January 14, 1840.
At noon, the same prevailing westerly winds brought us within fifty miles of the north point of Sharks Bay, bearing South-East by South. On the same evening we saw a herd of sperm whales. From that day we had a southerly wind, which drawing round to the east as we got to the south, forced us away from the land, so that from there our track to Swan River described two sides of an acute-angled triangle; the 24th placing us somewhat further than we were on the 14th, namely 700 miles west from our destination; but at length we got a favourable wind to take us in.
DEATH AND BURIAL OF THE COOK.
January 21.
I must refer back to this date to record that a gloom was cast over the ship in the morning, in consequence of the rigid hand of death having been laid on one of our men, the cook, by name Mitchell, worn out by old age and bodily infirmities. He breathed his last at midnight, and at 10 A.M. we committed his body to the deep. There is perhaps no place where the burial service has a more impressive effect than at sea; and in the present instance the grave demeanour of the whole crew attested that it was so. The day too was gloomy, and in keeping with the solemn scene; while a fresh breeze gave the ship a steady keel. Occasionally the beautiful prayers were interrupted by the roar of the foaming waters as the ship plunged onwards; then swelling on the breeze and mingling with its wailings they were wafted, we would fain hope, to that peaceful home to which we were sending our shipmate. A chilling plunge announced his passage into the mighty deep, leaving no trace to mark the spot on the wave, which swept on as before.
The wandering and strange life of the deceased became the theme of conversation during the day, and many interesting anecdotes were recalled. On one occasion he had passed a few days in a vessel that had been turned bottom up in a squall, but which, luckily, having a light and shifting cargo, floated. His only companions were two negroes, who, with the apathy of their race, spent the principal part of the time in sleep. It was by boring a small hole through the vessel's bottom, and pushing up a stick with a handkerchief attached, that they were enabled to attract the attention of a passing ship, by whose people they were cut out. Old Mitchell's propensity for fishing was very singular. Almost down to the last, when in his hammock under the forecastle, he would have a line passed to him whenever he heard fish playing about; and he would catch at it as it was drawn through his fingers, until exhausted nature failing he fell into a lethargic sleep. His situation latterly was peculiarly pitiable. Worldly affairs and a future state were so painfully mingled, that it was impossible to determine whether or not resignation predominated. He evidently recoiled from the awful contemplation of futurity, and sought refuge in the things of this life. Even whilst in the pangs of death he could not conceive why he should be so cold, and why his feet could not be kept up to a heat which nature, in obedience to the dictates of infinite wisdom, was gradually resigning.
We arrived at Swan River on the 31st, under circumstances which must forcibly illustrate to a landsman the precision with which a ship may be navigated. We had not seen land for fifty-two days, and were steering through a dense fog, which confined the circle of our vision to within a very short distance round the ship. Suddenly the vapour for a moment dispersed, and showed us, not more than a mile ahead, the shipping in Gage's Road.
We found a vast improvement in the colony of Western Australia since our last visit, and again experienced the greatest hospitality from the colonists. To the assiduous attentions of my much valued friend, the Surveyor-General, Lieutenant Roe, R.N., I in great measure ascribe my rapid recovery. He gave me a painfully interesting account of an excursion he had made in search of the party left behind by Captain Grey during his exploring expedition in the neighbourhood of Sharks Bay, with the sufferings and disastrous termination of which the public have already been made acquainted in the vivid language of the last-mentioned officer.
LIEUTENANT ROE'S ACCOUNT OF THE RESCUE OF CAPTAIN GREY'S PARTY.
It was on one of those soft beautiful evenings, so common in Australia, that I received this narrative from my friend. We had strolled from his cottage, at the western extremity of the town of Perth, and had just emerged from the patch of woodland, concealing it from the view of the Swan, which now lay at our feet. About a mile below, the broad shadow of Mount Eliza, nearly extended across the river; and in the darkness thus made, the snow-white sails of a tiny pleasure-boat flitted to and fro. Beyond lay the beautiful lake-like reach of the river, Melville Water, just ruffled by a breeze that came sweeping over its surface with all the delicious coolness of the sea. The beauty of the scene did not divert me from the events of my friend's story, serving rather to impress them the more vividly on my mind. I remember well the animated and affecting manner in which he delivered his narrative, and how his hard features became lit up as he proceeded by an expression of honest pride, fully justified by the fact that he had on that occasion been the means of saving the lives of several of his fellow-creatures. When he found them they were under a headland, which they had not sufficient strength left to ascend, nor were they able to round the sea face of it. One of them, finding all hope of proceeding further at an end, went down on his knees and prayed to the almighty for assistance; and just as another had bitterly remarked on the uselessness of proffering such a request, Mr. Roe and his party, as if directed by the hand of Providence, appeared on the ridge above them. It would be painful to describe minutely the condition to which these poor fellows had been reduced; it will be sufficient to state, that thirst had compelled them to resort to the most offensive substitute for pure and wholesome water.