CHAPTER I. THE VOYAGE FROM ENGLAND
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CHAPTER I.
THE VOYAGE FROM ENGLAND
(Written on board the "Tippoo Saib" which sailed from Liverpool on the 25th June, 1852. William Morgan was then 25 years of age.).
Thursday, July 1, 1852. Well, here I am, actually sailing in a ship, yes, sirs, in a ship over the sea, not on a few days' voyage, but for a very prolonged sail -- even to Australia, distant from England 14,000 miles -- on a voyage which perchance may last for some 90 or 100 days.
And how many are wending their way to the Australian shores -- hundreds, thousands, yea, tens of thousands. And wherefore? Chiefly for the sake of gold. For this men of all trades and callings, of all descriptions, of all professions and business, are leaving their several occupations, and are going to dig for gold. Tired of trying to gain wealth by the usually slow process, they want to get rich, as it were, in a day.
But why am I going? Chiefly for health. And I hope there to obtain it. Since October last I have been off work, save for a period of 5 or 6 weeks.
This has been owing to a weakness in my sight, occasioned partly by over exertion and labour, and partly through a bad state of general health. Dr. Macleod advised me to go to Australia, and get a situation as a farmer, or something that would allow me plenty of outdoor exercise, he assuring me that I should thus get perfectly well. After thought and deliberation I resolved so to do. Accordingly, I looked out for a ship, and went down to Liverpool on Whit Monday to look at several. I fixed upon the "Tippoo Saib", to sail on the 25th June.
It is hardly necessary to mention the various and painful partings that I had before I started, partings from dear friends and dearer kinsfolk. I was much pleased with the sympathy, good wishes, and many prayers on my account.
One meeting, in particular, pleased me when 44 friends and Sunday School teachers sat down to tea in South Parade school room, and afterwards presented me with a copy of Macaulay's Essays and Foster's Life and Correspondence, as a token of their esteem and affection.
On Wednesday morning, June 23rd, I and my cousin Lewis M., 1 Lanchaster, who accompanies me to Australia, my father, John Ashworth and Robert Finnie left Leeds by the 6 o'clock train from Liverpool. We arrived there, and in the course of the day, got the luggage into the ship. What a bustle there was I need not say, as there necessarily must be when 400 people are going to sail in a ship, and have each so many boxes to stow away. On Wednesday afternoon went to have a look at the "Great Britain" 2 steamer, which is soon to sail for Australia. And
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what a size she is! And how she is fitted up! And what a number she will be able to bring over! She can bring a little town.
At night slept in Liverpool. Father left about six. On Thursday morning purchased necessary articles. About noon went into the ship as she was proceeding out of the docks. In the afternoon, I was driving nails into the sides of the berth, to hang tins and other articles on. About 5 or 6 we were taken into the river by a steamer. For the first time slept on board, in a berth 6 feet long by 22 inches, in a compartment 6 feet square and 9 feet high, where I have five companions. Of course, such a lodging cannot be very healthy or comfortable. But I suppose we must get as much fresh air as possible during the day and at night be content with bad air.
As regards the ship, she is considered one of first rate quality, and made her last voyage in 104 days. She is 1800 tons burthen, 9 feet 'tween decks, carries a surgeon. Her captain seems a clever and agreeable gentleman. Her mate appears to know his duty. The sailors, for the most part, are Welshmen. There are plenty of provisions of the sort they are. The rates of fare are, first cabin £45; second £25; intermediate £16; steerage £13. I am an intermediate passenger.
On Friday morning rose betimes from my not very comfortable couch or bed. In the forenoon saw one of Fox's men on board with a parcel of letters. Enquired if there was one for myself, not expecting there would be. He, however, had a pretty heavy one, containing a very nice letter from my father, and also a ten pound cheque on the Bank of Liverpool as a present from him -- £7-10-0 for myself, the rest for Cousin L. I was afraid to go on shore, lest the ship should sail and I be left behind. But in the afternoon went in the packet -- got the money, and returned to the ship in a boat, for which I paid 2/6 for the distance of a few hundred yards. I am told that in such cases these boatmen often charge enormous sums, that one poor woman with her child had to pay as much as 14s. Right glad was I to get on the ship safely with the money in my pocket.
The pilot was on board. During the afternoon the captain came on board for the last time. About 5 o'clock we weighed anchor, the sailors singing a strange chorus as we did so; a chorus in which the words "We are bound for Calcutta" might be distinguished. From Australia the ship goes to Calcutta with a cargo of salt, from whence she will return to England with a general cargo.
And now came the steam tug which was to take us out of the river into the ocean. The rope was made fast, a great noise was heard, noise of voices, and off we went. Orders were given by the pilot that the sails must be hoisted. The sailors run to and fro, pull the ropes, sing their strange cries, run up their ladders, and after a while the sails were exposed to view. Then the steamer left us, the pilot too, who seemed to be a strange customer and who used oaths and curses freely, and we were left to pursue our course.
Next day (Saturday) was one of peculiar character, nearly all were sick. And, oh, what a feeling is this sea sickness! Almost indescribable. You care for nothing -- you wish to be thrown overboard almost. You can't take food, you can't bear to do ought.
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The next four days were days of discomfort and almost misery, and I began to wish either that the voyage was over or that I had never set out. I say days of misery, and almost everything tendered to make them so. There was the sickness that lasted more or less during that time. There was the ship's food that I could not relish. Oh, how I longed for a piece of nice bread, a mutton chop, a cup of home-made tea. Oh, how I desired to sleep in my own bed at home! Then there was the smoke of tobacco and cigars which to me is always annoying, and here it was disgusting -- sickening. Oh, ye smokers of the horrid weed! Little do you think what a nuisance you are to others or what painful feelings you cause. Would that you could consume your own smoke; then you could smoke to your hearts' content.
There was the tossing of the vessel; and how she heaved and pitched! how she rolled about! and at almost every lurch caused the stomach to jump. And there we were, detained in the Irish and Bristol channels owning to contrary winds. Sailing about, as it were, for the mere sake of sailing. One time we could discern the coast of Ireland, another the hills and mountains of Wales. Then, there was the sleeping apartment, the going to bed, that was bad as I could not stand still to get undressed. And the place smelt horrid, musty, and the rattling of tins was a continual annoyance. These and many other things made the first four or five days very uncomfortable. But most of this is now over.
On Wednesday evening we had a fine view of the coast -- of the hills and mountains, and some of the dwellings of Cornwall. Lands End, I believe, was visible. After being so long detained, I was glad to see the last of Old England. Yet strange thoughts possessed my bosom. I thought of home. I thought, "Shall I ever return?" I thought of the land to which I was bound, and I said to myself, "Adieu, my native land, adieu."
Friday, July 2. Rose between 6 and 7. Washed, as I suppose I shall every morning, with salt water. Porridge for breakfast. A French vessel in sight which seemed to be sailing in our track. In or near the Bay of Biscay. It is said to be generally rough. People almost shrink at the thought of sailing therein. But, oh, how calm it is today. The sea is like glass, the waves are still. The sails are flapping about, or hanging loosely down. We are making little progress.
The people on board seem much better. The women who have been sick are coming out of their berths, and are showing themselves on deck. Music is heard, the talk is loud and noisy. I dined off pease soup and biscuit, and made a pretty good dinner. Spent the day in miscellaneous reading. After supper, oh, what a noise, and what mirth and jollity. It is like a country fare or wake. There is the fiddler, rasping away with his bow, and playing polkas, country dances and waltzes. There is dancing. There is noise. Hurrahs and shouts are raised. The people appear happy, at least the wilder and noisier of them.
I saw the moon rise. Never saw ought like it on land. It was almost like a fairy scene. The sea was very quiet. The moon's beams fell on it. The French vessel could be seen in the distance. Oh, what a subject for a painter, nay too grand. I suppose we shall have many evenings like it.
Between 9 and 10 the mate's voice was heard, "Stop the music, no
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more tonight." At 10 the bells struck, and the command was given, "All lights out." I retired to rest.
Saturday, July 3. We have now spent a week on board. I think the sickness is well nigh over, and the passengers begin to enjoy themselves. There are, I think, 400 on board. There are a great many Scotch, some few Irish, some from the north of England, one or two Cockneys -- a strange mixture of character. A company in which human nature may be studied to advantage. Here are what are called "swells." Oh, to see them, smoking their pipes and cigars, and doing other of their bad actions. These, I suppose, are bound for the "diggings." Here are gentlemen, who I should fancy are going to some sphere of action. Here are working men, who, I apprehend, have had to work hard in their native land, and who perhaps could hardly get along. Here are some wives and children. Here are many families. These I fancy are going to Australia with the thought of doing far, far better than they have hitherto done. I hope they will not be disappointed.
I have not yet met with any Christians. 3 I trust there are some. I have found one teetotaller. I hope there are others. I suppose our company, the individuals comprising our company, would be considered respectable in their different localities, but to me the most part of them do not seem very much so. Many of them are low and vulgar, and are fond of swearing and cursing. Of course, they come out here in their true characters, and are not ashamed of using their tongues. I don't think such people are fit to make Australia a good, a happy land, or the inhabitants a moral and intellectual class.
The ship glides through the waters slowly, yet beautifully, almost without rocking. I spent the day chiefly in miscellaneous reading. In the evening I stood upon the deck, and could not but notice and enjoy the beauty of the ocean, the almost cloudless sky. Between 9 and 10 I watched the moon rise, as it were out of the great deep. It was magnificent; and then the stars, one by one, appeared in sight. 4
Sunday, July 4. It is not much like the Sabbath. It is far different to what I have been used to. I do not feel very happy. It seems so strangely spent. What a sight, confusion, hubbub there was this morning before breakfast, not much in accordance with the character of the day, yet hardly to be dispensed with. Some were busy cleaning their boots, others were scraping the floor, others sweeping. And on deck the sailors were cleaning the decks, some of the passengers were shaving, and others washing.
I had porridge for breakfast.
At ten there was a short service on the poop, a church service, and the Catholics had one down between decks. Oh, how I longed for a true and spiritual service and a good gripping sermon. But such I did not enjoy.
Dined off preserved meat and rice.
Tuesday, July 6. A fair wind. Going ahead at a great rate. 9 miles an hour. How cheering the thought that one is going forward.
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Wednesday, July 7. Still a favourable breeze, and, oh, how sweetly and swiftly we are wafted along. Today a vessel seen ahead. We soon passed her.
She was supposed to be the "Jane Pratt" that left Liverpool for Australia on the 15th June. In the evening another was seen which we passed during the night. She would not speak with us. Ours appears to be a capital vessel, and right glad am I that I came in her. She sails well.
Thursday, July 8. At noon we were 1255 miles distant from Liverpool. We had sailed 212 miles during the last 24 hours. We shall soon reach Madeira. The captain thinks we shall get to Port Phillip 5 in 90 days.
Friday, July 9. I do not feel any better in health! I rather expected that I should be. I looked forward to being considerably improved. I thought sea sickness would be highly beneficial. My stomach is very bad. I suppose it arises from improper diet, and from want of exercise. I must be more careful. And my eyes are no better.
At noon the run was 207 miles. In the evening passed Madiera, though it was not visible.
Saturday, July 10. Noon 30, 45 N., 18, 15 W., run 193 miles. Today a very busy one. All the boxes taken out of the berths, and the berths cleaned out and sprinkled with choride of lime. I am glad of this as it will make it much healthier, and it is needful seeing that we are approaching the tropics. Much care seems to be taken to preserve cleanliness and health. It was very hot today.
Sunday, July 11. 25. 51 N., 20, 28 W., run 194. Enjoyed this day rather better than last Sabbath. We had three services on board. A church service was held at 10 o'clock, which I did not attend, finding it more to my profit to read the word of God, and a hymn or two. After the church service was over the Scotch had one when a short sermon was read from the words, "Let the wicked forsake his way etc." In the afternoon a Methodist preached.
Monday, July 12. 24. 40 N., 21. 40 W., run 202 miles. I am thankful to say we have now had a week's fair weather, during which period we have made good progress. It is very cheering to be still going ahead, I suppose we entered into the trade winds last week. We shall, however, run through them before we get to the line, and may presently have some less favourable weather in the shape of rain, calms, and changeable winds. Today we enter the tropics. It is warm, but quite bearable -- the breeze makes it cooler, and it feels very refreshing.
Saw a great many fish today, such as I have not witnessed before. It was very interesting to watch the dolphins skimming along the water, in pursuit, I believe of the flying fish. They are a beautiful colour, purple and red. And then being pursued, the flying fish make use of their wings, and float in the air some yards distance. The mate tried to catch the dolphins with a harpoon, but in vain.
The sun rises at 5. The evenings are not very long, it being dark soon after 7. And it goes so soon -- no twilight as in England. Oh, no. The sun sets and darkness prevails, save that the stars shine forth with brilliance and beauty.
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I see Jupiter every night. We shall, I think, sail as it were right under it. The pole star begins to get very low, and will disappear, I presume, before we reach our destination. The Milky Way I never saw so well. The first night I thought it was some pale clouds floating, or rather lying still, but seeing them every night, I found it was the Milky Way.
Thursday, July 15. 15, 57 N., 35, 53 W., run 167. --Threatened with rain. None fell however. Almost intolerably hot during the night. Some slept on deck.
Friday, July 16. 13, 24 N., 26, 1 W., run 153 miles. Visible signs in the forenoon of a heavy shower and of a strong breeze. Preparations were made to receive them. A few drops of rain fell which felt very refreshing. A gentle gale blew. A great many porpoises were seen rolling about, jumping up, diving under the water, near the ship. But now while I write, how different. It is a calm. The atmosphere is very warm, and out of the shade is almost scorching.
"Oh, the tropics," said some before I left England. "People sometimes go mad in the tropics." "You may be detained for weeks in the tropics." And so much I heard about these same tropics that I began to be afraid, and feared almost to enter them. Yet here am I in these tropics, yes, and not so very far from the line. And it is a calm too. And how do I feel? Warm, of course, And I possess a strong and anxious desire to be going on.
And what are the people doing about me? Why the passengers present a very interesting sight, and a rather instructive one. I am stood on the forecastle near the bowsprit. My book is resting on the capstan. I gaze about me. I see a great many reading. Some are perusing tracts, some old Journals, some "Guides to Australia", some larger volumes. Others, both male and female, are engaged in sewing. Some are lounging over the side of the vessel, either watching the sea or trying to descry a fish, or thinking, perhaps absorbed in the past, present, or future. Others are laid upon the deck, wrapped in the soothing arms of Morpheus, passing the time in a state of unconsciousness. Some are passing the hour away by a game of cards, draughts, or chess. Here are a group of four or five engaged in conversation, with a couple of lads beside them whose tongues are going in great style. Here are others smoking, laughing, talking, jesting. And some are wrapped up in a brown study, with their eyes sometimes fixed upon the deck and sometimes wandering about in a vacant stare. So much and more can I observe. I listen and hear a variety of noises, and above them all the noise of the ropes and the flapping of the sails.
Saturday, July 17. We stood today, 12, 41 N., 25, 52 W., run 44. About 6 o'clock the clouds in one part of the horizon assumed a black aspect, indication of wind and rain. Presently it came. The ship tore through the waters. It was a grand sight and very refreshing to the mind. The rain abated about 10, and the wind to some degree subsided. In the afternoon a vessel was seen in the south. The captain thought to speak her. When this was known, some of the passengers began writing. There was such a rush to pen, paper, and ink. How anxious they seemed to send home some news. But disappointment ensued. We did not come near the vessel.
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Sunday, July 18. 11, 37 N., 25, 20 W., run 72 miles. Showers and variable winds. A death on board. A child died of scarlet fever. Had intended seeing the funeral, but disappointed. Happened, during the service, to be at the other end of the ship. Poor child! it is gone.
This is our fourth Sabbath on board. Many are anxious to get to the end of the voyage. The time passes rather wearily. It is no happy life on shipboard. It might, could one read all day long, but my eyes won't stand so much. It might, had one some agreeable company to converse with, or otherwise spend the time, but really such an assembly I never was in before.
Two Scotch services held today. At six the sun set. It truly was a magnificent sight. Never did I witness such a sight on land. It in some measure compensated for what discomfort we have felt.
Tuesday, July 20. This morning a strong head wind blowing from the South West. A sail in sight. At noon came up with the vessel. She was a French barque. She looked very pretty with all her sails out.
Wednesday, July 21. 9, 5 N., 21. 16 W., run 123 miles. Could just see the French barque this morning. Another sail to leeward. The wind very slight. Still sailing to the South east. Yesterday commenced reading Bate's "Doctrines of Friends." A day or two since finished Lamartine's "Memoirs of his Youth." Found it very interesting, almost fascinating, especially the part about Grazella. Several small fish, called Portugese Men of War, seen today. I suppose we are now somewhere off Sierra Leonne. Oh, that the wind would blow and waft us speedily to Australia!
Thursday, July 22. 7. 18 N., 20, 21 W., 120 miles. Heavy rain, strong wind. Nothing can be more unpleasant than a rainy day on shipboard, when nearly all rush below deck, and huddle together to keep free from the wet. Some few, however, prefer getting wet to being below so long together -- and, of course, feel very uncomfortable.
Monday, July 26. 5, 17 N., 16. 53 W. Rain and a very strong wind. Almost impossible to walk upon the deck, the wind blows so much, and the ship lays so much to one side.
Wednesday, July 23. 2, 33 N., 20. 56 W., run 151 miles. The wind is still good and appears to be in our favour. It is daily wafting us nearer the line. The vessel still leans but not quite so much. We are going on at a nice speed. The gallant sails, which have been reefed, are now spread. The sailors are now singing as they haul a rope, and a strange melody it is. The spray has washed over the forecastle a good deal this week and many have been privileged with a good wetting. The weather has been remarkably cool, and has been much more agreeable. I fancy we shall not now have much more hot weather, especially if this breeze blows us a few degrees the other side of the line. I believe it is now winter in the tropics, the sun being at this time of the year as far north as possible. A great deal of flying fish are seen now, whole shoals in fact.
I find myself rather better in health today, and the time seems to pass better and more pleasantly. This is owing to my having something to do this week. We mess in six in a mess, and two of us look after the getting of provisions, the
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cooking of them, washing up, scraping the berth etc. -- a week in turn. This week is my turn. The various little things that have to be done fill up the time. On Monday I made some brown bread. Yesterday I made some Scotch cake -- if it was worthy of the name -- made of oatmeal, butter, and water; also a pork pie and a suet pudding. Today we have had baked rice pudding, and this afternoon I have made some treacle parkin.
Thursday, July 29. This morning there was a general rush on deck to see a vessel that passed within a hundred yards of us. She glided past us beautifully, with all her canvass spread. She was, I believe, from Australia and was going home. I rather felt it.
At noon we passed the line. We stood 0, 1 N., 23, 6 W., run 199. There was nothing particular to do like I have read of. I suppose the captain would not allow it. No faces were submitted to tar. No chins had to undergo the operation of being scraped with a piece of hoop iron. There was nothing except a vast amount of drunkedness.
Friday, August 6.17, 45 S., 31, 4 W., run 111. The sea as smooth as glass. The sails hanging loose. No wind, almost a calm. In the evening a beautiful sunset.
On board there was a theatrical performance got up for the occasion. The music consisted of violins, fifes, harp, cornopean, flageolet. It was rather a strange sight at sea, and an equally strange performance. Could a steamer have passed us and seen the lights about the ship, and hung in the rigging, and have heard the music and actors, they would doubtless have been astonished.
During the day there was a great deal of shooting, the diggers trying their firearms.
Saturday, August 7. 18, 4 S., 31. 9 W., run 24. A beautiful sunrise. No breeze has yet arrived. We are still lying idle. Very hot. I suppose we have now lost the S. E. trades, and must wait with patience the wind from another quarter. Two or three whales seen.
Sunday, August 15. 28, 34 S., 22, 8 W., run 183. As I could not sleep rose this morning before 4 o'clock. Found the wind blowing very strong and the stars shining. Had a view of Orion and Pleides. Orion seemed upside down. Saw also Venus. A great many birds flying about -- Cape Pidgeons and Albatrosses. This is the eighth Sabbath on board. I should not like to spend another eight. Wished that I could be in England for the day, that I might attend South Parade, and there meet with God's people, and join with them in singing his praises and in worshipping at his footstool. Would that my eyes were perfectly strong that I might read more of the Bible, that my mind might be nourished thereby.
Tuesday, August 17. 30, 40 S., 1 5, 7 W., 185 miles. Another rough night last night. Very little sleep. A strong desire to be off the sea. The pleasures of the ocean not at all appreciated by me. No liking for so much rocking and tossing, and creaking of timbers. Very cold. Sailed under reefed top sails. More and more birds to be seen. Almost bitter cold. Upon deck hardly possible to be borne. The sea foaming and rolling mountains high. The cold and the change
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in weather clearly indicates that we are in a different climate. The sun shines and the sky is clear notwithstanding. We are sailing not quite so quickly, the wind being more ahead.
Sunday, August 22. This morning it is colder than we have yet felt it. Some of us were congratulating ourselves upon missing winter, yet here we are in the midst of it. We shall, however, soon be round the Cape and then it may be a little warmer. In the afternoon had service between decks, it being so cold and stormy above.
Monday, 23 August. 36, 9 S., 5, 45 E., 186. This morning engaged in washing. Oh, what one comes to on board a ship -- submit to all kinds of work. It will not, however, be for so long.
Thursday, August 26. The run today is 205 miles, 33, 58 S., 16, 35 E. Some parts of the day beautiful with the sun warm and pleasant. In the forenoon a new sight on board, something rather strange in the nature of a sale by auction. The articles for sale were knives, scissors, razors etc. The auctioneer had his stand in the long boat. The things sold only badly. The evening was a beautiful one with a clear sky and a silver moon almost at full, around which for some time there was a beautiful halo. Towards night the wind died away.
Friday, August 27. This morning hardly any wind -- a thick fog floating about. Rough stormy weather was expected off the Cape, yet now we are passing it the sea is calm. 39, 11 S., 19, 41 E., run 144.
Monday, August 30. 41, 50 S., 24, 45 E., run 100. Very foggy, unpleasant weather.
Wednesday September 1. Today we commence another month. Two whole months we have now spent on the sea. How thankful ought we to feel that we have been preserved, and brought so far on our voyage. I trust that this month will see us in the land whither we are going. Rain and strong variable winds. The sails shifted several times. In the evening the topsails reefed and a strong gale blowing. Very cold.
Sunday, September 5. 43, 53 S., 50, 15 E., run 270. For the past few days we have had a good wind. Today it is very strong and we are going under reefed top sails.
Monday, September 6. Bitter cold, almost piercing, yet much pleasanter, the sun shining. Last night fearfully boisterous. Only carried about three sails. The cold makes one run about. Some are scampering upon deck, others down below are stamping their feet, some rubbing their hands together in order, if possible, to warm them. The people seem very healthy; and I believe only one is sick, and that is the first mate who has been laid up many weeks with the liver complaint, and who has been bled, cupped, and blistered.
It is generally expected that we shall arrive in Australia in about three weeks. The distance we now have to go is about 4,000 miles. 43, 5l S., 54, 51 E., run 200 miles today.
Tuesday, September 7. 43, 57 S., 6l, 19 E., run 279.
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Saturday, September 11. The past week has been rather an eventful one, two deaths and a birth having taken place. A child died last Monday. And this morning death again visited us, and took away a female -- a wife -- one who had been married only some few months. At ten o'clock she was cast overboard. Oh, the feelings of the husband, not only to lose his wife, but to have her interred in the ocean, with no stone to mark where she lies.
Thursday night was by far the roughest night we have experienced. Yet on such a night a birth took place, a little girl was ushered into the world. Both mother and child are doing well. 43, 6 S., 82, 40 E., run 220.
Sunday, September 12. Last night another birth took place. The captain hoped that the child should be a boy, that he might name it, but like the other it proved to be a girl. 43, 26 S., 88, 10 E., run 242 miles.
Tuesday, September 14. The moon has caused a change of wind, from west to north, and a strong one it is, sending us along at the rate of 12 miles and hour. 43, 47 S., 98, 51 E., run 240 miles.
Wednesday, September 15. This morning the wind almost died away and changed to the west. 43, 43 S., 103, 17 E., run 192 miles. In the afternoon the fore stu'n sails were hoisted. Much warmer. A pretty sunset. A fine evening. The new moon visible. Much talk among the passengers about landing, a great desire to do so felt. Many bets in as to the day we shall see land. Hail, happy day! I think none on board will be sorry.
Sunday, September 19. 42, 37 S., 122, 9 E., 210 miles. Scotch service in the afternoon, when, as it might be the last Sabbath we shall have on board, a farewell address was given.
Tuesday, September 21. 40, 49 S., 130, 52 E., run 226. 900 miles to Melbourne.
Thursday, September 23. 40, 49 S. , 136, 29 E., run 111.
Friday, September 24. 38, 37 S. , 137, 6 E., run 45.
Saturday, September 25. 38, 52 S. , 138, 44 E., run 81.
Sunday, September 26. 39, 26 S. , 141, 25 E., run 132.
Monday, September 27. 39, 5 S., 141, 52 E., run 5l miles. Contrary wind blowing hard nearly the whole of the day, which sorely tried our patience, being so near the port but not able to run in. It rained likewise, In the evening, however, it cleared up and the wind died away.
Tuesday, September 28. Awoke this morning, and heard the joyous intelligence that there was a fair wind, and the yards square. If it continues soon, very soon, shall we be in our desired haven. 6
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