 Chapter 11 of Sailing Alone Around the World This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Alan Chant Sailing Alone Around the World by Joshua Slocum Chapter 11, Consisting of The Islanders at Juan Fernández Entertained with Yankee Donuts The Beauties of Robinson Crusoe's Realm The Mountain Monument to Alexander Selkirk Robinson Crusoe's Cave A Stroll with the Children of the Island Westwood Ho with a Friendly Gale A Month's Free Sailing with the Southern Cross and the Sun for Guides Citing the Marquesas Experience in Reckoning The Spray being secured, the Islanders returned to the coffee and donuts, and I was more than flattered when they did not slight my buns as the Professor had done in the Strait of Magellan. Between buns and donuts there was little difference except in name. Both had been fried in tallow, which was the strong point in both, for there was nothing on the island fatter than a goat, and a goat is but a lean beast to make the best of it. So with a view to business I hooked my steel-yards to the boom at once, ready to weigh out tallow, there being no customs officer to say, Why do you do so? And before the sun went down the Islanders had learned the art of making buns and donuts. I did not charge a high price for what I sold, but the ancient and curious coins I got in payment, some of them from the wreck of a galleon sunk in the bay no one knows when, I sold afterwards to antiquarians for more than face value. In this way I made a reasonable profit. I brought away money of all denominations from the island and nearly all there was so far as I could find out. Juan Fernandez as a place to call is a lovely spot. The hills are well-wooded, the valleys fertile, and pouring down through many ravines are streams of pure water. There are no serpents on the island and no wild beasts other than pigs and goats, of which I saw a number with possibly a dog or two. The people lived without the use of rum or beer of any sort. There was not a police officer or a lawyer among them. The domestic economy of the island was simplicity itself. The fashions of Paris did not affect the inhabitants, each dressed according to his taste. Although there was no doctor, the people were all healthy and the children were all beautiful. There were about forty-five souls on the island all told. The adults were mostly from the mainland of South America. One lady there from Chile, who made a flying jib for the spray, taking her pay in tallow, would be called a bell at Newport. Blessed island of Juan Fernandez, why Alexander Selkert ever left you was more than I could make out. A large ship, which had arrived some time before, on fire, had been stranded at the head of the bay, and as the sea smashed her two pieces on the rocks after the fire was drowned, the islanders picked up the timbers and utilised them in the construction of houses, which naturally presented a ship-like appearance. The house of the king of Juan Fernandez, Manuel Carroza by name, besides resembling the ark, wore a polished brass knocker on its only door, which was painted green. In front of this gorgeous entrance was a flag-mast, all atuento, and near it a smart whale-boat painted red and blue, the delight of the king's old age. I, of course, made a pilgrimage to the old lookout-place at the top of the mountain, where Selkert spent many days peering into the distance for the ship which came at last. From a tablet fixed into the face of the rock I copied these words inscribed in Arabic capitals. In memory of Alexander Selkert Mariner, a native of Largo in the county of Fife, Scotland, who lived on this island in complete solitude for four years and four months. He was landed from the Sank Ports Galley, 96 tonnes, 18 guns, AD 1704, and was taken off in the Duke, Privatea, 12th February, 1709. He died Lieutenant of HMS Weymouth, AD 1723, aged 47. This tablet is erected near Selkert's lookout by Commodore Powell and the officers of HMS Topaz, AD 1868. Footnote. Mr. J. Cuthbert Haddon in the Century Magazine for July 1899 shows that the tablet is in error as to the year of Selkert's death. It should be 1721. The cave in which Selkert dwelt while on the island is at the head of the bay now called Robinson Crusoe Bay. It is around a bold headland west of the present anchorage and landing. The ships have anchored there but it affords a very indifferent berth. Both of these anchorages are exposed to north winds which however do not reach home with much violence. The holding ground being good in the first named bay to the eastward an anchorage there may be considered safe although the undertow at times makes it wild riding. I visited Robinson Crusoe Bay in a boat with some difficulty landed through the surf near the cave which I entered. I found it dry and inhabitable. It is located in a beautiful nook sheltered by high mountains from all the severe storms that sweep over the island which are not many for it lies near the limits of the trade wind regions being in latitude 35.5 degrees south. The island is about 14 miles in length east and west and eight miles in width. Its height is over 3,000 feet. Its distance from Chile to which country it belongs is about 340 miles. Juan Fernandez was once a convict station a number of caves in which the prisoners were kept damp unwholesome dens are no longer in use and no more prisoners are sent to the island. The pleasantest day I spent on the island if not the pleasantest on my whole voyage was my last day on shore but by no means because it was the last when the children of the little community one and all went out with me to gather wild fruits for the voyage. We found quints, peaches and figs and the children gathered a basket of each. It takes very little to please children and these little ones never hearing a word in their lives except Spanish made the hills ring with mirth at the sounds of words in English. They asked me the names of all manner of things on the island. We came to a wild fig tree loaded with fruit of which I gave them the English name. Figues, figues they cried while they picked till their baskets were full. But when I told them that the cabra they pointed out was only a goat. They screamed with laughter and rolled on the grass in wild delight to think that a man had come to their island who would call a cabra a goat. The first child born on Cuan Fernandez I was told had become a beautiful woman and was now a mother. Manuel Carosa and the good soul who followed him here from Brazil had laid away their only child, a girl at the age of seven in the little churchyard on the point. In the same half-acre were other mounds among the rough lava rocks, some marking the burial place of native-born children, some the resting place of seamen from passing ships, landed here to end days of sickness and get into a sailor's heaven. The greatest drawback I saw in the island was the want of a school. A class there would necessarily be small but to some kind soul who loved teaching and quietude life on Cuan Fernandez would, for a limited time, be one of delight. On the morning of May 5, 1896 I sailed from Cuan Fernandez having feasted on many things but on nothing sweeter than the adventure itself of a visit to the home and to the very cave of Robinson Crusoe. From the island the spray bore away to the north passing the island of St. Felix before she gained the trade winds which seemed slow in reaching their limits. If the trades were tardy, however, when they did come they came with a bang and made up for lost time and the spray under reefs, sometimes one, sometimes two flew before a gale for a great many days with a bone in her mouth towards the Marquesas in the west which she made on the forty-third day out and still kept on sailing. My time was all taken up those days not by standing at the helm no man, I think, could stand or sit and steer a vessel round the world. I did better than that for I sat and read my books, mended my clothes or cooked my meals and ate them in peace. I had already found that it was not good to be alone and so I made companionship with what there was around me sometimes with the universe and sometimes with my own insignificant self but my books were always my friends let fail all else. Nothing could be easier or more restful on my voyage in the trade winds. I sailed with a free wind day after day marking the position of my ship on the chart with considerable precision but this was done by intuition, I think more than by slavish calculations for one whole month my vessel held her course true I had not the wile so much as a light in the binocle the southern cross I saw every night a beam the sun every morning came up a stern every evening it went down ahead for no other compass to guide me for these were true if I doubted my reckoning after a long time at sea I verified it by reading the clock aloft made by the great architect and it was right. There was no denying that the comical side of the strange life appeared I awoke sometimes to find the sun already shining into my cabin I heard water rushing by with only a thin plank between me and the depths and I said how is this but it was all right it was my ship on her course sailing as no other ship had ever sailed before in the world the rushing water along her side told me that she was sailing at full speed I knew that no human hand was on the helm I knew that all was well with the hands forward and that there was no mutiny on board the phenomena of ocean meteorology were interesting studies even here in the trade winds I observed that about every seven days the wind freshened and drew several points further than usual from the direction of the pole that is it went round from east south east to south south east while at the same time a heavy swell rolled up from the south west all this indicated that gales were going on in the anti-trades and then hauled day after day as it moderated till it stood again at the normal point east south east this is more or less the constant state of the winter trades in latitude 12 degrees south where I ran down the latitude for weeks the sun we all know is the creator of the trade winds and of the wind system over all the earth but ocean meteorology is I think the most fascinating of all from Juan Fernandes to the Marquesas I experience six changes of these great palpitations of sea winds and of the sea itself the effect of far-off gales to know the laws that govern the winds and to know that you know them will give you an easy mind on your voyage around the world otherwise you may tremble at the appearance of every cloud what is true of this in the trade winds much more so in the variables where changes run more to extremes to cross the Pacific Ocean even under the most favourable circumstances brings you for many days close to nature and you realise the vastness of the sea slowly but surely the mark of my little ship's course on the track chart reached out on the ocean and across it while at her utmost speed she marked with her keel still slowly the sea that carried her on the forty-third day from land a long time to be at sea alone the sky being beautifully clear and the moon being in distance with the sun I drew up my sextant for sights I found from the results of three observations after long wrestling with lunar tables that her longitude by observation agreed within five miles of that by dead reckoning this was wonderful both however might be an error but somehow I felt confident that both were nearly true and that in a few hours more I should see land and so it happened for then I made the island of Nukaweaver the southernmost of the Marquesas group clear-cut and lofty the verified longitude when abreast was somewhere between the two reckonings this was extraordinary all navigators will tell you that from one day to another a ship may lose or gain more than five miles in her sailing account and again in the matter of lunar's even expert lunarians are considered as doing clever work when they average within eight miles of the truth I hope I am making it clear that I do not lay claim to cleverness to lose slavish calculations in my reckonings I think I have already stated that I kept my longitude at least mostly by intuition a rotator log always towed a stern but so much has to be allowed for currents and for drift which the log never shows that it is only an approximation after all to be corrected by one's own judgement from data of a thousand voyages and even then the master of the ship cries out for the lead and the lookout unique was my experience in nautical astronomy from the deck of the spray so much so that I feel justified in briefly telling it here the first set of sites just spoken of put her many hundreds of miles west of my reckoning by account I knew that this could not be correct in about an hour's time I took another set of observations with the utmost care the mean result of these was about the same as that of the first set I asked myself why with my boasted self dependence I had not done at least better than this then I went in search of a discrepancy in the tables and I found it in the tables I found that the column of figures from which I had got an important logarithm was in error it was a matter I could prove beyond doubt and it made the difference as already stated the tables being corrected I sailed on with self-reliance unshaken and with my tin clock fast asleep the results of these observations naturally tickled my vanity for I knew that it was something to stand on a great ship's deck and with two assistants take lunar observations approximately near the truth as one of the poorest of American sailors I was proud of the little achievement on the sloop even by chance though it may have been I was on rapport now with my surroundings and was carried on a vast stream where I felt the buoyancy of his hand who made all the worlds I realised the mathematical truth of their motions so well known that astronomers compiled tables of their positions through the years and the days and the minutes of a day with such precision that one coming along over the sea even five years later may, by their aid find the standard time of any given meridian on the earth to find local time is a simpler matter the difference between local time and standard time is longitude expressed in time four minutes we all know representing one degree thus briefly is the principle on which longitude is found independent of chronometers the work of the Lunarian though seldom practised in these days of chronometers is beautifully edifying and there is nothing in the realm of navigation that lifts one's heart up more in adoration Chapter 12 of Sailing Alone Around the World This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Alan Chant Sailing Alone Around the World by Joshua Slocum Chapter 12 Consisting of 72 days without a port whales and birds a peep into the spray's galley flying fish for breakfast a welcome at Apia a visit from Mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson at Velima Samoan Hospitality arrested for fast riding an amusing merry-go-round teachers and pupils of Papatua College at the mercy of sea nymphs to be alone forty-three days would seem a long time but in reality even here winged moments flew likely by and instead of my hauling in for Nukaheva which I could have made as well as not I kept on for Samoa where I wished to make my next landing this occupied twenty-nine days more making seventy-two days in all I was not distressed in any way during that time there was no end of companionship the very coral reefs kept me company or gave me no time to feel lonely which is the same thing and there were many of them now in my course to Samoa first among the incidents of the voyage from Juan Fernandez to Samoa which were not many was a narrow escape from collision with a great whale that was absentmindedly plowing the ocean at night while I was below the noise from his startled snort and the commotion he made in the sea as he turned to clear my vessel brought me on deck in time to catch a wetting from the water he threw up with his flukes the monster was apparently frightened he headed quickly for the east I kept on going west soon another whale passed evidently a companion following in its wake I saw no more on this part of the voyage nor did I wish to hungry sharks came about the vessel often when she neared islands or coral reefs I own a satisfaction in shooting them as one would a tiger sharks after all are the tigers of the sea nothing is more dreadful to the mind of a sailor I think than a possible encounter with a hungry shark a number of birds were always about occasionally one poised on the mast to look the spray over wondering perhaps at her odd wings for she now wore her Fuego mainsail which like Joseph's coat was made of many pieces ships are less common on the southern seas than formerly I saw not one in the many days crossing the Pacific my diet on these long passages usually consisted of potatoes and salt cod and biscuits which I made two or three times a week I had always plenty of coffee tea, sugar and flour I carried usually a good supply of potatoes but before reaching Samoa I had a mishap which left me destitute of this highly prized sailor's luxury through meeting at Juan Fernandez the Yankee Portuguese named Manuel Carosa who nearly traded me out of my boots I ran out of potatoes in mid-ocean and was wretched thereafter I prided myself on being some thing of a trader but this Portuguese from the Azores by way of New Bedford who gave me new potatoes for the older ones I had got from the Columbia a bushel or more of the best left me no ground for boasting he wanted mine he said for changing the seed when I got to sea I found that his tubers were rank and inedible and full of fine yellow streaks of repulsive appearance I tied the sack up and returned to the few left of my old stock thinking that maybe when I got right hungry the island potatoes would improve in flavour three weeks later I opened the bag again and out flew millions of winged insects Manuel's potatoes had all turned to moths I tied them up quickly and threw them all into the sea Manuel had a crop of potatoes on hand and as a hint to Whaleman who are always eager to buy vegetables he wished me to report whales off the island of Juan Fernandez which I have already done and big ones at that but they were a long way off taking things by and large as sailors say I got on fairly well in the matter of provisions even on the long voyage across the Pacific I found always some small stores to help the fare of luxuries what I lacked of fresh meat was made up in fresh fish at least while in the trade winds where flying fish crossing on the wing at night would hit the sails and fall on deck sometimes two or three of them sometimes a dozen every morning except when the moon was large I got a bountiful supply by merely picking them up from the lee scuppers all tinned meats went begging on the 16th of July after considerable care and some skill and hard work the spray cast anchor in Apia in the kingdom of Samoa about noon my vessel being moored I spread an awning and instead of going at once on shore I sat under it till late in the evening listening with delight to the musical voices of the Samoan men and women a canoe coming down the harbour with three young women in it rested her paddles abreast the sloop one of the fair crew hailing with the naive salutation talofa lee love with you chief asked schoon come me like love to you I answered and said yes you man come lone again I answered yes I don't believe that you had other mans and you eat em at this sally the others laughed what for you come long way they asked to hear you ladies sing I replied oh talofa lee they all cried and sang on their voices filled the air with music that rolled across to the grove of tall palms on the other side of the harbour and back soon after this six young men came down in the united state consul general's boat singing in parts and beating time with their oars in my interview with them of better than with the damsles in the canoe they bore an invitation from general Churchill for me to come and dine at the consulate there was a ladies hand in things about the consulate in Samoa mrs. Churchill picked the crew for the general's boat and saw to it that they were a smart uniform and that they could sing the Samoan boat song which in the first week mrs. Churchill herself could sing like a native girl next morning bright and early mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson came to the spray and invited me to Valima the following day I was of course thrilled when I found myself after so many days of adventure face to face with this bright woman so lately the companion of the author who had delighted me on the voyage the kindly eyes that looked me through and through sparkled when we compared notes of adventure I marveled at some of her experiences and escapes she told me that along with her husband she had voyaged in all manner of rickety craft among the islands of the Pacific reflectively adding our tastes were similar following the subject of voyages she gave me the four beautiful volumes of sailing directories for the Mediterranean writing on the fly leaf of the first to captain Slocum these volumes have been read and re-read many times by my husband and I am very sure that he would be pleased that they should be passed on to the sort of seafaring man that he liked above all others Fanny V. de G. Stevenson Mrs. Stevenson also gave me a great directory of the Indian Ocean it was not without a feeling of reverential awe that I received the books so nearly direct from the hand of Toussitala who sleeps in the forest Eolili the spray will cherish your gift the novelist's stepson Mr. Lloyd Osbourne walked through the Vilema mansion with me and bade me write my letters at the old desk I thought it would be presumptuous to do that it was sufficient for me to enter the hall of the floor on which the hall of tales according to the Simoan custom was want to sit coming through the main street of Apia one day with my hosts all bound for the spray Mrs. Stevenson on horseback I walking by her side and Mr. and Mrs. Osbourne close in our wake on bicycles at a sudden turn in the road we found ourselves mixed with a remarkable native procession with a somewhat primitive work in front of us while behind was a festival or a funeral we could not tell which several of the stoutest men carried bales and bundles on poles some were evidently bales of tappercloth the burden of one set of poles heavier than the rest however was not so easily made out my curiosity was wetted to know whether it was a roast pig or something of a gruesome nature and I inquired about it I don't know, said Mrs. Stevenson whether this is a wedding or a funeral whatever it is though captain our place seems to be at the head of it the spray being in the stream we boarded her from the beach abreast in the little razied Gloucester Dory which had been painted a smart green our combined weight loaded it gunnel to the water and I was obliged to steer with great care to avoid swamping the adventure pleased Mrs. Stevenson greatly and as we paddled along she sang they went to see in a pea-green boat I could understand her saying of her husband and herself our tastes were similar as I sailed further from the centre of civilisation I heard less and less of what would and what would not pay Mrs. Stevenson in speaking of my voyage did not once ask me what I would make out of it when I came to a Samoan village the chief did not ask the price of gin or say how much will you pay for roast pig but dolla dolla said he white man know only dolla never mind dolla the tapo has prepared ava let us drink and rejoice the tapo is the virgin hostess of the village it was taloa, daughter of the chief our taro is good let us eat on the tree there is fruit let the day go by why should we mourn over that there are millions of days coming the bread fruit is yellow in the sun and from the cloth tree is taloa's gown our house which is good cost but the labour of building it and there is no lock on the door while the days go thus in these southern islands we at the north are struggling for the bare necessities of life for food the islanders have only to put out their hand and take what nature has provided for them if they plant a banana tree their only care afterwards is to see that too many trees do not grow they have great reason to love their country and to fear the white man's yoke for once harnessed to the plough he would no longer be a poem the chief of the village of Keini who was a tall and dignified Tonga man could be approached only through an interpreter and talking man it was perfectly natural for him to inquire the object of my visit and I was sincere when I told him that my reason for casting anchor in Samoa was to see their fine men and fine women too after a considerable pause the chief said the captain has come a long way to see so little but he added the tapo must sit nearer the captain yak said Taloa who had so nearly learned to say yes in English and suiting the action to the word she hitched a peg nearer all hands sitting in a circle upon mats I was no less taken with the chief's eloquence than delighted with the simplicity of all he said about him there was nothing pompous he might have been taken for a great scholar or statesman the least assuming of the men I met on the voyage as for Taloa a sort of Queen of the May and the other tapo girls well it is wise to learn as soon as possible the manners and customs of these hospitable people and meanwhile not to mistake for over familiarity that which is intended as honour to a guest I was fortunate in my travels in the islands and saw nothing to shake one's faith in native virtue to the unconventional mind the punctilious etiquette of Samoa is perhaps a little painful for instance I found that in partaking of Ava the social bowl I was supposed to toss a little of the beverage over my shoulder or pretend to do so and say let the gods drink and then drink it all myself and the dish invariably a coconut shell being empty I might not pass it politely as we would do but politely throw it twirling across the mats at the tapo my most grievous mistake while at the islands was made on a nag which inspired by a bit of good road must needs break into a smart trot through a village I was instantly hailed by the chief's deputy who in an angry voice brought me to a halt perceiving that I was in trouble I made signs for pardon the safest thing to do though I did not know what offence I had committed my interpreter coming along however put me right but not until a long palava had ensued the deputies hail liberally translated was ahoy there on the frantic speed know you not that it is against the law to ride thus through the village of our fathers I made what apologies I could and offered to dismount and like my servant lead my nag by the bridle this the interpreter told me would also be a grievous wrong and so I again begged for pardon I was summoned to appear before a chief but my interpreter being a wit as well as a bit of a rogue explained that I was myself something of a chief and should not be detained being on a most important mission in my own behalf I could only say that I was a stranger but pleading all this I knew I still deserved to be roasted at which the chief showed a fine row of teeth and seemed pleased but allowed me to pass on the chief of the tongas and his family at Canini returning my visit to the cloth and fruits Taloa the princess brought a bottle of cocoa and nut oil for my hair which another man might have regarded as coming late it was impossible to entertain on the spray after the royal manner in which I had been received by the chief his fare had included all that the land could afford fruits, fowl, fishes and flesh and pork having been roasted whole I set before them boiled salt-pork and salt-beef with which I was well supplied and in the evening took them all to a new amusement in the town a rocking horse merry-go-round which they called a kiki meaning theatre and in a spirit of justice they pulled off the horse's tails for the proprietors of the show to hard-fisted countrymen of mine I grieve to say unceremoniously hustled them off for a new set almost at the first spin I was not a little proud of my Tonga friends the chief, finest of them all carried a portentous club as for the theatre through the greed of the proprietors it was becoming unpopular and the representatives of the three great powers in want of laws which they could enforce adopted a vigorous foreign policy taxing it 25% on the gate money this was considered a great stroke of legislative reform it was the fashion of the native visitors to the spray to come over the boughs where they could reach the headgear and climb aboard with ease and on going ashore to jump off the stern and swim away nothing could have been more delightfully simple the modest natives wore lava-lava bathing-dresses a native cloth from the bark of the mulberry trees and they did no harm to the spray in summerland Samoa their coming and going was only a merry everyday scene one day the headteachers of Papatua College Miss Schultz and Miss Moore came on board with their 97 young women students they were all dressed in white and each wore a red rose and of course came in boats or canoes in the cold climate style a merry abevy of girls it would be difficult to find as soon as they got on deck by request of one of the teachers they sang The Watch on the Rhine which I had never heard before and now said they all let's up anchor and away but I had no inclination to sail from Samoa so soon on leaving the spray these accomplished young women each seized a palm branch or paddle or whatever else would serve the purpose and literally paddled her own canoe each could have swum as readily and would have done I dare say had it not been for the holiday muslin it was not uncommon in Apia to see a young woman swimming alongside a small canoe with a passenger for the spray Mr. Trude an old eaten boy came in this manner to see me was ever king ferried in such state then suiting his action to the sentiment he gave the damsel pieces of silver till the natives watching on shore yelled with envy my own canoe a small dug out one day when it had rolled over with me was seized by a party of fair bathers and before I could get my breath almost was towed around and around the spray while I sat in the bottom of it wondering what they would do next but in this case there were six of them three on a side and I could not help myself one of the sprites I remember was a young English lady who made more sport of it than any of the others End of Chapter 12 Recording by Alan Chant in Tumbridge Kent, England www.7oaksprep.kent.sh.uk www.7oaksprep.kent.sh.uk Chapter 13 of Sailing Alone Around the World This is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Alan Chant Sailing Alone Around the World This is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org This is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Alan Chant in Tumbridge Kent, England on to Melbourne a shark that proved to be valuable change of course the reign of blood in Tasmania At Apia I had the pleasure of meeting Mr A. Young the father of the late Queen Margaret who was Queen of Manoa from 1891 to 1895 her grandfather was an English sailor who married a princess Mr. Young is now the only survivor of the family, two of his children, the last of them all, having been lost in an island trader which a few months before had sailed, never to return. Mr. Young was a Christian gentleman, and his daughter Margaret was accomplished in graces that would become any lady. It was with pain that I saw in the newspapers a sensational account of her life and death evidently taken from a paper in the supposed interest of a benevolent society, but without foundation in fact. And the startling headline saying, Queen Margaret of Manua is dead could hardly be called news in 1898, the Queen having then been dead three years. While hobnobbing as it were with royalty, I called on the King himself, the late Malia Toa. King Malia Toa was a great ruler. He never got less than forty-five dollars a month for the job, as he told me himself, and this amount had lately been raised, so that he could live on the fat of the land and not any longer be called tin of salmon Malia Toa by graceless beachcombers. As my interpreter and I entered the front door of the palace, the King's brother, who was Viceroy, sneaked in through a tarot-a-patch by the back way, and sat cowering by the door while I told my story to the King. Mr. W. of New York, a gentleman interested in missionary work, had charged me when I sailed to give his remembrance to the King of the Cannibal Islands. Other islands, of course, being meant, but the guck King Malia Toa, notwithstanding that his people had not eaten a missionary in a hundred years, received the message himself, and seemed greatly pleased to hear so directly from the publishers of the missionary review, and wished me to make his compliments in return. His Majesty then excused himself while I talked with his daughter. The beautiful Feemu Semi, a name signifying to make the sea burn, and soon reappeared in the full-dress uniform of the German commander-in-chief, Emperor William himself, for stupidly enough I had not sent my credentials ahead that the King might be in full regalia to receive me. Calling a few days later to say good-bye to Feemu Semi, I saw King Malia Toa for the last time. Of the landmarks in the pleasant town of Apia my memory rests first on the little school just back of the London Missionary Society coffee-house and reading-rooms, where Mrs. Bell taught English to about a hundred native children, boys and girls. Brighter children you will not find anywhere. Now, children, said Mrs. Bell, when I called one day, let us show the captain that we know something about the Cape Horn he passed in the spray. At which a lad of nine or ten years stepped nimbly forward and read Basil Hall's fine description of the Great Cape, and read it well. He afterwards copied the essay for me in a clear hand. Going to say good-bye to my friends at Veilima, I met Mrs. Stephenson in her Panama hat, and went over the estate with her. Men were at work clearing the land, and to one of them she gave an order to cut a couple of bamboo-trees for the spray from a clump she had planted four years before, and which had grown to the height of sixty feet. I used them for spare spars, and the butt of one made a serviceable gibboum on the homeward journey. I had then only to take Ava with the family and be ready for sea. This ceremony, important among Samoans, was conducted after the native fashion. A triton horn was sounded to let us know when the beverage was ready, and in response we all clapped hands. The about being in honour of the spray, it was my turn first, after the custom of the country, to spill a little over my shoulder. But having forgotten the Samoan for Let the Gods Drink, I repeated the equivalent in Russian and Chinook, as I remembered a word in each. Whereupon Mr. Osborne pronounced me a confirmed Samoan. Then I said Tofa, to my good friends of Samoa, and all wishing the spray bon voyage, she stood out of the harbour August 20, 1896, and continued on her course. A sense of loneliness seized upon me as the islands faded a stern, and as a remedy for it I crowded on sail for lovely Australia, which was not a strange land to me, but for long days in my dreams Velima stood before the prow. The spray had barely cleared the islands when a sudden burst of the trades brought her down to close reefs, and she reeled off 184 miles the first day, of which I counted forty miles of current in her favour. Finding a rough sea, I swung her off free and sailed north of the Horn Islands, also north of Fiji instead of south as I had intended, and coasted down the west side of the archipelago. Thence I sailed direct for New South Wales, passing south of New Caledonia, and arrived at Newcastle after a passage of forty-two days, mostly of storms and gales. One particular severe gale encountered near New Caledonia, founded the American clippership Patrician, further south. Again nearer the coast of Australia, when, however, I was not aware that the gale was extraordinary, a French male steamer from New Caledonia for Sydney, blown considerably out of her course, on her arrival reported it an awful storm, and two inquiring friends said, Oh my, we don't know what has become of the little sloop spray. We saw her in the thick of the storm. The spray was all right, lying to like a duck. She was under a goose's wing mainsail, and she had a dry-deck, while her passengers on the steamer, I heard later, were up to their knees in water in the saloon. When their ship arrived at Sydney, they gave the captain a purse of gold for his skill and seamanship in bringing them safe to port. The captain of the spray got nothing of this sort. In this gale I made the land about seal rocks, where the steamship Cafferton, with many lives, was lost a short time before. I was many hours off the rocks, beating back and forth, but weathered them at last. I arrived at Newcastle in the teeth of a gale of wind. It was a stormy season. The government pilot, Captain Cumming, met me at the harbour-bar, and with the assistance of a steamer carried my vessel to a safe berth. Many visitors came on board, the first being the United States consul, Mr Brown. Nothing was too good for the spray here. All government dues were remitted, and after I had rested a few days, a port pilot with a tug carried her to sea again, and she made along the coast towards the harbour of Sydney, where she arrived on the following day, October 10, 1896. I came to in a snug cove near Mandley for the night. The Sydney harbour police boat giving me a pluck into Anchorage, while they gathered data from an old scrapbook of mine which seemed to interest them. Nothing escaped the vigilance of the New South Wales police. Their reputation is known the world over. They made a shrewd guess that I could give them some useful information, and they were the first to meet me. Someone said they came to arrest me, and—well, let it go that. Summer was approaching, and the harbour of Sydney was blooming with yachts. Some of them came down to the weather-beaten spray and sailed round her at Shellcott, where she took a berth for a few days. At Sydney I was at once among friends. The spray remained at the various watering-places in the Great Port for several weeks, and was visited by many agreeable people, frequently by officers of HMS Orlando and their friends. Captain Fisher, the commander, with a party of young ladies from the city and gentlemen belonging to his ship, came one day to pay me a visit in the midst of a deluge of rain. I never saw it rain harder, even in Australia. But they were out for fun, and rain could not dampen their feelings, however hard it poured. But, as ill luck would have it, a young gentleman of another party on board, in the full uniform of a very great yacht-club, with brass buttons enough to sink him, stepping quickly to get out of the wet, tumbled wholess-boless head and heels into a barrel of water I had been coopering, and being a short man was soon out of sight, and nearly drowned before he was rescued. It was the nearest to a casualty on the spray in her whole course so far as I know. The young man, having come on board with compliments, made the mishap most embarrassing. It had been decided by his club that the spray could not be officially recognized, for the reason that she brought no letters from yacht-clubs in America. And so I say it seemed all the more embarrassing and strange that I should have caught at least one of the members in a barrel, and two, when I was not fishing for yachtsmen. The typical Sydney boat is a handy sloop of great beam and enormous sail-carrying power, but a cap-size is not uncommon, for they carry sail like Vikings. In Sydney I saw all manner of craft, from the smart steam-launch and sailing-cutter to the smallest sloop and canoe-pleasuring on the bay. Everybody owned a boat. If a boy in Australia has not the means to buy him a boat, he builds one, and it is usually not one to be ashamed of. The spray shared her Joseph's coat, the Fuego mainsail in Sydney, and wearing a new suit, the handsome present of Commodore Foy, she was flagship of the Johnston Bay Flying Squadron, when the circumnavigators of Sydney Harbour sailed in their annual regatta. They recognised the spray as belonging to a club of her own, and with more Australian sentiment than for studiousness, gave her credit for her record. Time flew fast those days in Australia, and it was December 6, 1896, when the spray sailed from Sydney. My intention was now to sail round Cape Leeuwin, direct for Mauritius on my way home, and so I coasted along towards Bass Strait in that direction. There was little to report on this part of the voyage except changeable winds, busters, and rough seas. The 12th of December, however, was an exceptional day, with a fine coast wind northeast. The spray early in the morning passed twofold bay, and later Cape Bandoro in a smooth sea, with land closer board. The lighthouse on the Cape dipped a flag to the spray's flag, and children on the balconies of a cottage near the shore waved handkerchiefs as she passed by. There were only a few people all told on the shore, but the scene was a happy one. I saw festoons of evergreen in token of Christmas near at hand. I saluted the merry-makers wishing them a merry Christmas, and could hear them say, I wish you the same. From Cape Bandoro I passed by Cliff Island in Bass Strait, and exchanged signals with the light-keepers while the spray worked up under the island. The wind howled that day, while the sea broke over their rocky home. A few days later, December 17, the spray came in close under Wilson's promontory, again seeking shelter. The keeper of the light at that station, Mr. J. Clark, came on board and gave me directions for Waterloo Bay, about three miles to Leward, for which I bore up at once, finding good anchorage there in a sandy cove protected from all westerly and northerly winds. Anchored here was the catch secret, a fisherman, and the merry of Sydney, a steam ferry boat fitted for wailing. The captain of the merry was a genius, and an Australian genius at that, and smart. His crew, from a sawmill up the coast, had not one of them seen a live whale when they shipped, but they were boatmen after an Australian's own heart, and the captain had told them that to kill a whale was no more than to kill a rabbit. They believed him, and that settled it. As luck would have it, the very first one they saw on their cruise, although an ugly humpback, was a dead whale in no time. Captain Young, the master of the merry, killing the monster at a single thrust of a harpoon. It was taken in tow for Sydney, where they put it on exhibition. Nothing but whales interested the crew of the gallant merry, and they spent most of their time here gathering fuel along shore for a cruise on the grounds off Tasmania. Whenever the word whale was mentioned in the hearing of these men, their eyes glistened with excitement. We spent three days in the quiet cove listening to the wind outside. Meanwhile Captain Young and I explored the shores, visited abandoned miners' pits, and prospected for gold ourselves. Our vessels parting company the morning they sailed, stood away like seabirds each on its own course. The wind for a few days was moderate, and with unusual luck of fine weather the spray made Melbourne heads on the 22nd of December, and taken in tow by the steam-tug racer was brought into port. Christmas Day was spent at a berth in the River Yarrow, but I lost little time in shifting to St Kilda where I spent nearly a month. The spray paid no port charges in Australia or anywhere else on the voyage, except at Perambuco, till she poked her nose into the custom house at Melbourne, where she was charged tonnage dues. In this instance sixpence a tonne on the gross. The collector extracted six shillings and sixpence, taking off nothing for the fraction under thirteen tonnes, her exact gross being twelve point seven zero tonnes. I squared the matter by charging people sixpence each for coming on board, and when this business got dull I caught a shark, and charged them sixpence each to look at that. The shark was twelve feet six inches in length, and carried a progeny of twenty-six, not one of them less than two feet in length. A slit of a knife let them out in a canoe full of water, which changed constantly, kept them alive one whole day. In less than an hour from the time I heard of the ugly brute it was on deck and on exhibition, with rather more than the amount of the spray's tonnage dues already collected. Then I hired a good Irishman, Tom Howard by name, who knew all about sharks, both on the land and in the sea, and could talk about them, to answer questions and lecture. When I found that I could not keep abreast of the questions, I turned the responsibility over to him, returning from the bank where I had been to deposit money early in the day. I found Howard in the midst of a very excited crowd, telling imaginary habits of the fish. It was a good show, the people wished to see it, and it was my wish that they should, but owing to his overstimulated enthusiasm I was obliged to let Howard resign. The income from the show and the proceeds of the tallow I had gathered in the Strait of Magellan, the last of which I had disposed of to a German soap boiler at Samoa, put me in ample funds. January 24, 1897 found the spray again in tow of the Tug Racer, leaving Hobson's Bay after a pleasant time in Melbourne and St Kilda, which had been protracted by a succession of south-west winds that seemed never-ending. In the summer months, that is December, January, February, and sometimes March, east winds are prevalent through Bass Strait and round Cape Lewin. But owing to a vast amount of ice drifting up from the Antarctic, this was all changed now, and emphasised with much bad weather, so much that I considered it impracticable to pursue the course further. Therefore, instead of thrashing round cold and stormy Cape Lewin, I decided to spend a pleasanter and more profitable time in Tasmania, waiting for the season for favourable winds through Tories Strait by way of the Great Barrier Reef, the route I finally decided on. To sail this course would be taking advantage of anti-cyclones which never fail, and besides it would give me the chance to put foot on the shores of Tasmania, round which I had sailed years before. I should mention that while I was at Melbourne there occurred one of those extraordinary storms sometimes called rain of blood, the first of the kind in many years about Australia. The blood came from a fine brick dust matter afloat in the air from the deserts. A rainstorm settling in brought down this dust simply as mud. It fell in such quantities that a bucketful was collected from the sloop's awnings which was spread at the time. When the wind blew hard, and I was obliged to furl awnings, her sails unprotected on the booms got mud-stained from clue to earring. The phenomena of dust storms, well understood by scientists, are not uncommon on the coast of Africa. Reaching some distance out over the sea they frequently cover the track of ships as in the case of the one through which the spray passed in the earlier part of her voyage. Sailors no longer regard them with superstitious fear, but our credulous brothers of the land cry out rain of blood at the first splash of the awful mud. The rip of Port Phillip Heads, a wild place, was rough when the spray entered Hobson's bay from the sea, and was rougher when she stood out. But with sea-room and under sail she made good weather immediately after passing it. It was only a few hours sail to Tasmania across the strait, the wind being fair and blowing hard. I carried the St Kilda shark along, stuffed with hay, and deposed it to Professor Porter, the curator of the Victoria Museum of Launceston, which is at the head of the Tamar. For many a long day to come may be seen there the shark of St Kilda. Alas, the good but mistaken people of St Kilda when the illustrated journals with pictures of my shark reached their newsstands flew into a passion, and swept all the papers containing mention of fish into the fire, for St Kilda was a watering place, and the idea of a shark there. But my show went on. The spray was berthed on the beach at a small jetty at Launceston, while the tide driven in by the gale that brought her up the river was unusually high, and she lay there hard and fast, with not enough water around her at any time after to wet one's feet till she was ready to sail, then to float her the ground was dug from under her keel. In this snug place I left her in charge of three children, while I made journeys among the hills, and rested my bones for the coming voyage on the moss-covered rocks at the gorge hard by, and among the ferns I found wherever I went. My vessel was well taken care of. I never returned without finding that the decks had been washed, and that one of the children, my nearest neighbour's little girl from across the road, was at the gangway attending to visitors, while the others, a brother and sister, sold marine curios such as were in the cargo on ship's account. They were a bright cheerful crew, and people came a long way to hear them tell the story of the voyage, and of the monsters of the deep the captain had slain. I had only to keep myself away to be a hero of the first water, and it suited me very well to do so, and to rusticate in the forests, and among the streams. End of Chapter 13, Recording by Alan Chant in Tumbridge, Kent, England, www.7oaksprep.kent.sch.uk. Chapter 14 of Sailing Alone Around the World This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Alan Chant, Sailing Alone Around the World, by Joshua Slocum. Chapter 14, Consisting of a Testimonial from a Lady, Cruising Around Tasmania, The Skipper delivers his first lecture on the voyage, Abundant Provisions, An inspection of the spray for safety at Devonport, Again at Sydney, Northward Bound for the Torres Strait, An Amateur Shipwreck, Friends on the Australian Coast, Perils of a Coral Sea. February 1, 1897 On returning to my vessel I found waiting for me the letter of sympathy which I subjoin. A lady sends Mr. Slocum, the enclosed five-pound note, as a token of her appreciation of his bravery, in crossing the wide seas on so small a boat, and all alone, without human sympathy to help when danger threatened. All success to you. To this day I do not know who wrote it or to whom I am indebted for the generous gift it contained. I could not refuse a thing so kindly meant, but promised myself to pass it on with interest at the first opportunity, and this I did before leaving Australia. The season of fair weather around the north of Australia being yet a long way off, I sailed to other ports in Tasmania where it is fine the year round, the first of these being Beauty Point, near which are Beckonsfield and the Great Tasmanian Gold Mine, which I visited in turn. I saw much grey uninteresting rock being hoisted out of the mine there, and hundreds of stamps crushing it into powder. People told me there was gold in it, and I believed what they said. I remember Beauty Point for its shady forest, and for the road among the tall gumtrees. While there the Governor of New South Wales, Lord Hampton, and his family, came in on a steam-yot sight-seeing. The spray anchored near the landing-peer, through her bunting out of course, and probably a more insignificant craft bearing the stars and stripes was never seen in those waters. However the Governor's party seemed to know why it floated there, and all about the spray, and when I heard his excellency say, introduce me to the Captain or introduce the Captain to me, whichever it was, I found myself at once in the presence of a gentleman and a friend, and one greatly interested in my voyage. If any one of the party was more interested than the Governor himself, it was the honourable Margaret, his daughter. On leaving, Lord and Lady Hampton promised to rendezvous with me on board the spray at the Paris Exposition in 1900. If we live, they said, and I added for my part, dangers of the sea accepted. From Beauty Point the spray visited Georgetown near the mouth of the River Tamar. This little settlement, I believe, marks the place where the first footprints were made by whites in Tasmania, though it never grew to be more than a hamlet. Considering that I had seen something of the world, and finding people here interested in adventure, I talked the matter over before my first audience in a little hall by the country road. A piano having been brought in from a neighbour's, I was helped out by the severe thumping it got, and by a Tomyatkins song from a strolling comedian. People came from a great distance, and the audience all told netted the house about three pounds sterling. The owner of the hall, a kind lady from Scotland would take no rent, so my lecture from the start was a success. From this snug little place I made sail for Devonport, a thriving place on the River Mersey, a few hours sail westward along the coast, and fast becoming the most important port in Tasmania. Large steamers enter there now, and carry away great cargoes of farm produce, but the spray was the first vessel to bring the stars and stripes to the port, the harbour master Captain Murray told me, and so it is written in the port records. For that great distinction the spray enjoyed many civilities, while she rode comfortably at anchor in her port duster awning that covered her from stem to stern. From the magistrate's house Malana on the point she was saluted by the Jack, both on coming in and on going out, and dear Mrs Aikenhead, the mistress of Malana, supplied the spray with jams and jellies of all sorts by the case, prepared from the fruits of her own rich garden, enough to last all the way home and to spare. Mrs Wood further up the harbour put up bottles of raspberry wine for me. At this point more than ever before I was in the land of good cheer. Mrs Powell sent on board chutney prepared as we prepare it in India. Fish and game were plentiful here, and the voice of the gobbler was heard, and from Pardo further up the country came an enormous cheese, and yet people inquire, What did you live on? What did you eat? I was haunted by the beauty of the landscape all about, of the natural furnaries then disappearing, and of the domed forest trees on the slopes, and was fortunate in meeting a gentleman intent on preserving in art the beauties of his country. He presented me with many reproductions from his collection of pictures, also many originals to show my friends. By another gentleman I was charged to tell the glories of Tasmania in every land and on every occasion. This was Dr. McCall, M.L.C. The doctor gave me useful hints on lecturing. It was not without misgivings, however, that I filled away on this new course, and I am free to say that it is only by the kindness of sympathetic audiences that my oratorical bark was held on even keel. Soon after my first talk the kind doctor came to me with words of approval. As in many other of my enterprises I had gone about it at once and without second thought. Man, man! said he. Great nervousness is only a sign of brain, and the more brain a man has the longer it takes him to get over the affliction. But, he added reflectively, he will get over it. However, in my own behalf I think it only fair to say that I am not yet entirely cured. The spray was hauled out on the marine railway at Devonport and examined carefully top and bottom, but was found absolutely free from the destructive tornado, and sound in all respects. To protect her further against the ravages of these insects the bottom was coated once more with copper paint, for she would have to sail through the coral and Arafura seas before refitting again. Everything was done to fit her for all the known dangers. But it was not without regret that I looked forward to the day of sailing from a country of so many pleasing associations. If there was a moment in my voyage when I could have given it up it was there and then. But no vacancies for a better post being open. I weighed anchor September 16, 1897 and again put to sea. The season of summer was then over. Winter was rolling up from the south with fair winds for the north. A foretaste of winter wind sent the spray flying round Cape Howe and as far as Cape Bandoro further along, which she passed on the following day, retracing her course northwards. This was a fine run, and boded good for the long voyage home from the antipodes. My old Christmas friends on Bandoro seemed to be up and moving when I came the second time by their Cape, and we exchanged signals again while the sloop sailed along as before in a smooth sea and close to the shore. The weather was fine with clear sky the rest of the passage to Fort Jackson, Sydney, where the spray arrived April 22, 1897 and anchored in Watson's Bay, near the heads in eight fathoms of water. The harbour from the heads to Paramata up the river was more than ever alive with boats and yachts of every class. It was indeed a scene of animation hardly equalled in any other part of the world. A few days later the bay was flecked with tempestuous waves, and numb but stout ships carried sail. I was in a neighbouring hotel then, nursing a new roudre which I had picked up along shore, and had only that moment got a glance of just the stern of a large, unimaginable steamship passing the range of my window as she forged in by the point. When the bell-boy burst into my room shouting that the spray had gone bung, I tumbled out quickly to learn that bung meant that a large steamship had run into her and that it was the one of which I saw the stern, the other end of her having hit the spray. It turned out, however, that no damage was done beyond the loss of an anchor and chain which from the shock of the collision had parted at the whores. I had nothing at all to complain of, though, in the end, for the captain, after he clubbed his ship, took the spray in tow up the harbour clear of all dangers, and sent her back again in charge of an officer and three men to her anchorage in the bay, with a polite note saying he would repair any damages done. But what yoring she made of it when she came with a stranger at the helm? Her old friend, the pilot of the pinter, would not have been guilty of such lovely work. But to my great delight they got her into a berth, and the new roudre left me then, or was forgotten. The captain of the steamer, like a true seamen, kept his word, and his agent, Mr. Collishaw, handed me on the very next day the price of the lost anchor and chain, with something over for anxiety of mind. I remember that he offered me twelve pounds at once, but my lucky number being thirteen, we made the account thirteen pounds, which squared all accounts. I sailed again May nine before a strong south-west wind, which sent the spray gallantly on as far as Port Stevens, where it fell calm and then came up ahead. But the weather was fine, and so remained for many days, which was a great change from the state of the weather experienced here some months before. Having a full set of Admiralty Sheet Charts of the coast and barrier reef, I felt easy in mind. Captain Fisher R.N., who had steamed through the barrier passages in H.M.S. Orlando, advised me from the first to take this route, and I did not regret coming back to it now. The wind, for a few days, after passing Port Stevens, Seal Rocks, and Cape Hawke, was light and dead ahead. But these points are photographed on my memory from the trial of beating round them some months before when bound the other way. But now, with a good stock of books on board, I fell to reading day and night, leaving this pleasant occupation merely to trim sails or tack, or to lie down and rest, while the spray nibbled up the miles. I tried to compare my state with that of old circumnavigators, who sailed exactly over the route which I took, from Cape Ferdy Islands, or further back, to this point and beyond. But there was no comparison so far as I had got. Their hardships and romantic escapes, those of them who escaped death and were sufferings, did not enter into my experience, sailing all alone around the world. For me, is left to tell only of pleasant experiences, till finally my adventures are prosy and tame. I had just finished reading some of the most interesting of the old voyages in Wobigon's ships, and was already near Port Macquarie on my own cruise when I made out, May 13, a modern dandy craft in distress, anchored on the coast. Standing in for her, I found that she was the cut-a-yacht Acbar, which had sailed from Watson's Bay about three days ahead of the spray, and that she had run at once into trouble. Footnote. Acbar was not her registered name, which need not be told. No wonder she did so. It was a case of babes in the wood, or butterflies at sea. Her owner, on his maiden voyage, was all duck trousers. The captain, distinguished for the enormous yachtsman's capy-war, was a Murrumbidgee whaler before he took command of the Acbar, and the navigating officer, poor fellow, was almost as deaf as a post, and nearly as stiff and immovable as a post in the ground. Footnote. The Murrumbidgee is a small river winding among the mountains of Australia, and would be the last place in which to look for a whale. These three jolly-tars comprised the crew. None of them knew more about the sea, or about a vessel than a newly-born babe knows about another world. They were bound for New Guinea, so they said. Perhaps it was as well that three tender feet, so tender as those, never reached that destination. The owner, whom I had met before he sailed, wanted to race the poor old spray to Thirsty Island en route. I declined the challenge naturally, on the ground of the unfairness of three young yachtsmen in a clipper against an old sailor all alone in a craft of coarse build. Besides that, I would not on any account race in the Coral Sea. Spray ahoy, they all hailed now. What's the weather going to be? Is it a going to blow? And don't you think we'd better go back to refit? I thought, if you ever get back, don't refit. But I said, give me the end of a rope, and I'll tow you into Yom Port further along. And on your lives, I urged, do not go back round Cape Hawke, for it's winter to the south of it. They proposed making for Newcastle under jury sales, for their mainsail had been blown to ribbons, even the jigger had been blown away, and her rigging flew at loose ends. The act bar in a word was a wreck. Up anchor, I shouted, up anchor, and let me tow you into Fort Macquarie, twelve miles north of this. No, cried the owner, we'll go back to Newcastle. We missed Newcastle on the way coming. We didn't see the light. And it was not thick either. This he shouted very loudly, obstensibly for my hearing. But closer even than necessary, I thought, to the ear of the navigating officer. Again I tried to persuade them to be towed into the Port of Refuge so near at hand. It would have cost them only the trouble of weighing their anchor and passing me a rope. Of this I assured them. But they declined even this, in sheer ignorance of a rational course. What is your depth of water? I asked. Don't know. We lost our lead. All the chain is out. We sounded with our anchor. Send your dinghy over, and I'll give you a lead. We lost our dinghy too, they cried. God is good. Else you would have lost yourselves. And farewell, was all I could say. The trifling service proffered by the spray would have saved their vessel. Report us, they cried as I stood on, report us with sails blown away, and that we don't care a dash, and are not afraid. Then there is no hope for you. And again, farewell. I promised I would report them, and I did so at the first opportunity. And out of humane reasons, I do so again. On the following day I spoke the steamship Sherman bound down the coast, and reported the yacht in distress, and that it would be an act of humanity to tow her somewhere away from her exposed position on an open coast. That she did not get a tow from the steamer was from no lack of funds to pay the bill, for the owner, lately heir to a few hundred pounds, had the money with him. The proposed voyage to New Guinea was to look that island over with a view to its purchase. It was about eighteen days before I heard of the Acke Bar again, which was on the 31st of May, when I reached Cooktown on the Endeavour River, where I found this news. May 31, the yacht Acke Bar from Sydney to New Guinea, three hands on board, lost at Crescent Head, the crew saved. So it took them several days to lose the yacht after all. After speaking the distressed Acke Bar and the Sherman, the voyage of many days was uneventful save in the pleasant incident on May 16 of a chat by signal with the people on South Solitary Island, a dreary stone heap in the ocean just off the coast of New South Wales in latitude thirty degrees twelve minutes south. What vessel is that? they asked, as the sloop came abreast of their island. For answer I tried them with the stars and stripes at the peak. Down came their signals at once, and up went the British Ensign instead, which they dipped heartily. I understood from this that they made out my vessel and knew all about her, for they asked no more questions. They didn't even ask if the voyage would pay, but they threw out this friendly message, wishing you a pleasant voyage, which at that very moment I was having. May 19 the spray passing the Tweed River was signalled from Danger Point, where those on shore seemed most anxious about the state of my health, for they asked if all hands were well, to which I could say yes. On the following day the spray rounded Great Sandy Cape, and what is a notable event in every voyage picked up the trade winds, and these winds followed her now for many thousands of miles, never ceasing to blow from a moderate gale to a mild summer breeze, except at rare intervals. From the pitch of the Cape was a noble light scene 27 miles, passing from this to Lady Elliot Light, which stands on an island as a sentinel at the gateway of the Barrier Reef, the spray was at once in the fairway leading north. Poets have sung of Beacon Light and of Pharros, but did ever Poet behold a great light flash up before his path on a dark night in the midst of a coral sea? If so, he knew the meaning of his song. The spray had sailed for hours in suspense, evidently stemming a current. Almost mad with doubt, I grasped the helm to throw her head offshore when blazing out of the sea was the light ahead. Excalibur cried all hands and rejoiced and sailed on. The spray was now in a protected sea and smooth water. The first she had dipped her keel into since leaving Gibraltar and a change it was from having the heaving of the misnamed Pacific Ocean. The Pacific is perhaps on the whole no more boisterous than other oceans, though I feel quite safe in saying that it is not more Pacific except in name. It is often wild enough in one part or another. I once knew a writer who after saying beautiful things about the sea passed through a Pacific hurricane and he became a changed man. But where after all would be the poetry of the sea if there were no wild waves? At last here was the spray in the midst of a sea of coral. The sea itself might be called smooth indeed, but coral rocks are always rough, sharp and dangerous. I trusted now to the mercies of the maker of all reefs, keeping a good look out at the same time for perils on every hand. Lo the barrier reef and the waters of many colors studied all about with enchanted islands. I behold among them after all many safe harbours. Else my vision is astray. On the 24th of May the sloop having made 110 miles a day from Danger Point now entered with Sunday pass and that night sailed through among the islands. When the sun rose next morning I looked back and regretted having gone by while it was dark for the scenery far astern was varied and charming. End of Chapter 14 read by Alan Chant in Tumbridge, Kent, England www.sevenoaksprep.kent.sch.uk Chapter 15 of Sailing Alone Around the World This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Reading by Alan Chant Sailing Alone Around the World by Joshua Slokan Chapter 15 Consisting of Arrival at Port Denison Queensland A Lecture Reminiscences of Captain Cook Lecturing for Charity at Cooktown A Happy Escape from a Coral Sea Home Island, Sunday Island, Bird Island An American Pearl Fisherman Jubilee at Thursday Island A New End Sign for the Spray Booby Island Across the Indian Ocean Christmas Island On the morning of the 26th Gloucester Island was closer bored and the spray anchored in the evening at Port Denison where rests on a hill the sweet little town of Bowen the future watering place and health resort of Queensland. The country all about here has a healthful appearance. The harbour was easier of approach, spacious and safe and afforded excellent holding-ground. It was quiet in Bowen when the spray arrived and the good people with an hour to throw away on the second evening of her arrival came down to the School of Arts to talk about the voyage it being the latest event. It was duly advertised in the two little papers Boomerang and Nully Nully in the one the day before the affair came off and in the other the day after which was all the same to the editor and for that matter it was the same to me. Besides this, circulars were distributed with a flourish and the best bell-man in Australia was employed but I could have keel-hauled the wretch bell and all when he came to the door of the little hotel where my prospective audience and I were dining and with his clattering bell and fiendish yell made noises that would awaken the dead all over the voyage of the spray from Boston to Bowen the two hubs in the cart-wheels of creation as the Boomerang afterwards said. Mr. Miles, Magistrate, Harbour Master, Land Commissioner, Goldwarden, etc. was Chairman and introduced me for what reason I never knew except to embarrass me with a scene of vain ostentation and in bitter my life for heaven knows I had met every person in town the first hour ashore. I knew them all by name now and they all knew me. However, Mr. Miles was a good talker. Indeed I tried to induce him to go on and tell the story while I showed the pictures but this he refused to do. I may explain that it was a talk illustrated by Stereopticon. The views were good but the Lantern, a 30-shilling affair, was wretched and had only an oil lamp in it. I sailed early the next morning before the papers came out thinking it best to do so. They each appeared with a favourable column, however, of what they called a lecture, so I learned afterwards and they had a kind word for the Bellman besides. From Port Denison the sloop ran before the constant trade wind and made no stop at all night or day until she reached Cooktown on the Endeavour River where she arrived Monday, May 31, 1897 before a furious blast of wind encountered that day 50 miles down the coast. On this parallel of latitude is the high ridge and backbone of the trade winds which about Cooktown amount often to a hard gale. I had been charged to navigate the route with extra care and to feel my way over the ground. The skilled officer of the Royal Navy who advised me to take the barrier reef passage wrote me that HMS Orlando steamed nights as well as days through it but that I under sail would jeopardise my vessel on coral reefs if I undertook to do so. Confidentially it would have been no easy matter finding anchorage every night. The hard work too of getting the sloop underway every morning was finished I had hoped when she cleared the Strait of Magellan. Besides that the best of Admiralty charts made it possible to keep on sailing night and day indeed with a fair wind and in the clear weather of that season the way through the barrier reef channel in all sincerity was clearer than a highway in a busy city and by all odds less dangerous. But to any one contemplating the voyage I should say beware of reef stay or night or remaining on the land be wary still. The spray came flying into port like a bird said the longshore daily papers of Cooktown that the morning after she arrived and it seemed strange they added that only one man could be seen on board working the craft. The spray was doing her best to be sure for it was near night and she was in haste to find a perch before dark. Tacking inside of all the craft in port I moored her at sunset nearly abreast the Captain Cook Monument and next morning went ashore to feast my eyes upon the very stones the great navigator had seen for I was now on a seamen's consecrated ground. But there seemed a question in Cooktown's mind as to the exact spot where his ship the Endeavour hoved down for repairs on her memorable voyage round the world. Some said it was not at all at the place where the monument now stood. A discussion of the subject was going on one morning where I happened to be and a young lady present turning to me as one of some authority in nautical matters very flatteringly asked my opinion. Well, I could see no reason why Captain Cook if he made up his mind to repair his ship inland couldn't have dredged out a channel to the place where the monument now stood if he had a dredging machine with him and afterwards fill it up again. For Captain Cook could do most anything and nobody ever said that he hadn't a dredger along. The young lady seemed to lean to my way of thinking and following up the story of the historical voyage asked if I had visited the point further down the harbour where the great circumnavigator was murdered. This took my breath but a bright schoolboy coming along relieved my embarrassment for like all boys seeing that information was wanted he volunteered to supply it said he, Captain Cook wasn't murdered here at all, ma'am he was killed in Africa, a lion had him. Here I was reminded of distressedful days gone by I think it was in 1866 that the old steamship Soushe from Batavia for Sydney put in at Cooktown for scurvy grass as I always thought and incidentally to land males. On her sick list was my fevered self and so I didn't see the place till I came back on the spray 31 years later and now I saw coming into port the physical wrecks of miners from New Guinea destitute and dying many had died on the way and had been buried at sea he would have been a hardened wretch who could look on and not try to do something for them the sympathy of all went out to these sufferers but the little town was already straightened from a long run on its benevolence I thought of the matter of the lady's gift to me at Tasmania which I had promised myself I would keep only as a loan but found now to my embarrassment that I had invested the money however the good Cooktown people wished to hear a story of the sea and how the crew of the spray fared when illness got aboard of her accordingly the little Presbyterian church on the hill was opened for a congregation everybody talked and they made a roaring success of it Judge Chester the magistrate was at the head of the game and so it was bound to succeed he it was who annexed the island of New Guinea to Great Britain while I was about it said he I annexed the blooming lot of it there was a ring in the statement pleasant to the ear of an old voyager however the Germans made such a row over the judge's mainsail hall that they got a share in the venture well I was now indebted to the miners of Cooktown for the great privilege of adding a might to the worthy cause and to Judge Chester all the town was indebted for a general good time the matter standing so I sailed on June 6 1897 heading away for the North as before arrived at a very inviting anchorage about sundown the 7th I came to for the night abreast the Clermont light ship this was the only time throughout the passage of the barrier reef channel that the spray anchored except at Fort Denison and at Endeavour River on the very night following this however the 8th I regretted keenly for an instant that I had not anchored before dark as I might have done easily under the lee of a coral reef it happened in this way the spray had just passed M Reef light ship and left the light dipping a stern when going at full speed with sheets off she hit the M Reef itself on the north end where I expected to see a beacon she swung off quickly on her heel however and with one more bound on a swell cut across the shoal point so quickly that I hardly knew how it was done the beacon wasn't there at least I didn't see it I hadn't time to look for it after she struck and certainly it didn't much matter then whether I saw it or not but this gave her a fine departure for Cape Greenville the next point ahead I saw the ugly boulders under the sloop's keel as she flashed over them and I made a mental note of it that the letter M for which the reef was named was the 13th one in our alphabet and that 13 as noted years before was still my lucky number the natives of Cape Greenville are notoriously bad and I was advised to give them the go-by accordingly from M Reef I steered outside of the adjacent islands to be on the safe side skipping along now the spray passed home island off the pitch of the Cape soon after midnight and squared away on a westerly course a short time later she fell in with a steamer bound south groping her way in the dark and making the night dismal with her own black smoke from home island I made for Sunday Island and bringing that a beam short and sail not wishing to make Bird Island further along before daylight the wind being still fresh and the islands being low with dangers about them Wednesday June 9 1897 at daylight Bird Island was dead ahead distant two and a half miles which I considered near enough a strong current was pressing the sloop forward I did not shorten sail too soon in the night the first and only Australian canoes seen on the voyage was encountered here standing from the mainland with a rag of sail set bound for this island a long slim fish that leapt on board in the night was found on deck this morning I had it for breakfast the Sprite Chap was no larger than a herring which it represented in every respect except that it was three times as long but that was so much the better for I'm rather fond of fresh herring anyway a great number of Fisher birds were about this day one of the pleasantest on God's earth the spray dancing over the waves entered Albany Pass as the sun drew low in the west over the hills of Australia at 7.30pm the spray now through the pass came to anchor in a cove in the mainland near a pearl fisherman called the Tarawa which was at anchor her captain from the deck of his vessel directing me to a berth this done he at once came on board to class pans the Tarawa was a Californian and Captain Jones her master was an American on the following morning Captain Jones brought on board two pairs of exquisite pearl shells the most perfect ones I ever saw they were probably the best he had for Jones was the heart yarn of a sailor he assured me that if I would remain a few hours longer some friends from Somerset nearby would pay us all a visit and one of the crew sorting shells on deck guessed they would the mate guessed so too the friends came as even the second mate and Cook had guessed they would they were Mr. Jardin, Stockman famous throughout the land and his family Mrs. Jardin was the niece of King Maliatoa and cousin to the beautiful Far Musami to make the sea burn who visited the spray at Apia Mr. Jardin was himself a fine specimen of a Scotsman with his little family about him he was content to live in this remote place accumulating the comforts of life the fact of the Tarawa having been built in America accounted for the crew, boy, Jim and all being such good guesses strangely enough though Captain Jones himself, the only American aboard was never heard to guess at all after a pleasant chat and good-bye to the people of the Tarawa and to Mr. and Mrs. Jardin I again weighed anchor and stood across for Thursday Island now in plain view, mid channel in Torres Strait where I arrived shortly afternoon here the spray remained over until June 24 being the only American representative in port this tarry was imperative for on the 22nd was the Queen's Diamond Jubilee the two days over were as sailors say for coming up meanwhile I spent pleasant days about the island Mr. Douglas, resident magistrate invited me on a cruise in his steamer one day among the islands in Torres Strait this being a scientific expedition in charge of Professor Mason Bailey, botanist we rambled over Friday and Saturday islands where I got a glimpse of botany Miss Bailey, the professor's daughter accompanied the expedition and told me of many indigenous plants with long names the 22nd was a great day on Thursday Island for then we had not only the Jubilee with a grand corroboree in it Mr. Douglas having brought some 400 native warriors and their wives and children across from the mainland to give the celebration the true native touch for when they do a thing on Thursday Island they do it with a roar the corroboree was at any rate a howling success it took place at night and the performers painted in fantastic colours danced or leapt about before a blazing fire some were rigged and painted like birds and beasts in which the emu and kangaroo were well represented one fellow leapt like a frog some had the human skeleton painted on their bodies while they jumped about threateningly spear in hand ready to strike down some imaginary enemy the kangaroo hopped and danced with natural ease and grace making a fine figure all kept time to music, vocal and instrumental the instruments save the mark being bits of wood which they beat one against the other and saucer like bones held in the palms of the hands which they knocked together making a dull sound it was a show at once amusing, spectacular and hideous the warrior aborigines that I saw in Queensland were for the most part live and fairly well built but they were stamped always with repulsive features and their women were, if possible, still more ill favoured I observed that on the day of the Jubilee no foreign flag was waving in the public grounds except the stars and stripes which along with the Union Jack guarded the gateway and floated in many places from the tiniest to the standard size speaking to Mr. Douglas I ventured a remark on this compliment to my country Oh! said he, this is a family affair and we do not consider the stars and stripes a foreign flag the spray, of course, flew her best bunting and hoisted the Jack as well as her own noble flag as high as she could on June 24 the spray, well fitted in every way sailed for the long voyage ahead down the Indian Ocean Mr. Douglas gave her a flag as she was leaving his island the spray had now passed nearly all the dangers of the Coral Sea and Torres Strait which indeed were not a few and all ahead from this point was plain sailing and a straight course the trade wind was still blowing fresh and could be safely counted on now down to the coast of Madagascar, if not beyond that for it was still early in the season I had no wish to arrive off the Cape of Good Hope before mid-summer and it was now early winter I had been off that Cape once in July which was, of course, mid-winter there the stout ship I then commanded encountered only fierce Hurricanes and she bore them ill I wished for no winter gales now it was not that I feared the moor being in the spray instead of a large ship but that I preferred fine weather in any case it is true that one may encounter heavy gales off the Cape of Good Hope at any season of the year but in the summer they are less frequent and do not continue so long and so with time enough before me to admit of a run ashore on the island's own route I took the course now for Keeling Cocos Atoll Island's distance 2700 miles taking a departure now from Booby Island which the sloop passed early in the day I decided to sight Timor on the way an island of great mountains Booby Island I had seen before but only once, however and that was when in the steamship Soushe on which I was hoved down in a fever when she steamed along this way I was well enough to crawl on deck to look at Booby Island had I died for it I would have seen that island in those days passing ships landed stores in a cave on the island for shipwrecked and distressed wayfarers Captain Aery of the Soushe, a good man sent a boat to the cave with his contribution to the general store the stores were landed in safety and the boat returning the impoverished post office there had dozen or more letters most of them left by whale men with the request that the first home would bound ship would carry them along and see to their mailing which had been the custom of this strange postal service for many years some of the letters brought back by our boat were directed to New Bedford and some to Fairhaven, Massachusetts there is a light today on Booby Island regular packet communication with the rest of the world and the beautiful uncertainty of the fate of letters left there is a thing of the past I made no call at the little island but standing close in exchanged signals with the keeper of the light sailing on the sloop was at once in the Arafura Sea where for days she sailed in water milky white and green and purple it was my good fortune to enter the sea on the last quarter of the moon the advantage being that in the dark nights I witnessed the phosphorescent light effect at night in its greatest splendour the sea where the sloop disturbed it seemed all ablaze so that by its light I could see the smallest articles on deck and her wake was a path of fire on the 25th of June the sloop was already clear of all the shoals and dangers and was sailing on a smooth sea as steadily as before but with speed somewhat slackened I got out the flying jib made at Juan Fernandez and set it as a spinnaker from the stoutest bamboo that Mrs. Stevenson had given me at Samoa the spinnaker pulled like a soldier and the bamboo holding its own the spray mended her pace several pigeons flying across today from Australia towards the islands bent their course over the spray smaller birds were seen flying in the opposite direction in the part of the affura that I came to first where it was shallow sea snakes writhed about on the surface and tumbled over and over in the waves as the sloop sailed further on where the sea became deep they disappeared in the ocean where the water is blue not one was ever seen in the days of serene weather there was not much to do but to read and take rest on the spray to make up as much as possible for the rough time of Cape Horn which was not yet forgotten and to forestall the Cape of Good Hope by a store of ease my sea journal was now much the same from day to day something like this of June 26th and 27th for example June 26th in the morning it is a bit squally later in the day blowing a steady breeze on the log at noon is 130 miles subtract correction for slip 10 miles total 120 miles add correction for current 10 miles total 130 miles latitude by observation at noon 10 degrees 23 minutes south longitude as per mark on the chart now there wasn't much brain work in that log I'm sure June 27 makes a better showing when all is told first of all today was a flying fish on deck Friday in butter 133 miles on the log for slip off and for current on as per guess about equal let it go at that latitude by observation at noon 10 degrees 25 minutes south for several days now the spray sailed west on the parallel of 10 degrees 25 minutes south as true as a hare if she deviated at all from that through the day or night and this may have happened she was back strangely enough at noon at the same latitude but the greatest science was in reckoning the longitude my tin clock and only timepiece had by this time lost its minute hand but after I boiled her she told the hours and that was near enough on a long stretch on the 22nd of June the great island of Timor was in view away to the Norrid on the following day I saw Dana Island not far off and a breeze came up from the land at night fragrant of the spices or what not of the coast on the 11th with all sail set and with the spinnaker still aboard Christmas Island about noon came into view one point on the starboard bow before night it was a beam and distant two and a half miles the surface of the island appeared evenly rounded from the sea to a considerable height in the center in outline it was as smooth as a fish and a long ocean swell rolling up broke against the sides where it lay like a monster asleep motionless on the sea it seemed to have the proportions of a whale and as the sloop sailed along its side to the part where the head would be there was a nostril even which was a blow-hole through a ledge of rock where every wave that dashed threw up a shaft of water life-like and real it had been a long time since I last saw this island but I remember my temporary admiration for the captain of the ship I was then in the tandoor when he sang out one morning from the quarter-deck well aft go aloft there one of you with a pair of eyes and see Christmas Island sure enough there the island was in sight from the Royal Yard Captain M. had thus made a great hit and he never got over it the chief mate terror of us ordinaries in the ship walking never to Wimbledon the captain now took himself very humbly to Leward altogether when we arrived at Hong Kong there was a letter in the ship's mail for me I was in the boat with the captain some hours while he had it but do you suppose he could hand a letter to a seaman no indeed not even to an ordinary seaman when we got to the ship he gave it to the first mate first mate gave it to the second mate and he laid it minchingly on the capstan head where I could get it End of chapter 15 read by Alan chant in Tumbridge Kent, England www.7oaksprep.kent.sh.uk