which went to fetch the pilot wanted me to go with him, but the Captain absolutely refused to allow my precious life to be risked. They always take a pilot here to get through Torres Straits. They get £25 each way, that is £50 for the short trip. The one we shipped is a well-known character,Captain B, a tall, good-looking man, not at al the usual pilot type.
Of the new passengers we embarked at Cooktown,“one was a Professor Payne, an American, and champion shot of the world.” He gives performances, and had with him on tour a palefaced, seedy youth, off whose head he shoots glass balls. The Professor was an interesting and quaint character, and I found such favour in his sight that he offered to shoot glass balls off my head, assuring me there was not the slightest danger. I was sure there was not, and thought it most kind of him, but didn't want to bore him when he was having a holiday, so I declined!
Not long after leaving Cooktown, and when steering our way through the countless islands and rocks, we passed the island—one of the Howick group—now famous as the one on which the heroic Mrs. Watson underwent such great sufferings and perished in such an awful way. She and her husband, Island, a bechê-de-mer fisher lived on Lizard, which we passed early in the morning. During his absence the blacks came over from the mainland and attacked her. She was alone with her baby and a Chinaman, but barricaded her house and made such a determined resistance that the blacks withdrew to the mainland for reinforcements. Knowing that when they returned certain death awaited her, she took the lid off an iron tank, and with her child and the Chinaman embarked on the sea in it. They in their strange
