e
thousands of such indentations around the shores of the island
continent, with low headlands of jagged rock by way of horns, and
terraces of shell-strewn sand dotted over with ti-tree scrub, which
merges into a low-lying bush of swamp oak and suchlike growths, among
which, as like as not, you shall find, as we found, a more or less
extensive salt-water lagoon, over the sandy bar of which big, tossing
breakers will roll in from the Pacific in stormy weather. Yes, I would
say now that there is nothing very peculiar or distinctive about
Livorno Bay for the observer who is familiar with other parts of
Australia's coast.

But in my youthful eyes, seen on the evening of our arrival, after a
fifteen miles' walk, and, seen, too, in the glow of a singularly
angry-looking evening sky, Livorno Bay, with its derelict barque to
focus one's gaze, presented a spectacle almost terrifying in its
desolation. Years must have passed since anything edible could have
been found on board the _Livorno_. Yet I hardly think I should
exaggerate if I said that two thousand birds rose circling from
various points of vantage about the derelict as we approached her
sides. That this winged and highly vocal congregation resented our
intrusion was not to be doubted for a moment. Short of actually
attacking us with beak and claw, the creatures could hardly have given
more practical expression to their sentiments. The circumstance was
trivial, of course, but I think it somewhat dashed my father's ardour,
and I know it struck into my very vitals.

'Begone, you interlopers, or we will rend you! This is no place for
humans. Here is only death and desolation for the likes of you. This
place belongs of immemorial right to us, and to our masters, the
devouring elements. Begone!'

So it seemed we were screamed at from thousands of hoarse throats.

For my part I was well pleased when my father agreed to Ted's
suggestion that we should postpone till morning our inspection of the
ship, and, in the meantime, concentrate upon the more immediate
necessity of pitching camp for the night in the shelter of the timber
belt and outside the domain of the screaming sea-birds. Our tent was
fortunately not one of the cumbersome sort I had seen on Wimbledon
Common at home, but a light Australian contrivance of cotton,
enclosing a space ten feet by eight, and protected by a good large
fly. Thanks mainly to Ted and his axe we had the necessary stakes cut,
and the tent pit