Life and Letters of Thomas Henry Huxley — Volume 1

by Thomas Henry Huxley

CHAPTER 1.4.

1848-1850.

[The whole cruise of the "Rattlesnake" lasted almost precisely four years, her stay in Australian waters nearly three. Of this time altogether eleven months were spent at Sydney, namely, July 16 to October 11, 1847; January 14 to February 2, and March 9 to April 29, 1848; January 24 to May 8, 1849; and February 14 to May 2, 1850. The three months of the first northern cruise were spent in the survey of the Inshore Passage—the passage, that is, within the Great Barrier Reef for ships proceeding from India to Sydney. In 1848, while waiting for the right season to visit Torres Straits, a short cruise was made in February and March, to inspect the lighthouses in Bass' Straits. It was on this occasion that Huxley visited Melbourne, then an insignificant town, before the discovery of gold had brought a rush of immigrants.

The second northern cruise of 1848, which lasted nine months, had for its object the completion of the survey of the Inner Passage as far as New Guinea and the adjoining archipelago. The third cruise in 1849-50 again lasted nine months, and continued the survey in Torres Straits, the Louisiade archipelago, and the south-eastern part of New Guinea. After this the original plan was to make a fourth cruise, filling up the charts of the Inner Passage on the east coast, and surveying the straits of Alass between Lombok and Sumbawa in the Malay Archipelago; then, instead of returning to Sydney, to proceed to Singapore and so home by the Cape. But these plans were altered by the untimely death of Captain Stanley on March 13, and the "Rattlesnake" sailed for England direct in May 1850.

There was a great monotony about these cruises, particularly to those who were not constantly engaged in the active work of surveying. The ship sailed slowly from place to place, hunting out reefs and islets; a stay of a few days would be made at some lonely island, while charting expeditions went out in the boats or supplies of water and fresh fruits were laid in. On the second expedition there were two cases of scurvy on board by the time the mail from Sydney reached the ship at Cape York with letters and lime-juice, the first reminder of civilisation for four months and a half. On this cruise there was an unusual piece of interest in Kennedy's ill-fated expedition, which the "Rattlesnake" landed in Rockingham Bay, and trusted to meet again at Cape York. Happy it was for Huxley that his duties forbade him to accept Kennedy's proposal to join the expedition. After months of weary struggles in the dense scrub, Kennedy himself, who had pushed on for help with his faithful black man Jacky, was speared by the natives when almost in sight of Cape York; Jack barely managed to make his way there through his enemies, and guided a party to the rescue of the two starved and exhausted survivors of the disease-stricken camp by the Sugarloaf Hill. It was barely time. Another hour, and they too would have been killed by the crowd of blackfellows who hovered about in hopes of booty, and were only dispersed for a moment by the rescue party.

On the third cruise there were a few adventures more directly touching the "Rattlesnake." Twice the landing parties, including Huxley, were within an ace of coming to blows with the islanders of the Louisiades, and on one occasion a portly member of the gun-room, being cut off by these black gentry, only saved his life by parting with all his clothes as presents to them, and keeping them amused by an impromptu dance in a state of nature under the broiling sun, until a party came to his relief. At Cape York also, a white woman was rescued who had been made prisoner by the blacks from a wreck, and had lived among them for several years. Here, too, Huxley and Macgillivray made a trip inland, and were welcomed by a native chief, who saw in the former the returning spirit of his dead brother.

Throughout the voyage Huxley was busy with his pencil, and many lithographs from his drawings illustrate the account of the voyage afterwards published. As to his scientific work, he was accumulating a large stock of observations, but felt rather sore about the papers which he had already sent home, for no word had reached him as to their fate, not even that they had been received or looked over by Forbes, to whom they had been consigned. As a matter of fact, they had not been neglected, as he was to find out on his return; but meanwhile the state of affairs was not reassuring to a man whose dearest hopes were bound up in the reception he could win for these and similar researches. Altogether, it was with no little joy that he turned his back on the sweltering heat of Torres Straits, on the great mountains of New Guinea, the Owen Stanley range, which had remained hidden from D'Urville in the "Astrolabe" to be discovered by the explorers on the "Rattlesnake," and the far stretching archipelago of the Louisiades, one tiny island in which still bears the name of Huxley, after the assistant-surgeon of the "Rattlesnake."

A few extracts from letters of the time will give a more vivid idea of what the voyage was like. The first is from a letter to his mother, dated February 1, 1849:—]

…I suppose you have wondered at the long intervals of my letters, but my silence has been forced. I wrote from Rockingham Bay in May, and from Cape York in October. After leaving the latter place we have had no communication with any one but the folks at Port Essington, which is a mere military post, without any certain means of communication with England. We were ten weeks on our passage from Port Essington to Sydney and touched nowhere, so that you may imagine we were pretty well tired of the sea by the time we reached Port Jackson.

Thank God we are now safely anchored in our old quarters, and for the next three months shall enjoy a few of those comforts that make life worth the living…

The only place we have visited since my last budget to you was Port Essington, a military post which has been an object of much attention for some time past in connection with the steam navigation between Sydney and India. It is about the most useless, miserable, ill-managed hole in Her Majesty's dominions. Placed fifteen miles inland on the swampy banks of an estuary out of reach of the sea breezes, it is the most insufferably hot and enervating place imaginable. The temperature of the water alongside the ship was from 88 to 90, i.e. about that of a moderately warm bath, so that you may fancy what it is on land. Added to this, the commandant is a litigious old fool, always at war with his officers, and endeavouring to make the place as much of a hell morally as it is physically. Little more than two years ago a detachment of sixty men came out to the settlement. At the parade on the Sunday I was there; there were just ten men present. The rest were invalided, dead, or sick. I have no hesitation in saying that half of this was the result of ill-management. The climate in itself is not particularly unhealthy. We were all glad to get away from the place.

[Another is to his sister, under date Sydney, March 14, 1849:—]

By the way, I may as well give you a short account of our cruise. We started from here last May to survey what is called the inner passage to India. You must know that the east coast of Australia has running parallel to it at distances of from five miles to seventy or eighty an almost continuous line of coral reefs, the Great Barrier as it is called. Outside this line is the great Pacific, inside is a space varying in width as above, and cut up by little islands and detached reefs. Now to get to India from Sydney, ships must go either inside or outside the Great Barrier. The inside passage has been called the Inner Route in consequence of its desirability for steamers, and our business has been to mark out this Inner Route safely and clearly among the labyrinth-like islands and reefs within the Barrier. And a parlous dull business it was for those who, like myself, had no necessary and constant occupation. Fancy for five mortal months shifting from patch to patch of white sand in latitude from 17 to 10 south, living on salt pork and beef, and seeing no mortal face but our own sweet countenances considerably obscured by the long beard and moustaches with which, partly from laziness and partly from comfort, we had become adorned. I cultivated a peak in Charles I style, which imparted a remarkably peculiar and triste expression to my sunburnt phiz, heightened by the fact that the aforesaid beard was, I regret to say it, of a very questionable auburn—my messmates called it red.

We convoyed a land expedition as far as the Rockingham Bay in 17 south under a Mr. Kennedy, which was to work its way up to Cape York in 11 south and there meet us. A fine noble fellow poor Kennedy was too. I was a good deal with him at Rockingham Bay, and indeed accompanied him in the exploring trips which he made for some four or five days in order to see how the land lay about him. In fact we got on so well together that he wanted me much to accompany him and join the ship again at Cape York, and if the Service would have permitted of my absence I should certainly have done so. But it was well I did not. Out of thirteen men composing the party but three remain alive. The rest have perished by starvation or the spears of the natives. Poor Kennedy himself had, in company with the black fellow attached to the party, by dint of incredible exertions, pushed on until he came within sight of the provision vessel waiting his arrival at Cape York. But here, within grasp of his object, a large party of natives attacked and killed him. The black fellow alone reached Cape York with the news. The other two men who were saved were the sole survivors of the party Kennedy left behind him at a spot near the coast, and were picked up by the provision vessel when she returned.

You may be sure I am not sorry to return home. I say home advisedly, for my friend Fanning's house is as completely my home as it well can be. And then Nettie had not heard anything of me for six months, so that I have been petted and spoiled ever since we came in…as I tell her I fear she has rested her happiness on a very insecure foundation; but she is full of hope and confidence, and to me her love is the faith that moveth mountains. We have, as you may be sure, a thousand difficulties in our way, but like Danton I take for my motto, "De l'audace et encore de l'audace et toujours de l'audace," and look forward to a happy termination, nothing doubting.

[To his mother (announcing the probable time of his return).]

Sydney, February 11, 1850.

I cannot at all realise the idea of our return. We have been leading such a semi-savage life for years past, such a wandering nomadic existence, that any other seems in a manner unnatural to me. Time was when I should have looked upon our return with unmixed joy; but so many new and strong ties have arisen to unite me with Sydney, that now when the anchor is getting up for England, I scarcely know whether to rejoice or to grieve. You must not be angry, my dear Mother; I have none the less affection for you or any other of those whom I love in England—only a very great deal for a certain little lassie whom I must leave behind me without clearly seeing when we are to meet again. You must remember the Scripture as my excuse, "A man shall leave his father and mother and cleave unto his" (I wish I could add) wife. Our long cruises are fine times for reflection, and during the last I determined that we would be terribly prudent and get married about 1870, or the Greek Kalends, or, what is about the same thing, whenever I am afflicted with the malheur de richesses.

People talk about the satisfaction of an approving conscience. Mine approves me intensely; but I'll be hanged if I see the satisfaction of it. I feel much more inclined to swear "worse than our armies in Flanders."…So far as my private doings are concerned, I hear very satisfactory news of them. I heard from an old messmate of mine at Haslar the other day that Dr. MacWilliam, F.R.S., one of our deputy-inspectors, had been talking about one of my papers, and gave him to understand that it was to be printed. Furthermore, he is a great advocate for the claims of assistant surgeons to ward-room rank, and all that sort of stuff, and, I am told, quoted me as an example! Henceforward I look upon the learned doctor as a man of sound sense and discrimination! Without joking, however, I am glad to have come under his notice, as he may be of essential use to me. I find myself getting horribly selfish, looking at everything with regard to the influence it may have on my grand objects.

[Further descriptions of the voyage are to be drawn from an article in the "Westminster Review" for January 1854 (volume 5), in which, under the title of "Science at Sea," Huxley reviewed the "Voyage of the 'Rattlesnake'" by Macgillivray, the naturalist to the expedition, which had recently appeared. This book gave very few descriptions of the incidents and life on board, and so drew in many ways a colourless picture of the expedition. This defect the reviewer sought to remedy by giving extracts from the so-called "unpublished correspondence" of one of the officers—sketches apparently written for the occasion—as well as from an equally unpublished but more real journal kept by the same hand.

The description of the ship herself, of her inadequate equipment for the special purposes she was to carry out, of the officers' quiet contempt of scientific pursuits, which not even the captain's influence was able to subdue, of the illusory promises of help and advancement held out by the Admiralty to young investigators, makes a striking foil to the spirit in which the Government of thirty years later undertook a greater scientific expedition. Perhaps some vivid recollections of this voyage did something to better the conditions under which the later investigators worked.

Thus, page 100:]

In the year 1846, Captain Owen Stanley, a young and zealous officer, of good report for his capabilities as a scientific surveyor, was entrusted with the command of the "Rattlesnake," a vessel of six-and-twenty guns, strong and seaworthy, but one of that class unenviably distinguished in the war-time as a "donkey-frigate." To the laity it would seem that a ship journeying to unknown regions, when the lives of a couple of hundred men may, at any moment, depend upon her handiness in going about, so as to avoid any suddenly discovered danger, should possess the best possible sailing powers. The Admiralty, however, makes its selection upon other principles, and exploring vessels will be invariably found to be the slowest, clumsiest, and in every respect the most inconvenient ships which wear the pennant. In accordance with the rule, such was the "Rattlesnake"; and to carry out the spirit of the authorities more completely, she was turned out of Portsmouth dockyard in such a disgraceful state of unfitness, that her lower deck was continually under water during the voyage.

[Again, page 100:]

It is necessary to be provided with books of reference, which are ruinously expensive to a private individual, though a mere dewdrop in the general cost of the fitting out of a ship, especially as they might be kept in store, and returned at the end of a commission, like other stores. A hundred pounds sterling would have well supplied the "Rattlesnake"; but she sailed without a volume, an application made by her captain not having been attended to.

[Page 103:]

Of all those who were actively engaged upon the survey, the young commander alone was destined by inevitable fate to be robbed of his just reward. Care and anxiety, from the mobility of his temperament, sat not so lightly upon him as they might have done, and this, joined to the physical debility produced by the enervating climate of New Guinea, fairly wore him out, making him prematurely old before much more than half of the allotted span was completed. But he died in harness, the end attained, the work that lay before him honourably done. Which of us may dare to ask for more? He has raised an enduring monument in his works, and his epitaph shall be the grateful thanks of many a mariner threading his way among the mazes of the Coral Sea.

[Page 104:]

The world enclosed within the timbers of a man-of-war is a most remarkable community, hardly to be rendered vividly intelligible to the mere landsman in these days of constitutional government and freedom of the press.

[Then follows a vigorous sketch of sea life from Chamisso, suggesting that the type of one's relation to the captain is to be found in Jean Paul's "Biography of the Twins," who were united back to back. This sketch Huxley enforces by a passage from the imaginary journal aforesaid,] "indited apparently when the chains were yet new and somewhat galled the writer," [to judge from which] "little alteration would seem to have taken place in nautical life" [since Chamisso's voyage, thirty years before.]

You tell me [he writes], that you sigh for my life of freedom and adventure; and that, compared with mine, the conventional monotony of your own stinks in your nostrils. My dear fellow, be patient, and listen to what I have to say; you will then, perhaps, be a little more content with your lot in life, and a little less desirous of mine. Of all extant lives, that on board a ship-of-war is the most artificial—whether necessarily so or not is a question I will not undertake to decide; but the fact is indubitable.

How utterly disgusted you get with one another! Little peculiarities which would give a certain charm and variety to social intercourse under any other circumstances, become sources of absolute pain, and almost uncontrollable irritation, when you are shut up with them day and night. One good friend and messmate of mine has a peculiar laugh, whose iteration on our last cruise nearly drove me insane.

There is no being alone in a ship. Sailors are essentially gregarious animals, and don't at all understand the necessity under which many people labour—I among the rest—of having a little solitary converse with oneself occasionally.

Then, to a landsman fresh from ordinary society and its peculiarly undemonstrative ways, there is something very wonderful about naval discipline. I do not mean to say that the subordination kept up is more than is necessary, nor perhaps is it in reality greater than is to be found in a college, or a regiment, or a large mercantile house; but it is made so VERY obvious. You not only feel the bit, but you see it; and your bridle is hung with bells to tell you of its presence.

Your captain is a very different person, in relation to his officers, from the colonel of a regiment; he is a demi-god, a Dalai lama, living in solitary state; sublime, unapproachable; and the radiation of his dignity stretches through all the other members of the nautical hierarchy; hence all sorts of petty intrigues, disputes, grumblings, and jealousies, which, to the irreverent eye of an "idler," give to the whole little society the aspect of nothing so much as the court of Prinz Irenaeus in Kater Murr's inestimable autobiography.

[Page 107 sq.:

After describing the illusory promises of the Admiralty and their grudging spirit towards the scientific members of the expedition, he continues:—]

These are the FACILITIES AND ENCOURAGEMENT to science afforded by the Admiralty; and it cannot be wondered at if the same spirit runs through its subordinate officers.

Not that there is any active opposition—quite the reverse. But it is a curious fact, that if you want a boat for dredging, ten chances to one they are always actually or potentially otherwise disposed of; if you leave your towing-net trailing astern in search of new creatures, in some promising patch of discoloured water, it is, in all probability, found to have a wonderful effect in stopping the ship's way, and is hauled in as soon as your back is turned; or a careful dissection waiting to be drawn may find its way overboard as a "mess."

The singular disrespect with which the majority of naval officers regard everything that lies beyond the sphere of routine, tends to produce a tone of feeling very unfavourable to scientific exertions. How can it be otherwise, in fact, with men who, from the age of thirteen, meet with no influence but that which teaches them that the "Queen's regulations and instructions" are the law and the prophets, and something more?

It may be said, without fear of contradiction, that in time of peace the only vessels which are engaged in services involving any real hardship or danger are those employed upon the various surveys; and yet the men of easy routine—harbour heroes—the officers of REGULAR men-of-war, as they delight to be called, pretend to think surveying a kind of shirking—in sea-phrase, "sloping." It is to be regretted that the officers of the surveying vessels themselves are too often imbued with the same spirit; and though, for shame's sake, they can but stand up for hydrography, they are too apt to think an alliance with other branches of science as beneath the dignity of their divinity—the "Service."

[Page 112:]

Any adventures ashore were mere oases, separated by whole deserts of the most wearisome ennui. For weeks, perhaps, those who were not fortunate enough to be living hard and getting fatigued every day in the boats were yawning away their existence in an atmosphere only comparable to that of an orchid-house, a life in view of which that of Mariana in the moated grange has its attractions.

For instance, consider this extract from the journal of one of the officers, date August 1849:—

"Rain! rain! encore et toujours—I wonder if it is possible for the mind of man to conceive anything more degradingly offensive than the condition of us 150 men, shut up in this wooden box, and being watered with hot water, as we are now. It is no exaggeration to say HOT, for the temperature is that at which people at home commonly take a hot bath. It rains so hard that we have caught seven tons of water in one day, and it is therefore impossible to go on deck, though, if one did, one's condition would not be much improved. A HOT Scotch mist covers the sea and hides the land, so that no surveying can be done; moving about in the slightest degree causes a flood of perspiration to pour out; all energy is completely gone, and if I could help it I would not think even; it's too hot. The rain awnings are spread, and we can have no wind sails up; if we could, there is not a breath of wind to fill them; and consequently the lower and main decks are utterly unventilated: a sort of solution of man in steam fills them from end to end, and surrounds the lights with a lurid halo. It's too hot to sleep, and my sole amusement consists in watching the cockroaches, which are in a state of intense excitement and happiness. They manifest these feelings in a very remarkable manner—a sudden unanimous impulse seems to seize the obscene thousands which usually lurk hidden in the corners of my cabin. Out they rush, helter-skelter, and run over me, my table, and my desk; others, more vigorous, fly, quite regardless of consequences, until they hit against something, upon which, half spreading their wings, they make their heads a pivot and spin round in a circle, in a manner which indicates a temporary aberration of the cockroach mind. It is these outbreaks alone which rouse us from our lassitude. Knocks are heard resounding on all sides, and each inhabitant of a cabin, armed with a slipper, is seen taking ample revenge upon the disturbers of his rest and the destroyers of his body and clothes."

Here, on the other hand, is an oasis, a bartering scene at Bruny Island, in the Louisiade:—

"We landed at the same place as before, and this time the natives ran down prancing and gesticulating. Many of them had garlands of green leaves round their heads, knees, and ankles; some wore long streamers depending from their arms and ears and floating in the wind as they galloped along, shaking their spears and prancing just as boys do when playing at horses. They soon surrounded us, shouting 'Kelumai! Kelumai!' (their word for iron), and offering us all sorts of things in exchange. One very fine athletic man, "Kaioo-why-who-at' by name, was perfectly mad to get an axe, and very soon comprehended the arrangements that were made. Mr. Brady drew ten lines on the sand and laid an axe down by them, giving K— (I really can't write that long name all over again) to understand by signs that when there was a 'bahar' (yam) on every mark he should have the axe. He comprehended directly, and bolted off as fast as he could run, soon returning with his hands full of yams, which he deposited one by one on the appropriate lines; then fearful lest some of the others should do him out of the axe, he caught hold of Brady by the arm, and would not let him go until yams enough had been brought by the others to make up the number, and the axe was handed over to him.

"Then was there a yell of delight! He jumped up with the axe, flourished it, passed it to his companions, tumbled down and rolled over, kicking up his heels in the air, and finally, catching hold of me, we had a grand waltz, with various poses plasticques, for about a quarter of a mile. I daresay he was unsophisticated enough to imagine that I was filled with sympathetic joy, but I grieve to say that I was taking care all the while to direct his steps towards the village, which, as we had as yet examined none of their houses, I was most desirous of entering under my friend's sanction. I think he suspected something, for he looked at me rather dubiously when I directed our steps towards the entrance in the bush which led to the houses, and wanted me to go back; but I was urgent, so he gave way, and we both entered the open space, where we were joined by two or three others, and sat down under a cocoanut tree.

"I persuaded him to sit for his portrait (taking care first that my back was against the tree and my pistols handy), and we ate green cocoanuts together, at last attaining to so great a pitch of intimacy that he made me change names with him, calling himself 'Tamoo' (my Cape York name), and giving me to understand that I was to take his own lengthy appellation. When I did so, and talked to him as 'Tamoo,' nothing could exceed the delight of all around; they patted me as you would a child, and evidently said to one another, 'This really seems to be a very intelligent white fellow.'

"Like the Cape York natives, they were immensely curious to look at one's legs, asking permission, very gently but very pressingly, to pull up the trouser, spanning the calf with their hands, drawing in their breath and making big eyes all the while. Once, when the front of my shirt blew open, and they saw the white skin of my chest, they set up an universal shout. I imagine that as they paint THEIR faces black, they fancied that we ingeniously coloured ours white, and were astonished to see that we were really of that (to them) disgusting tint all over."

[On May 2, 1850, the "Rattlesnake" sailed for the last time out of Sydney harbour, bound for England by way of the Horn. In spite of his cheerful anticipations, Huxley was not to see his future wife again for five years more, when he was at length in a position to bid her come and join him. During the three years of their engagement in Australia, they had at least been able to see each other at intervals, and to be together for months at a time. In the long periods of absence, also, they had invented a device to cheat the sense of separation. Each kept a particular journal, to be exchanged when they met again, and only to be read, day by day, during the next voyage. But now it was very different, their only means of communication being the slow agency of the post, beset with endless possibilities of misunderstanding when it brought belated answers to questions already months old and out of date in the changed aspect of circumstances. These perils, however, they weathered, and it proves how deep in the moral nature of each the bond between them was rooted, that in the end they passed safely through the still greater danger of imperceptibly growing estranged from one another under the influences of such utterly different surroundings.

A kindly storm which forced the old ship to put into the Bay of Islands to repair a number of small leaks that rendered the lower deck uninhabitable, made it possible for Huxley to send back a letter that should reach Australia in one month instead of ten after his departure.

He utilized a week's stay here characteristically enough in an expedition to Waimate, the chief missionary station and the school of the native institutions (a sort of Normal School for native teachers), in order to judge of his own inspection what missionary life was like.]

I have been greatly surprised in these good people [he writes]. I had expected a good deal of "straight-hairedness" (if you understand the phrase) and methodistical puritanism, but I find it quite otherwise. Both Mr. and Mrs. Burrows seem very quiet and unpretending—straightforward folks desirous of doing their best for the people among whom they are placed.

[One touch must not be allowed to pass unnoticed in his appreciation of the missionaries' unstudied welcome to the belated travellers, whose proper host was unable to take them in:—"tea unlimited and a blazing fire, TOGETHER WITH A VERY NICE CAT."

By July 12, midwinter of course in the southern hemisphere, they had rounded the Horn, and Huxley writes from that most desolate of British possessions, the Falkland Islands:—]

I have great hopes of being able to send a letter to you, via California, even from this remote corner of the world. It is the Ultima Thule and no mistake. Fancy two good-sized islands with undulated surface and sometimes elevated hills, but without tree or bush as tall as a man. When we arrived the 8th inst. the barren uniformity was rendered still more obvious by the deep coating of snow which enveloped everything. How can I describe to you "Stanley," the sole town, metropolis, and seat of government? It consists of a lot of black, low, weatherboard houses scattered along the hillsides which rise round the harbour. One barnlike place is Government House, another the pensioners' barracks, rendered imposing by four field-pieces in front; others smaller are the residences of the colonel, surgeon, etc. In one particularly black and unpromising-looking house lives a Mrs. Sulivan, the wife of Captain Sulivan, who surveyed these islands, and has settled out here. (Captain Sulivan, who sailed with Darwin in the "Beagle," and served with great distinction in command of the southern division of the fleet in the battle of Obligado (Plate River), had surveyed the Falkland Islands many years before his temporary settlement there. During the Crimean War he was surveying officer to the Baltic fleet, and afterwards naval adviser to the Board of Trade. He was afterwards Admiral and K.C.B.) I asked myself if I could have had the heart to bring you to such a desolate place, and myself said "No." However, I believe she is very happy with her children. Sulivan is a fine energetic man, so I suppose if she loves him, well and good, and fancies (is she not a silly woman?) that she has her reward. Mrs. Stanley has gone to stay with them while the ship remains here, and I think I shall go and look them up under pretence of making a call. They say that the present winter is far more savage than the generality of Falkland Island winters, and it had need be, for I never felt anything so bitterly cold in my life. The thermometer has been down below 22, and shallow parts of the harbour even have frozen. Nothing to be done ashore. My rifle lies idle in its case; no chance of a shot at a bull, and one has to go away 20 miles to get hold even of the upland geese and rabbits. The only thing to be done is to eat, eat, eat, and the cold assists one wonderfully in that operation. You consume a pound or so of beefsteaks at breakfast and then walk the deck for an appetite at dinner, when you take another pound or two of beef or a goose, or some such trifle. By four o'clock it is dark night, and as it is too cold to read the only thing to be done is to vanish under blankets as soon as possible and take twelve or fourteen hours' sleep.

Mrs. Stanley's Bougirigards [The Australian love-bird; a small parrakeet.], which I have taken under my care during the cold weather, admire this sort of thing exceedingly and thrive under it, so I suppose I ought to.

The journey from New Zealand here has been upon the whole favourable; no gales—quite the reverse—but light variable winds and calms. The latter part of our voyage has, however, been very cold, snow falling in abundance, and the ice forming great stalactites about our bows. We have seen no icebergs nor anything remarkable. From all I can learn it is most probable that we shall leave in about a week and shall go direct to England without stopping at any other port. I wish it may be so. I want to get home and look about me.

We have had news up to the end of March. There is nothing of any importance going on. By the Navy list for April I see that I shall be as nearly as possible in the middle of those of my own rank, i.e. I shall have about 150 above and as many below me. This is about what I ought to expect in the ordinary run of promotion in eight years, and I have served four and a half of that time. I don't expect much in the way of promotion, especially in these economic times; but I do not fear that I shall be able to keep me in England for at least a year after our arrival, in order to publish my papers. The Admiralty have quite recently published a distinct declaration that they will consider scientific attainments as a claim to their notice, and I expect to be the first to remind them of their promise, and I will take care to have the reminder so backed that they must and shall take note of it. Even if they will not promote me at once, it would answer our purpose to have an appointment to some ship on the home station for a short time.

[The last of the Falklands was seen on July 25; the line was crossed in thirty-six days; another month, and water running short, it was found necessary to put in at the Azores for a week. Leaving Fayal on October 5, the "Rattlesnake" reached Plymouth on the 23rd, but next day proceeded to Chatham, which, thanks to baffling winds, was not reached till November 9, when the ship was paid off.