The Port Watch
Tuesday, May 17th.—A lovely morning, perfectly calm. Tom much better, and anxious to be off. Mails and farewell messages were accordingly sent on shore, and Mr. Loftie came off with parting words of kindness and farewell, and laden with flowers. Precisely at eleven o'clock, with signals of 'Good-bye' and 'Thanks' hoisted at the main, we steamed out of the snug harbour where we have passed such a pleasant week and have received so much kindness. The pilot soon quitted us, and we were once more on the broad ocean. The wind outside was dead ahead, and the heavy rollers tumbling in foreboded a still heavier swell as we got further away from the land. In fact, Tom more than once asked me if we had not better put back. As it was too rough to steam, a certain amount of snug sail was set; and, close-hauled, we steered as near our course as circumstances would permit.
There are a good many invalids on board among the crew and servants, the symptoms in each case being very similar. This morning the two maids, two stewards, and three of the men had more or less succumbed to 'malarial colds'—nothing serious, the doctor says, but very uncomfortable. It is quite certain that many more are now laid up than we ever had on the sick-list in the tropics; but the sudden change from heat to cold may of course account for this state of things.
Wednesday, May 18th.—The wind was rather more favourable; but, although close-hauled, we were nearly two and a half points off our course, the head-sea running very high. Although the air was warm I remained in my cabin all the morning, feeling wretched and uncomfortable. At noon we had run 110 miles—100 under steam and 10 under sail—and were in lat. 35° 44´ S., long. 119° 53´ E., Kangaroo Island being 820 miles distant. The total distance now accomplished since we left England is 9,236 miles under sail, and 7,982 under steam, making a total of 17,218 miles.
I was called upon deck once during the day to see a whale with a fin on its back. Gray, in his book on Western Australia, says that this kind of whale lives principally on the large phosphorescent medusæ. The evening was cold, as usual, and I was glad to go below early. Venus rose brilliantly, but so red that several on board thought it must be the port light of a ship astern; though how any vessel could have suddenly got there they could not make out. Soon afterwards shouts were heard on first seeing what Tom described as lamps of light or fireballs astern. These turned out to be the luminous medusæ which Gray speaks of, and which were much larger and more brilliant than any we had yet seen.
Thursday, May 19th.—Wind fair, but head-swell still continuing. I had a very busy morning below, writing journal and letters. At noon we had run 120 miles under sail, and were then in lat. 36° 12´ S., long. 122° 4´ E. In the afternoon we took some photographs of Tom in his R.N.A.V. uniform, the Guard of Honour, ourselves, the Court, &c., on the occasion of Neptune's visit when we crossed the line. Sundry unsuccessful attempts were made to photograph the animals, but they seemed to be suffering from a severe attack of the fidgets. To see 'Jenny Jenkins,' the monkey, in her new blue jumper with 'Sunbeam R.Y.S.,' embroidered by Mabelle, and 'Mr. Short,' the black-and-tan terrier, playing together, is really very pretty; they are so quick and agile in their movements that it is almost impossible to catch them. 'Mrs. Sharp,' the white toy terrier, in her new jersey, a confection of Muriel's, occasionally joins in the frolic; though her condescension is not much appreciated, for she is rather too quick with her teeth. The photograph of the Guard of Honour was spoiled by a passing whale, to which Tom suddenly drew everybody's attention by pointing to it with his drawn sword. The monster left a greasy wake behind him, as he swam lazily along, blowing slightly.
Towards evening the air became very cold, and the wind not quite so fair. A splendid sunset threw a lovely glow on the sails. Later on the sea continued to go down, and I was able to make my first appearance at dinner at sea for many a long day past, but only as a spectator even now.
Friday, May 20th.—Another fine clear day; but the horrid easterly swell is as bad as ever, and with such a light wind we seem to feel it more. A busy morning with journal and letters.
At noon we had come 148 miles under sail, and Kangaroo Island was now 546 miles distant; we were in lat. 36° 25´ S., long. 125° 13´ E.
Saturday, May 21st.—A pouring wet morning, with every appearance of continued rain. Later on the weather cleared, though heavy squalls came up at intervals until noon, when it turned quite warm, bright, and sunny.