CHAPTER XIII.
LAST VIEW OF THE ISLAND.—AN UNCOMFORTABLE VOYAGE.—ARRIVAL AT STEWART ISLAND.—CONCLUSION OF JOURNAL.
Tuesday, September 5.—First and middle part of this day heavy gales from W.S.W., with frequent bitter squalls, with snow. In the afternoon Condors and I took a walk up the hills at the back of the harbour, but found it very difficult to penetrate the scrub, which is very dense from the water's edge to the summit of the hills, and is of the same description as that on the southern part of the island. We saw no clear land, neither do I think that there is any we near this end of the island. On our return we passed the grave of the departed stranger, and arrived on board again at 5.30 p.m. The wind had moderated, and we made up our minds to make a start; so at 7 p.m. we unmoored and sailed down the bay with a strong breeze, weather clear, with good moonlight, and we are now, 8.30 p.m., again tossing about on the boisterous ocean, with Enderby Island nearly astern. As we came round it, we suddenly were into one of the most ugly seas that ever I got into. The craft is kicking and jerking so dreadfully that it is almost impossible for me to scribble—writing is out of the question altogether. I begin to fear that we have done wrong in coming out, for the wind is no better than west. She does not lie her course, and we are already under double-reefed canvas, and very likely to be under smaller sail very shortly; but she must face it now—there is no turn back this time. I guess the little craft will be able to buffet it out, and, no doubt, we shall get a fair wind some day.
