ock of
provisions, including a quantity of _beche-de-mer_, cabbage-palm, fruit,
&c. I arranged my buffalo skin over my provisions as a protection,
turtle-back fashion. Our preparations completed, Yamba and I and the dog
pushed out into the unknown sea in our frail canoe, which was only about
fifteen feet long and fourteen inches wide. Of course, we kept close in-
shore all the time, and made pretty good progress until we passed Apsley
Strait, avoiding the huge Van Dieman's Gulf, with its alligator-infested
rivers and creeks. We must have been close to Port Darwin when, with
little or no warning, a terrific storm arose, and quickly carried us out
to sea in a south-westerly direction. In a moment our frail little craft
was partially swamped, and Yamba and I were compelled to jump overboard
and hang on to the gunwale on either side to prevent it from being
overwhelmed altogether. This was about a fortnight after I left Captain
Davis. We knew that if we were swamped, all our belongings, including my
poor Bruno, my live geese, water, and other provisions, would be lost in
the raging sea. The night that followed was perhaps one of the most
appalling experiences that ever befell me; but I had by this time become
so inured to terrible trials that I merely took it as a matter of course.

Imagine for yourself the scene. The giant waves are rolling mountains
high; the darkness of night is gathering round us fast, and I and my
heroic wife are immersed in the tremendous sea, hanging on for dear life
to a little dug-out canoe only fourteen inches wide. Although we were
soon thoroughly exhausted with our immersion in the water, we dared not
climb aboard. Will it be believed that _all night long_ we were
compelled to remain in the sea, clinging to the canoe, half drowned, and
tossed about like the insignificant atoms we were in the midst of the
stupendous waves, which were literally ablaze with phosphorescent light?
Often as those terrible hours crawled by, I would have let go my hold and
given up altogether were it not for Yamba's cheery and encouraging voice,
which I heard above the terrific roar of the storm, pointing out to me
how much we had been through already, and how many fearful dangers we had
safely encountered together. It seemed to me like the end of everything.
I thought of a certain poem relating to a man in a desperate situation,
written, I believe, by an American, whose name I could not remember. It
describ