning, where they remained all night.
The moon had now risen, and the clouds were partially dispersed, so
that I could at length distinguish the woods on the weather-shore;
and I could see the weary waste of waters over which I must drift
before I could possibly be saved.
Sometimes the wind blew with lessened violence, and I could sit upon
the submerged bilge of the boat, and consider my state and prospects.
After long observation, I felt assured that the boat did really
drift, but it was very slowly; and I feared that as we approached the
other shore, her anchor must inevitably bring her up in twenty-five
feet water, and that nothing could save me from perishing of cold.
It never occurred to me during this memorable night, that when I set
sail in the afternoon I had shortened the cable to about five feet in
length, in order the more easily to trip the anchor. This was one of
the circumstances, providentially ordered, that tended to save my
life.
Some miles down the estuary I could distinguish a light in the house
at Point Walter, high placed on a steep bank; there two of my friends
were at that moment carousing, whilst I was being buffetted by waves
and tempest, and fearing that the saturated sails and heavy wood at
length would sink the unfortunate boat to the bottom. I yet could
scarcely hope to escape; my mind was still made up to die, and I
tranquilly awaited the event.
The moon had now made half of her journey across the heavens; the
wind had moderated, and I redoubled my exertions to keep off the cold
by shouting and rubbing myself. My flannel-shirt was another
instrument of safety to me. It felt warm to my body though the waves
poured continually over it.
The outline of the forest on the lee side of the estuary was now
distinguishable, and hope would have been rife within me but for the
expectation of finding myself anchored fast at a fatal distance from
the shore.
Every thing appeared so indistinct in the gloom of the night, that I
could not guess how far I was from land; and it was with surprise, as
well as delight and gratitude, that I felt the boat bump against the
sand. Oh that first bump, which told me of safety and deliverance
after five hours of incessant peril! Shall I ever forget the thrill
of delight which it gave me? I could scarcely credit my senses, and
put down my benumbed feet with doubt; but they rested on the sand --
real, hard, blessed terra firma! and without delay I waded through
the water to the beach.
The wind had now fallen, and it began to rain.
I was on the edge of a thick wilderness of forest, without any house
within reach -- the nearest was some miles distant, and to reach it
in the dark, and without shoes, through swamps and thickets was
almost impossible.
The Canning River was about half-a-mile from me, and on the farther
side of it was a settler's house; but though I might reach the bank
of the river, I could not hope to make myself heard half a mile off,
amid the howling of the dying storm, and by people fast asleep.
There was nothing for it, therefore, but to make myself as
comfortable as possible, and remain where I was until morning.
Fortunately, I recollected having seen the ruins of a goat-shed not
far distant, when I had landed on this spot with my gun two or three
months before. With some difficulty, and some pain to my feet from
thorns, I discovered this relic of a hovel. Part of the roof was yet
entire, and sheltered me from the wind.
The door was lying inside, and this I made my bed. Then, having
wrung out my shirt and flannel-waistcoat, and returned thanks to the
Almighty for preserving a life not, perhaps, sufficiently prized by
the owner, I lay down completely exhausted and fell asleep.
Awaking at daylight, I started off through the woods, stiff and
hoarse with cold, but light of heart; and having reached the Canning,
succeeded at last in making myself heard by the farmer opposite, who
took me across in his boat, breakfasted me, and lent me his clothes,
and finally conveyed me to Perth, where I found my friends preparing
to go in search of my body.