Kitabı oku: «The Last Voyage: To India and Australia, in the 'Sunbeam'», sayfa 12

Friday, April 22nd.– Bad night; heavy squalls throughout the day. Made and rounded the Paternoster at 8 a. m. Much cooler on deck; no apparent difference below.

At noon we had come 174 miles under sail, and were in lat. 7° 56´ S., long. 116° 56´ E. In the afternoon we made the entrance to the Allas Strait.

The Strait of Allas is one of several navigable channels by which ships can pass from the confined waters of the Eastern Archipelago into the Indian Ocean. It divides the island of Sumbawa, famous for possessing the most active volcano in the world, from the island of Lombok. At the eastern end of Lombok, a magnificent peak rises to a height of 12,000 feet, and overshadows the narrow channel beneath with its imposing mass. The effects of scenery were enhanced by a sharp squall, which drove us into the strait at a thrilling speed, under half-lowered canvas. When the squall cleared away the peak of Lombok stood forth clear of cloud, in all its majesty and grandeur, backed by the glorious colours of the evening sky. During the hour of twilight a massive cloud rested motionless in the sky immediately above the peak. Beneath this lofty and imposing canopy, and seen more dimly in the fading light, this solitary mountain presented by turns every feature that is sublime and beautiful in landscape.

Saturday, April 23rd.– To-day proved lovely after the rain, but there was very little wind. At noon we had come 66 miles under steam, and 62 miles under sail. I have felt wretchedly ill for the last few days, and seem to have lost both sleep and appetite. The motion, I have no doubt, has something to do with my indisposition, for we are going close-hauled to a wind from one quarter, and there is a heavy swell on the other, so that we roll and tumble about a great deal without making much progress. Every scrap of the Macassar ice has melted in these three days, instead of lasting three weeks, as did the ice from Singapore. This is a terrible blow, though we are consoled by the thought that the weather will be getting cooler every day now, and that we shall therefore want it less. Unless exceptionally fortunate in making a quick passage, I fear, however, that we shall run short of provisions before reaching our first Australian port, Macassar having proved a miserable place at which to take in stores.

At 4.30 p. m. we found ourselves suddenly, without any warning, in a curiously disturbed stretch of sea. It was like a tidal wave, or a race off a headland, except that there was no tide and no cape, and we were many miles from land. I immediately thought of Wallace and the volcanic waves which he alludes to, especially when I observed that the water was covered with greenish yellow objects, which at a first hasty glance I took for spawn of some kind. We soon had buckets and nets over the side, and fished up some of the floating particles, which proved to be bits of pumice-stone, rounded by the action of the waves, and covered with barnacles from the size of a pin's head upwards. So thickly were they encrusted that it was almost impossible to recognise the original substance at all. The barnacles, with their long cirri projecting and retracting quickly in search of food, gave the whole mass an appearance of life and motion very curious when closely observed in a basin. There were sea-anemones among them, and one little bit of stick, of which a long black snake or worm had scooped out the interior and thus made itself a home. Saribowa, said to be one of the most active volcanoes, is not far distant from the spot where we picked up the pumice-stone.

It is a lovely, clear, starlight night, with no black clouds to threaten coming squalls of wind or rain. The breeze, though not so fair as we could wish, is at any rate cool and refreshing, and the reduced temperature is felt as a great relief to all on board. Even the poor carpenter, who has been ill for some time past, is beginning to look better, though his eyes are still very painful. I am sorry for him, poor man, and for ourselves too, for his services are wanted at every turn just now. We are making all ready for the bad weather, which we may fairly expect to meet with when once in mid-ocean. All the big boats have been got in-board to-day, chairs have been stowed below, the top of the deck-house cleared of lumber and live-stock, cracked panes of glass replaced, battening-down boards looked out, new ropes rove, and all preparations made for real hard sea work. How I wish we were going down the east coast of Australia, inside the barrier-reef, instead of down the stormy west coast! I dread this voyage somehow, and begin even to dislike sailing. Perhaps my depression is partly caused by that stupid boy Buzzo having allowed my favourite lark, which I had brought from Hyderabad, to escape to-day. He sang much more sweetly and softly than most larks, and was a dear little bird, almost as tame as my pet bullfinch. Now he must meet with a watery grave, for he was too far from land when he flew off to reach it.

Sunday, April 24th.– Weather still calm, fine, and hot, but no wind. Our little stock of coal is running very low, for we have been obliged to get up steam again. At 11.30 we had the Litany, at which I was able to be present, on deck. At noon we had steamed 127 miles, and were in lat. 11° 25´ S., long. 116° 39´ E. Tom is getting much better again, but is rather anxious at not having picked up the Trades so soon as he had expected. He now much regrets not having taken more coal and provisions on board, as he fears that the voyage may be unduly prolonged. We had quite a serious consultation to-day with the head-steward on the subject of ways and means, for the strictest economy must be practised as to food and water, and the most must be made of our coal. Oh for another twenty-five tons in reserve!

You may imagine what the heat has been during the last few weeks, when, with the thermometer standing at 80° to-day, people found it so chilly that they could not even wait until to-morrow to get out their warm clothes!

Monday, April 25th.– Fine and hot, with, alas! no wind. Ceased steaming for a brief space, but, as we made no progress, resumed after twenty minutes' pause. At noon we had come only eight miles under sail and 158 under steam, and were in lat. 13° 58´ S., and long. 114° 52´ E. The afternoon was showery, and hopes were entertained of a change of wind. A little breeze – a very little one – came out of the squalls, and we ceased steaming about six o'clock.

Tuesday, April 26th.– A breeze sprang up in the course of the night, and we ceased steaming at 8 a. m. In the shade, and in a draught, the thermometer stood at 77°. Everybody was – or at least many were – crying out for blankets and warmer clothing. The breeze increased almost to a gale, and we were close-hauled, with a heavy swell, which made us all very uncomfortable.

Wednesday, April 27th.– At 4 a. m. went on deck with Tom. Weather much finer and wind fairer. We must hope that yesterday's curious little moon may have changed our luck. All day it continued finer, and in the afternoon the wind freshened, and shifted a point or two for the better, sending us along, at higher speed and right on our course; so that we must not grumble, though the motion was still most unpleasant.

Thursday, April 28th.– I have been suffering much from neuralgia, and last night could not sleep at all, so that although this was really a lovely day I was unable to enjoy its pleasant beauty. At noon we had come 148 miles under sail, and were in lat. 18° 36´ S., long. 109° 26´ E. There was no variation in the compass to-day, this being one of the spots in the world where a similar state of things is observable.

At 5.30 p. m. we had the third nautical entertainment of the present voyage, which was quite as varied and successful as usual. Mr. Pemberton's recitation from Tennyson, and Tab's humorous account of Father Neptune's visit to the 'Sunbeam,' were the novelties on this occasion. There were also some excellent songs by the crew, a pretty ballad by Muriel, and a reading by Tom; Mabelle being as usual the backbone and leader of the whole affair. I managed to sit through it, though in great pain, but was obliged to go to bed directly after.

Friday, April 29th.– The weather is now really lovely. Painting and varnishing are still the order of the day. At noon we had sailed 143 miles, and were in lat. 20° 40´ S., long. 107° 52´ E. Again there was practically no variation in the compass, and if we only go far enough we shall soon have an extra day in one of our weeks!

Saturday, April 30th.– After a very bad night, during which I suffered agonies from neuralgia, I woke feeling somewhat better. We are now bowling along before a brisk trade-wind, which produces a certain amount of motion, though the vessel is fairly steady on the whole. At noon we had sailed 162 miles, and were in lat. 22° 32´ S., long. 105° 53´ E. The wind freshened in the afternoon as usual, but died away slightly during the night, which was beautifully clear and starlit. Everybody is full of spirits, and I hear cheery voices on deck with the least little bit of envy, I fear, as I lie in my bed below.

Sunday, May 1st.– The merry month of May does not commence very auspiciously, with a dirty grey sky, a still dirtier grey sea flopping up on our weather bow, and half a gale blowing. Fortunately it is from the right direction, and we make good progress.

I was able to attend the Litany at 11.30, and evening service at 4. At noon we had sailed 153 miles, and were in lat. 24° 39´ S., long. 104° 14´ E., and were fairly out of the tropics. In fact, everybody is now grumbling at the cold, and all the animals and birds look miserable, although the thermometer still stands at 69° in the shade. Perhaps the fresh breeze makes us so chilly, though it does not affect the thermometer.

Monday, May 2nd.– The weather is finer, though it still keeps squally; but the wind is baffling, and we were sailing a good deal out of our course during the night. At noon we were in lat. 26° 44´ S., long. 103° 50´ E. I managed to go to the deck-house to-day for lunch, and remained on deck a little afterwards. Just before sunset we saw several sea-birds, and a splendid albatross with a magnificent spread of wing. It was wonderful to watch its quick turns and graceful skimming flight, so swift, and yet with hardly any perceptible movement.

Tuesday, May 3rd.– A fine day, very smooth, almost calm. Carried away the strop of the mizen-topsail-sheet block and rove new sheets. At noon we had sailed 140 miles, and were in lat. 28° 54´ S., long. 103° 12´ E.

At 2.30 a large fish was observed close to the vessel. He was from twenty to thirty feet long, and must have been either a white whale or a shark swimming on his back, and so snowy white as to make the sea, which was of a beautiful clear ultramarine blue, look pale green above him, like water over a coral reef. The creature did not rise above the surface, so we had not a good view of him, and he gave no sign of a disposition to 'blow,' though we watched him for more than half an hour. This makes me think that he must have been a shark, and not a whale, as the others assumed.

At 4 p. m. the fires were lighted in order to enable us to get within the influence of the true west wind, for we had reached the edge of the trades. About 6 p. m. we commenced steaming.

Wednesday, May 4th.– A fine day, with a moderate sea and a little imaginary breeze. At noon we had come eighty-six miles under steam and forty under sail, and were in lat. 30° 24´ S., long. 124° 26´ E. The temperature at noon in the shade was 65°, which we found very cold.

At 4 p. m. we saw a steamer hull down. In about an hour we had approached each other sufficiently close to enable us to ascertain that she was the 'Liguria,' one of the Orient Line, bound for Adelaide. We exchanged a little conversation with signal flags, and, having mutually wished each other a pleasant voyage, parted company. This was the first ship seen since leaving Macassar. The evening bitterly cold.

We have just seen a splendid lunar rainbow, and I suspect it forebodes a good deal more wind than we have lately had. It was perfect in shape, and the brilliant prismatic colours were most distinctly marked. I never saw such a rainbow, except as the precursor of a circular storm. I only hope that, should we encounter such a gale now, we may get into the right corner of it, and that it will be travelling in the right direction. I wish it would come in time to run up our weekly average to a thousand miles by midday.

Thursday, May 5th.– At 5 a. m. I was awakened by being nearly washed out of bed on one side and by a deluge of water coming into the cabin on the other. A squall had struck us, and we were tearing along with the lee rail under water, the rain meanwhile pouring down in torrents. The squall soon passed over, but there was every appearance of the wind increasing, though the barometer still stood high. Squall followed squall in quick succession, the wind increasing in force, and the sea rapidly rising. It soon became plain that we were in for a gale of some kind, and a very little later it became equally evident that, in accordance with the law of storms, we must be in the north-west quadrant of a circular storm, the centre of the disturbance being somewhere to the south-east. Sails were furled, others were reefed, and all was made fairly snug.

At noon we had run 136 miles to the north-east since the early morning, but we had not quite reached our estimated weekly average of a thousand miles. At noon we were in lat. 31° 29´ S., long. 105° 48´ E., with Cape Entrecasteaux 546 miles distant. The barometer stood at 30·10, and the temperature fell to 60°.

Several times during the morning the lee cutter had been in imminent danger of being lifted right out of the davits and carried away. About two o'clock the topmasts were struck; an hour later the skylights were covered over with tarpaulin, and a good deal of battening down took place on deck. Below, the stewards were employed in tautening up things which had been allowed to get rather slack during the long spell of smooth weather which we have had of late, nothing like a storm having been encountered for weeks, or indeed months.

Before dusk the lee cutter was got in-board, more reefs were taken in, all was made snug on deck, and I might say stuffy below. Shortly after this was accomplished we sailed out of the influence of the storm, the centre travelling quickly away to the south-east of us. Thereupon we shook out one or two reefs and set a mizen trysail to prevent the fine weather lops coming on board; for the sea was beginning to go faster than the wind, and one or two big beads of spray found their way on deck, one of which, much to their amusement, drenched the children completely. The glass continued to rise, and the weather improved throughout the night.

Friday, May 6th.– I was indeed delighted when, at dawn, it was thought safe to let us have a little light and air down below. Soon the sun rose, and all became bright and beautiful once more, though the air felt extremely chilly. We were now well on our course, but sailing pretty close to the wind, and therefore only doing about five or six knots. Continual squalls struck us throughout the day, and the sea was very lumpy from the effects of yesterday's gale, though the wind had almost completely subsided. What there was of it gradually headed us in the course of the afternoon, which did not tend to make things more comfortable; though the children at any rate did not seem to mind it, for they have entirely got over their slight sea-sickness. At noon we had sailed 138 miles, and were in lat. 32° 28´ N., long. 108° 6´ E.; the barometer stood at 30·10, and the temperature was still 60°.

Sunday, May 8th.– Woke early, only to hear that the wind had changed; but it proved a lovely morning, though the sky was covered with fleeting clouds, which made it difficult for the navigators to get the sun. We had the Litany at 11.30, and at noon were in lat. 34° 47´ S., long. 113° 54´ E., having run 201 miles. The temperature had risen to 63°, and the barometer stood at 30·19.

Tom has been deeply immersed in calculations all this afternoon, the best of the three chronometers on board, by Dent, having behaved in a very erratic manner since we got into a cooler temperature. On the other hand, the chronometer of Brockbank & Atkins, which has hitherto been regarded as not quite so reliable, is making up for past shortcomings by a spell of good conduct. Under these circumstances, it is difficult to know which to depend upon, and Tom is consequently somewhat anxious about his landfall. The weather has been so squally and overcast that no really good sights have been obtained all day.

At noon we had only come 194 miles by dead-reckoning. Observation proved that we had been helped onwards by a favouring current, and had really come 201 miles. We had evening service at 4.30 p. m. During the afternoon we saw many more sea-birds, and several albatrosses. It was a fine evening, the wind having dropped rather light. In the middle watch, however, it became squally.

CHAPTER X.
WESTERN AUSTRALIA

Monday, May 9th.– At 3 a. m. carried away the clew of the mainsail, and at 7 a. m. set more sail. At 10 a. m. we made West Cape Howe, Western Australia, our first land since leaving the Allas Strait. It was with great joy and relief, as well as with, I think, pardonable pride in Tom's skill as a navigator, that I went on deck to see these rock-bound shores. It was certainly a good landfall, especially considering the difficulties which we had met with on account of the chronometers. The instrument which for years has been considered the most trustworthy suddenly changed its rate, and has been losing three seconds in the twenty-four hours. The navigators have been taking great pains. Observations have been frequent. Fifteen sights were taken daily, in three sets of five at three different periods.

Tom's estimated average run of 1,000 knots per week under sail has come out pretty well, and my own daily estimates of the run have been also surprisingly near the mark. In fact, Tom thinks them rather wonderful, considering that they have been arrived at simply by watching and thinking of the vessel's ways all day and part of the night, and often without asking any questions.

At 11 a. m. we lowered the mainsail and raised the funnel. At noon we had run 190 miles, and were half a mile to the northward of Eclipse Island, the barometer standing at 30·19, and the thermometer at 59°. At one o'clock we passed inside Vancouver's Ledge. The coast seemed fine and bold, the granite rocks looking like snow on the summit of the cliffs, at the foot of which the fleecy rollers were breaking in a fringe of pale green sea, whilst on the other side the water remained of a magnificent deep ultramarine colour.

About two o'clock we rounded Bald Head, soon after which the harbour-master of King George Sound and a pilot came on board, and were the first to welcome us to Western Australia. Over the lowland on one side we could see a P. & O. steamer, with the Blue Peter flying. Accordingly we sealed up all our mails and hurried them off, having previously hoisted the signal to ask if they could be received. By four o'clock we were at anchor in King George Sound, which reminded us much of Pictou in Nova Scotia.

Albany is a clean-looking little town, scarcely more than a village, built on the shore of the bay, and containing some 2,000 inhabitants. We were soon in the gig, on the way to the P. & O. steamer 'Shannon' to see our old friend Captain Murray. After looking round the familiar decks, and having tea on board, we exchanged good wishes for a fair voyage, and rowed ashore, landing on a long wooden pier.

Carriages are not to be hired in Albany, but we found an obliging carter, who had come to fetch hay from the wharf, and who consented to carry me, instead of a bundle of hay, up to the house of Mr. Loftie, the Government Resident. We have decided to remain a week in order to give me a chance of recruiting; besides which the 'Sunbeam' needs a little painting and touching-up to make her look smart again after all the hard work and buffetings she has gone through.

Most of the party stayed on shore to dinner, for the kitchen-range on board the 'Sunbeam' has got rather damaged by the knocking about of the last few days. I went back, however, in my primitive conveyance as far as the end of the pier, and then returned straight on board, feeling very tired with even so short an expedition. In the course of the afternoon a large sackful of letters and newspapers from England was delivered on board, much to our delight.

Tuesday, May 10th.– A busy morning with letters and telegrams. Dogs are not allowed to land in any part of Australia until they have performed six months' quarantine, but I was able to take mine ashore at Quarantine Island, which we found without much difficulty with the aid of a chart. A little before one o'clock we landed at the pier, where Mr. Loftie met us, and drove us to the Residency to lunch. It was a great treat to taste fresh bread and butter and cream once more, especially to me, for these are among the few things I am able to eat. After lunch several ladies and gentlemen came to call on us.

I was sorry to hear that a terrible epidemic of typhoid fever seems to be ravaging this little town. Built as it is on the side of a hill overlooking the sea, and with a deliciously invigorating air always blowing, Albany ought to be the most perfect sanatorium in the world. Later in the afternoon I went for a drive with Mrs. Loftie all round the place, seeing the church, schools, and new town hall, as well as the best and worst parts of the town. It was no longer a mystery why the place should be unhealthy, for the water-supply seems very bad, although the hills above abound with pure springs. The drainage from stables, farm-buildings, poultry yards, and various detached houses apparently has been so arranged as to fall into the wells which supply each house. The effect of this fatal mistake can easily be imagined, and it is sad to hear of the valuable young lives that have been cut off in their prime by this terrible illness.

In the course of our drive we passed near an encampment of aborigines, but did not see any of the people themselves. We also passed several large heaps of whales' bones, collected, in the days when whales were numerous here, by a German, with the intention of burning or grinding them into manure. Formerly this part of the coast used to be a good ground for whalers, and there were always five or six vessels in or out of the harbour all the year round. But the crews, with their usual shortsightedness, not content with killing their prey in the ordinary manner, took to blowing them up with dynamite, the result being that they killed more than they could deal with, and frightened the remainder away.

The steward's report on the resources of the place from a marketing point of view is more curious than encouraging. There is no fresh butter nor milk to be had, except through the kindness of a few private individuals. Mutton abounds, but there is very little beef or veal. Good York hams are to be procured from England only. Fruit and vegetables are brought down from Perth or come over from Adelaide, and the most eatable salt butter is brought from Melbourne.

Wednesday, May the 11th.– It had been settled that to-day should be devoted to an excursion to the forests which are now being opened up by the new line of railway in course of construction. The special train of ballast-trucks which had been provided for us was to have started at ten o'clock, soon after which hour we landed, some delay having been caused at the last moment by the receipt of a message requesting us to send ashore every rug we possessed, in order to make the truck in which we were to travel as comfortable as possible. The required wraps and furs had accordingly to be got up from the hold, where they had lain for months past. On landing we found a pleasant party assembled to receive us, including the engineer of the new line, Mr. Stewart, and his wife. In due course we were all seated on two long planks, back to back, in open trucks, behind an engine and tender. We commenced our journey by slowly passing the enclosures, gardens, and courts adjoining the houses of the town. About three-quarters of a mile out of Albany we stopped to water the engine at a primitive trough in a cutting about twelve feet deep – the deepest on the whole line, which in the main is laid over a surface as flat as a pancake.

The morning was simply perfect – one of those days which make mere existence a pleasure; the air felt light and invigorating, the sun was bright and warm; all seemed so different from the damp muggy air or fierce burning sunshine of which we have had so much experience lately.

Our route lay over a sort of moorland, sprinkled with rare ericas such as we carefully preserve in greenhouses at home. Other flowers there were, too, in abundance, and of many kinds, including scarlet bottle-brushes, large white epacris, and mimosa covered with yellow balls of blossom. The trees seemed to consist chiefly of white gum, peppermint, and banksias, and all looked rather ragged and untidy. One great feature of the vegetation was what are called the 'black-boys' (Xanthorrhea), somewhat resembling tree-ferns, with a huge black pineapple stem, at the top of which grows a bushy tuft of grass-like foliage.

About nine miles out we came to a broad stretch of water known by the very prosaic name of 'Nine-mile Lake.' It looked lovely this bright morning, with the opposite hills and a fine group of blue gum-trees sharply mirrored in its glassy surface. The train stopped for a few minutes to enable us to admire the view and to take some photographs. In the course of another mile or so we quitted the main line to Perth, and proceeded along a branch line leading into the heart of the forest. The undergrowth was nowhere very thick, and where it had been cleared by burning, fine grass had sprung up in its place. As we left the moorland and got into the real forest of grand gum-trees the scene became most striking. The massive stems of many of the eucalypti were between thirty and forty feet in circumference and over a hundred feet in height. The glimpses which we caught between these tall trees of Torbay, with the waves breaking in huge rollers on the shore or in angry surf against the steep cliffs of Eclipse Island, were quite fascinating.

We steamed slowly along the lightly ballasted line – only laid yesterday, and over which no engine has yet travelled – two men running on in front to tap the rails and joints, and to see that all was safe. About three-quarters of a mile of rail is laid each day. It is being built on what is called the land-grant system; that is to say, for every mile completed the Government give the railway company 6,000 square acres of land, to be chosen at the completion of the line by the company's agent, the Government reserving to themselves the right of alternate frontage to the railway. The distance from Albany to Beverly (a town standing about 120 miles equidistant from Perth and Fremantle, which will be the terminus of the line, at any rate for the present) is 220 miles. The line was commenced and should have been carried on from both ends, but the contractors find it much cheaper to work only from the Albany end. It ought to be a very cheap line, for it requires scarcely any earthworks and no rock-cuttings or bridges, the soil being loose and gravelly with a granite foundation. There are few rivers to cross; and timber for the sleepers is to be had in abundance, and of the best quality, from the trees which must necessarily be cut down to clear the forest for the passage of the line. The entire road was to have been completed in three years from the time of commencement; but it will probably be finished in about two, as a good deal of the work is already done.

We were taken by another branch line to some saw-mills, where the sleepers for the railway are prepared. Here some of us got into a light American buggy drawn by a fine strong pair of cart-horses, in which conveyance we took our first drive through the bush. To me it seemed rather rough work, for in many places there was no track at all, while in others the road was obstructed by 'black-boys' and by innumerable tree-stumps, which the horses avoided or stepped over most cleverly. Still the wheels could not be expected to show quite so much intelligence, and we consequently suffered frequent and violent jolts. From the driver – a pleasant, well-informed man – I learnt a good deal respecting the men employed on the line. There are about 130 hands, living up here in the forest, engaged in hewing down, sawing, and transporting trees. These, with the women and children accompanying them, form a population of 200 souls suddenly established in the depths of a virgin forest. They have a school, and a schoolmaster who charges two shillings a week per head for schooling, and has fourteen pupils. He was dressed like a gentleman, but earns less than the labourers, who get ten shillings a day, or 3l. a week, the best hands being paid regularly under all conditions of weather, and only the inferior labourers receiving their wages for the time during which they are actually at work. There are four fine teams of Australian-bred horses, and a spare pair for road or bush work. Communication with Albany, the base of operations, is of course maintained by means of the line, some of the navvies even coming from and returning thither each day in the trucks. The married men who live in the forest have nice little three-roomed cottages, and those I went into were neatly papered and furnished, and looked delightfully clean and tidy. The single men generally live in a sort of tent with permanent walls of brick or wood, and mess at a boarding-house for eighteen shillings a week. This seems a good deal for a labourer to pay for food alone, but it really means five good meals a day. The little colony has a butcher attached to it, from whom meat of the finest quality may be purchased at sixpence per pound, all but the prime parts being thrown away.