shark near. Poor S! I did not like the omen. The boat was still visible now and then, but she was drifting away to the main. Dared I believe my eyes? Was that a human form clinging to her? Yes; there was hope yet. I climbed one of the tallest tea-trees, and tied a blanket to its topmost branch, so that S might see I was aware of his perilous position. Hastily seizing my gun and a few useful things which happened to be at hand, such as a little flour, tobacco, &c., I set off for Sandy Point, opposite M’s station. I ran the greater part of the distance, and reached the Point with bleeding feet and broken shins, for time was too precious to permit me to pick my steps. The three signal fires were soon blazing, but brought no answer. I piled up more wood, but with no better result. Making up my mind to camp on the spot for the night, I went in search of water, and was fortunate enough to find a bit of boggy ground, guided thither by the creaking of frogs and the note of the bell-bird.
Forcing a pointed stick into the ground. I found the bottom of the hole gradually filled with water, and first thrusting down some grass as a strainer, I sucked through a reed, and thus satisfied one of the most terrible cravings to which nature can be subjected. I kept the fires going until the evening, and at sundown fired the bush, but still there was no sign from the opposite shore. Clouds of mosquitoes and sand-flies heralded the close of a sad day, and I slept but little. On the following morning I was preparing to return to the hut, when it occurred to me to leave some instructions in writing in a conspicuous place, in case any boat should opportunely touch at the point. A bit of calico lining served my purpose, and with a bit of charred stick I printed on it these words:
Bottom upwards.
Leaving these directions stuck in a split pole, and fixing it firmly in the sand, I departed for home. On getting there, great was my surprise to find several things displaced. The four-posters had been occupied, and from marks in the mud and trimmings of skins lying about, I made out that a party of sealers had camped at my quarters over night. It was clear they had put in for water, for not only the well but our two baths were nearly empty! Here was misfortune upon misfortune. The very fact of my leaving for the point had defeated its own purpose. M was evidently from home, and to search for the sealers appeared hopeless. Nevertheless I spent three profitless and weary days in the task, visiting several of the most likely points on the coast. On the fourth morning I found myself again at Sandy Point. No one had been there. Out of the small stock of flour remaining, now reduced to a pannikin full, and which I carried about with me, I doled out about an ounce, with which to render palatable the flesh of a swan I had killed. So long as my powder and shot lasted, I had no fear but that I should find aquatic birds enough to stave off actual starvation, but the desire for vegetable food increased as my means of supplying it became less. The only substitute for this which the island afforded, and that only scantily, was gum from a species of Mimosa. Making the most of the modicum of flour by mixing and boiling in water-a mess known amongst bushmen and inmates of workhouses as “skilligolee,” but to the general public as bill-sticker’s paste—I was pondering on poor S’s fate, when the measured sound of oars a long way off fell on my ear. Running to the other side of the point, great was my joy to see a whale-boat heading towards me. I fired my gun, and waved my blanket, receiving answers to both signals. The time was now come when I could indulge my appetite without stint, and it did not take me long to dispose of the best part of my flour. I have lately been forcibly reminded of the straits to which I was at that time reduced by reading in poor Wills’s diary—one of the victims of the late mismanaged Australian exploring expedition—that he found the skilly made of nardoo flour, with which the poor natives supplied him, “a most insinuating article,” and confesses that he ate so freely of it, that he could eat no more. Would that he had lived to recount his other experiences!
The copious meal was just finished, when the boat arrived. She proved to be the one of which I had been in search. Her crew readily gave me a passage across, and supplied my other wants with a liberal hand. I found M’s place deserted, and started at once for J’s Station, the point to which my friend was bound when the accident befell him. On reaching the mouth of the creek on which the huts stood, great was my surprise and anguish to see the Coffin resting on the mud, with the stump of a mangrove tree through her bottom. Making the best of my way to the stock-keeper’s, I learnt from him that the boat had not capsized as I thought, but that her sail and mast had been wrenched out of her, starting some of her timbers, and that she had become waterlogged. An empty keg in the stern sheets helped to keep her afloat. In this condition S had been drifting about two days; and, strange to say, was carried by the tide to the very spot where I had seen the wreck.
Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered.
The stockman further informed me that (S had left the day before (J being away with his other boat) in search of some means by which he might return to the island, and that probably by this time he was there.
It is unnecessary for me to tire the reader’s patience by fully recounting how we again met, and for some months longer continued our battle with Fortune; or how we were eventually worsted, all our bright hopes vanishing with the smoke of our last mangrove fire.
In lieu of dividing 100,000l., my total share of the profits amounted to 8l. 15s. 6d., which just sufficed to furnish me forth for an overland expedition to Gipps Land, in which further adventures befel me.
SHENSTONE AND THE LEASOWES.
There can be no doubt that Dr. Johnson’s severe remarks on the poetry of Shenstone, in his "Lives of the Poets,” indicted a severe wound on the reputation of Shenstone, and one from which the
