A FEW weeks after my return to Sydney, private news came to hand that the French Government contemplated taking possession of New Caledonia. Admiral FÉvrier Despointes made an appointment with us to meet him at Port St. Vincent at a given date, with a supply of coals, stores, live stock, &c. I chartered the Athenian, an old East Indiaman, and the Pocklington, a Newcastle collier, and sailed for the rendezvous—a fine harbour on the east coast of New Caledonia—where our arrival excited some astonishment amongst the natives, being the first ships they had seen since Captain Cook’s last visit in 1779.

We had to lay there a fortnight before the Catinat—a smart steam corvette—made her appearance with the admiral’s flag at the fore.

We sailed in company for the Isle of Pines—off the southern end of New Caledonia—where the Marists’ Catholic Mission had an established station. On the morning of the 19th of September, 1853, Sir Everard Home arrived at the Isle of Pines on board the Calliope. Visits were exchanged between the two men-of-war. During his call Sir Everard committed the same blunder which thirty years before caused the loss of New Zealand to France—he mentioned before us that his instructions were to take possession of New Caledonia in the name of Her Majesty’s Government. With the assistance of the French missionaries the chiefs of the island were mustered, a deed drawn up during the day, and at daylight on the 20th we read the proclamation, hoisted the tricolor flag on shore, and saluted it with a salvo of 21 guns from the Catinat.

Poor old Sir Everard never got over the shock. He sailed for Sydney, and died during the passage; while the French admiral steamed for Balade, a port on the N.W. coast of New Caledonia, where he repeated the ceremony enacted at the Isle of Pines, thus securing the whole group from any other Power’s aggression.

During our stay at Balade, and with a view to learn something of the new country, we formed a party to visit the interior, more particularly the extent of the “Giahot”—a broad stream which empties itself into the sea west of Balade Harbour. Duly equipped and well armed we started on our cruise. Eight officers of the French Navy, Captain Case of the Athenian, four natives belonging to the French Mission, and myself. We certainly thought that fourteen men would be a sufficient number to cope with any number of savages, more particularly in a part of the island where the missionaries had been safely established for a couple of years already.

We sailed or pulled up stream for some twelve or fourteen miles, until snags and shoals rendered the navigation tedious; and, moreover, our orders were not to keep the boat after dark. Having ascertained by observations that owing to the windings of the river we had reached a point distant from Balade six miles by land, the natives assuring us that they would guide us there in a couple of hours, we made up our minds to land, send back the boat, explore the country, and camp when night came.

The scenery was all that could be wished for; wild pigeons in abundance; and for those in the party who were bent on botanising, there was enough to engross their minds for weeks. During our journey we occasionally came across natives, who seemed most ready to assist us in every way, and at last prevailed upon us when night came on to accept the offer of one of their houses to camp in for the night. The New Caledonian dwelling is rather a peculiarly constructed hut, very much like an elongated bee-hive, the only entrance, or, indeed, opening of any kind, being a square hole—measuring about two feet each way. In order to keep away the million of mosquitos which swarm after dark, a fire is kept up all night in these huts, the apex of the roof being the only outlet for the smoke, which the unfortunate natives accept as the only alternative from being stung to death by the puny tormentor. The only way to breathe in the huts is to lie down flat on the floor, where, owing to the draft caused by the low door, about one foot or fifteen inches of space is left free from the choking effect of the smoke.

DURING supper, which we took outside the hut, we were surrounded by a gaping and chattering crowd of natives of both sexes and all ages. The number increasing every moment, we began to feel that even armed as we were, fourteen men would be but a small force as compared to the hundreds around us. However, up to the time when we crept in to our hut the behaviour of the Natives was as friendly as could be. Our barter for spears, shells, necklaces, and other curios was carried on fairly, and evidently to the satisfaction of all concerned.

At about ten o’clock we closed the aperture of the crib, lit our cigars, took a stiff night-cap, and laid down to breathe as we best could in the stifling smoke which filled the place. Sailors will sleep anywhere and anyhow, so will Caledonian natives. In a few minutes the snoring all around convinced me that I was the only watcher. What with mosquitos and smoke I would certainly have kept awake all night, even had I not been aroused as I was by a rustling noise in the straw wall of the hut, and the black hand of a native trying to force his way into our quarters.

As soon as his woolly head appeared, I seized it with one hand, putting a revolver to his ear with the other. I dragged him through, in so doing waking up my mates. Through the interpretation of one of our Native catechists, we heard the boy’s story—that the Natives on whose ground we were encamped had made up a plot to fire the grass around our hut, and during the confusion into which we would be thrown by their war whoop added to the conflagration, spear or tomahawk us, in order to secure our trade goods and fire-arms, as well as the supply of fresh meat half a score of European bodies would afford them.

There was not much time left us for either reflection or planning an escape. We quickly crept out of the hut one by one, and found that the information was not only correct, but the fires were already being kindled in a large circle, of which we were the centre. The Natives could be easily seen in large numbers on the outer side of the circle of fire, the chief standing amongst a crowd—luckily for us on the land side, leaving the path to the river bank comparatively free from Natives. The chief held in his hand the insignia of office—a long spear with a white shell on the end of it, which was quite descernible by the glare of the blazing grass. We held a consultation as to the best and most likely way to startle the savages, so as to make good our retreat to the river, cross it, and make for Balade as speedily as possible. Captain Case had in his hand a double-barrelled fowling piece, with one rifle barrel. It was suggested that he should fire the first shot in the air in order to draw the natives’ attention, and with the rifle barrel take aim at the shell on the chief’s spear.

On that shot depended the lives of fourteen men, and I am bound to say our friend’s calm and deliberate aim for that momentous shot denoted a true British tar’s firmness. A crack, followed by a terrific yell, told us that the scheme had succeeded. The natives in a body gathered round their chief to see the wonderful destruction of his talismanic shell, shattered into invisibility by Captain Case’s shot.

Before they could even notice our departure, we were making hasty tracks for the water, following in the wake of our native guides, whose marvellous instinct and thorough knowledge of the locality proved quite as useful as our friend’s skill at a target. They found not only the shortest path to the Giahot, but amongst the high reeds on the banks of that stream several canoes, which we annexed to convey our party across, and cut off communication with the wretches who had so treacherously attempted to give us a warmer reception than we had contemplated. When on the top of the range dividing the river from Balade, we saw the glare of our own pyre, and heard the chattering and yells of the fiends—caused, no doubt, by the discovery of the loss of their canoes, and doubtless also that of the anticipated supper or breakfast they had purposed having at our expense.

We reached the Mission at daybreak, and the same day fifty men, under command of one of the lieutenants and one of our party, went back and gave the Kanakas a lesson they have not forgotten to this day. The boy who saved our lives was a lad of twelve or fourteen, intelligent and bright. He gave a thorough explanation of the whole plot to the Rev. Father Montrouzier, who, fearing that the boy’s life might be endangered if he stayed on the island, induced me to take him away, for a time, at all events, with the youngster’s sanction; and having christened him “Joachim,” which he at once pronounced “Sokymy,” I enlisted him in my service. A better, more useful servant, and more faithful follower, I never had, for the seven years he lived with me. Poor boy, like most of the South Sea Islanders, he died of pleurisy, accelerated by exposure.

HAVING discharged cargo, and parted from the Athenian and our gallant friend, Captain Case, I removed my belongings to the Pocklington and sailed for Sydney, intending to shorten the sail by trying a short cut through a group of islands at the north-west end of New Caledonia. Captain Oliver, who had often traded for sandal-wood in this part of the world, assured me that this route was quite safe, and that he had often sailed through the channel with vessels of deeper draught. Our first two days’ navigation were glorious—smooth sea, fine weather—sailing during the day amongst lovely islands, and anchoring at night with every appearance of safety so long as a good watch was kept on the natives’ canoes, which never failed to come alongside as soon as the anchor was dropped.

My new valet, “Sokymy,” even at that early stage proved most useful to us. Though he could not speak to us he knew well what the natives said, and could easily enough make us understand that they had better be kept at a distance.

On the second night the barometer fell considerably, and before morning the wind chopped suddenly from S.E. to N.W., blowing hard until it became almost a gale. The poor old brig began to drag towards the shore. We let go another anchor, but still at every successive wave which struck our bows we felt that sudden jerk and grating noise which indicates the dragging of the anchor. The distance between the stern of the Pocklington and the shore was visibly decreasing—a fact which evidently became quite as apparent to the natives on shore as it did to us on board, who felt by no means reassured when we noticed the exulting jubilation of the cannibals—evidently reckoning on immediate plunder and feasting! The position was critical, the danger imminent, the prospect anything but cheering.

Captain Oliver, like my friend Captain Case of the Athenian, was cast in the mould which has produced so many heroes in the British Navy—men in whom sterling worth only comes to light in moments of danger. The critical position of the brig demanded immediate action. Our crew consisted of a dozen Tanna natives, with only three Europeans on board besides the skipper, the mate, the cook, the steward, and myself. We were barely fifty yards from the beach, where hundreds of natives, already up to their waist in water, were throwing spears at any one whose head appeared above the taffrail.

Captain Oliver got us to bring up a hawser on to the deck. This was made fast round the foot of the main-mast; a freshly-ground axe was placed in my hands; orders given to get the jib and spanker ready for hoisting and sheeting home; the hawser made fast to the chain of one anchor, whilst the other was cast adrift. This hawser being amidships, the brig at once swung round; the spanker being sheeted tight gave the craft some headway; the jib being hoisted she got under way, and the order was given to chop the hawser.

Had my blow at this piece of hemp failed to sever it through, this book would never have been written. As it was, the poor old brig and its living freight had a very narrow shave. As we paid off slightly to get more way on her she grazed the coral reef on the lee side, but, however, got clear, and a few moments later we had the gratification to feel that we were in deep water, under close-reefed topsails, making headway towards Australia. We reached Sydney in a week, none the worse for having on two occasions disappointed the natives of New Caledonia, and deprived them of what might have been a three-course dinner. In both instances they would have had French, English, and native dishes—quite a recherche menu for a cannibal’s feast.

A ROLLING stone gathers no moss.” I am afraid I have proved the truth of the old adage. A fortnight in Sydney proved quite as much as I could stand. I always had a great desire to see Torres Straits and the islands on the northern side of it. There happened to be in Port Jackson a small French barque—Le Juste, from Havre—the captain being the owner of the vessel. I made an offer to him of a charter by the month for six months, giving him a share of the venture, my route being Torres Straits, New Guinea, Borneo, the Malay Archipelago, Mauritius, Bourbon, Madagascar, and back to Sydney. Being nearly as mad as I was, Captain Leneveu accepted my offer. We at once set to work, put on board a few brass swivel guns, some muskets and small arms, articles of South Sea Island trade; and, as was then the custom for a trip through the Straits, waited a few days until other ships bent on the same dangerous errand were ready to start.

On the 28th of June, everything being ready, we started northwards—the Scotia, one of Dunbar’s old East India ships—leading the van, followed by our barque, and two smaller craft bound for the Strait Settlements. Fine weather and smooth water brought us in eleven days to the Great Barrier Reef, which we passed safely, anchoring at night off Bird’s Island.

Captain Strickland, as commodore, entertained us gloriously on board the Scotia to commemorate our safe passage through the Barrier and bid us farewell—our course being north for the coast of New Guinea at daybreak next morning.

Navigating on the west side of the Barrier Reef is quite a pleasure trip as far as sea or weather are concerned; the only trouble, at least in the “fifties,” was the very imperfect hydrography of the locality, and the great caution sailors had to resort to in order to avoid the innumerable coral reefs and submarine dangers, which can only be avoided by a very careful watch from the foretop, where a man had constantly to be on the look-out.

Our first land was at Darnley Island, where we met the first Papus, some having a smattering of pigeon English. We engaged one of them to pilot us to the mouth of the Fly river, which we made out easily without ever having recourse to our sable friend, who seemed quite happy on board so long as he could keep within range of the galley and have the lion’s share of every meal going, whether cuddy or fore-castle. The fellow seemed to have the most capacious appetite, was an inveterate smoker, and certainly anything but a total abstainer. It is a marvellous thing how all natives take naturally and kindly to smoking tobacco and drinking ardent spirits.

Anchoring close to Kiwai Island, we were at once boarded by scores of natives, and did a fair amount of trading for curios, shells, and arms, but nothing of any commercial value. Some of the clubs had specs of yellow metal inlaid in the handles; treatment with aqua fortisproved this metal to be gold. From inquiries made through the very imperfect interpretation of our pilot and my New Caledonian, Sokymy, we gathered that this gold was found a long way up the Fly river. All my entreaties with Captain Leneveu to sail up the river in one of the boats could not prevail upon him to concede the favour. As he very justly said, it would be unsafe both for him or I to take away one half of the crew to man the boat, leaving the other on board with only a few hands—there being always, and in spite of us, some scores of natives on our decks, besides hundreds hovering round in canoes. We had a few runs on shore, but did not dare to lose sight of the boats.

After a couple of days wasted at this anchorage, we dropped our Papu friend and steered west, coasting New Guinea as closely as the skipper deemed it prudent to do, and dropping anchor every afternoon when the sun prevented our look-out man from seeing the colour of the water ahead of the ship. We called at the Arrow Islands with about the same success, all trading being confined to curios and some tortoise-shell. So far our trip, though a most enjoyable one, was rather unprofitable. I therefore made up my mind that we should make a direct course for Timor.

Continuing our pleasurable sail—more like yachting on a lake than a sea voyage—we reached the pretty Dutch settlement at Koepang. I had some letters of credit for Messrs. Hansen, Bonliang & Co., a firm half Dutch, half Chinese; and also a letter to the Resident or Governor of the place. In 1854, Koepang was not often visited by traders. The Juste was a very smart little ship; we had a very nice cabin, a good cook, fair wines, and the captain a bon vivant, so that ere we had been in Timor many days we had managed to gain a very fair footing with the inhabitants of Koepang.

Our boats, provided with awnings, were kept constantly plying to and from the shore, laden with visitors of all ranks and both sexes. Shooting and fishing parties were organised, pic-nics and dinner parties without end were given in our honour. But the most enjoyable were riding-parties by moonlight, on those wonderfully active ponies for which this island is justly famous.

We purchased here some tons of bees-wax, some very fair coffee, maize, and a large quantity of lime, which proved a very good investment for Mauritius. My intention, however, being to take a cargo of ponies, we took an interpreter (or broker) on board and sailed for Roti, Sandalwood, and the other small islands of the group, to trade for ponies—Koepang having already been pretty well skinned of anything good in that line. Even in the other islands I found it very hard to pick up more than eighty of average size, quality, or colour—the piebald or skewbald being in any quantity, but black, bays, chestnuts, and more particularly greys, were very scarce. The latter are the most valued, either to buy or sell. It took us three weeks to make up our number, but the days were enjoyably spent in hunting with the natives after the herd, and buying as we went along.

Horse-dealing, whether in Europe or the Malay islands is synonymous with roguery and deceit. Every morning as soon as we landed we were besieged by natives who had ponies for sale. Knowing our aversion for piebalds, they never offered anything but blacks, bays, or chestnuts; but, unfortunately, few if any of those offered could stand the first scrubbing with hot water and soap—the dye would not stand the test. As to filing teeth and burning age-marks, I’ll back a Malay against the best and most accomplished horse-dealer in Yorkshire.

Our cargo, put on board with fodder and water for fifty days, averaged £4 a-head. They were all good, healthy young ponies, some of them rather cranky-tempered, but all well up to the mark. Having returned to Koepang to land our broker, and after a most affectionate greeting from all our friends, we made sail for Port Louis. Another fine weather and smooth sea trip, when we never once lowered a stan’-sail except to reeve a fresh halyard to prevent its breaking from constant friction in the one place, against the sheave of the block at the yard-arm.

This is not a work intended to describe localities which, more particularly since my day, have been visited by almost every man, woman, or child who has come from or gone for a trip to Europe. I will therefore abstain from descanting on the beauty or picturesqueness of Mauritius. Still, to those who have only known the Isle of France of late years, I must say that it materially differs from what it was thirty-five years ago, and that even then it had very much lost of its originality as I had seen it ten years earlier. For all that, it is a most charming place; and were it not that its old, proverbially healthy condition has gone for ever—were it not for cholera, smallpox, and other such dreadful but periodical visitations—that island would still be a most charming country to visit or reside in. We spent six weeks in Port Louis, did remarkably well with our cargo, bought a cargo of sugar, and once more steered for old Australia.

But alas! not with smooth weather and fair winds. The poor old barque, so buoyant and brisk when in yachting trim, smooth water, and under every inch of canvas spread to the trade winds—became a tub when filled with sugar to the very deck-level, in heavy seas, S.W. gales, and close-reefed topsails.

Shall I ever forget the fifty-four days cooped up in my cabin, water rushing from stem to stern day and night, not a stitch of dry clothing to change! What a welcome sight the Sydney Heads were, and how glad I was to set foot once more on terra firma.