Still pursuing a West-South-West course, at the slow rate of forty miles daily, our position at noon was latitude 15 degrees 40 minutes South longitude 120 degrees 41 minutes East. During the day we passed within fifteen miles of the Lively's reef, and from the numbers of terns and other small seabirds, seen for the last three days, there can be little doubt of its whereabouts being known, and that during that time we had been in the neighbourhood of other reefs still undiscovered.

April 27.

We experienced the long rolling swell of the Southern Ocean, which, as well as our reckoning, informed us we were rounding North-West Cape; at the same time we began to feel a steady breeze from the South-East and the northerly current which there prevails. As we were now approaching the usual track of vessels bound from Australia to India, we were not unprepared for the somewhat unusual sight of a strange sail: an object always of some little interest, but which becomes quite an event to those whose duty leads them into the less frequented portions of the deep.

THE TRYAL ROCKS.

The increasing trade now carried on between Sydney and the gorgeous East, has converted the dividing sea into a beaten track; and as no further evidence has been brought forward to confirm the reported existence of the Tryal Rocks, asserted to lie directly in the course steered by vessels making this passage, I cannot but adhere to Captain King's opinion, that Tremouille Island and its outlying reefs, situated in the same latitude as that in which the Tryal Rocks are supposed to lie, have originated the mistake;* one, be it observed, of longitude, in which particular the accounts of earlier navigators must always be received with caution.

(*Footnote. Subsequent explorations have proved this to be the case.)

ANECDOTES OF MIAGO.

While our return to Swan River was thus baffled and delayed by the long and almost unbroken continuance of foul winds, it afforded some diversion to watch the countenance and conduct of Miago, who was as anxious as anyone on board for the sight of his native land. He would stand gazing steadily and in silence over the sea, and then sometimes, perceiving that I watched him, say to me, "Miago sing, by and by northern men wind jump up:" then would he station himself for hours at the lee-gangway, and chant to some imaginary deity an incantation or prayer to change the opposing wind. I could never rightly learn to whom this rude melody was addressed; for if anyone approached him near enough to overhear the words, he became at once silent; but there was a mournful and pathetic air running through the strain, that rendered it by no means unpleasing; though doubtless it owed much of its effect to the concomitant circumstances. The rude savage--separated from all his former companions, made at once an intimate and familiar witness of some of the wonders of civilization, carried by his new comrades to their very country, and brought face to face with his traditionary foes, the dreaded northern men, and now returning to recount to his yet ruder brethren the wonders he had witnessed--could not fail to interest the least imaginative.

Yet Miago had a decided and most inexplicable advantage over all on board, and that in a matter especially relating to the science of navigation: he could indicate at once and correctly the exact direction of our wished-for harbour, when neither sun nor stars were shining to assist him. He was tried frequently, and under very varying circumstances, but strange as it may seem, he was invariably right. This faculty--though somewhat analogous to one I have heard ascribed to the natives of North America--had very much surprised me when exercised on shore, but at sea, out of the sight of land, it seemed beyond belief, as assuredly it is beyond explanation: but I have sometimes thought that some such power must have been possessed by those adventurous seamen who, long before the discovery of the compass, ventured upon distant and hazardous voyages.

I used sometimes, as we approached the land of his nativity, to question him upon the account he intended to give his friends of the scenes he had witnessed, and I was quite astonished at the accuracy with which he remembered the various places we had visited during the voyage: he seemed to have carried the ship's track in his memory with the most careful accuracy. His description of the ship's sailing and anchoring were most amusing: he used to say, "Ship walk--walk--all night--hard walk--then by and by, anchor tumble down." His manner of describing his interviews with the "wicked northern men," was most graphic. His countenance and figure became at once instinct with animation and energy, and no doubt he was then influenced by feelings of baffled hatred and revenge, from having failed in his much-vaunted determination to carry off in triumph one of their gins. I would sometimes amuse myself by asking him how he was to excuse himself to his friends for having failed in the premised exploit, but the subject was evidently a very unpleasant one, and he was always anxious to escape from it.