FROM GISBORNE TO MELBOURNE.

Poverty Bay Standard, Volume X, Issue 1114, 4 August 1882, Page 4

FROM GISBORNE TO MELBOURNE.

[Written for the Poverty Bay Standard.) I No. XIII. Farewell to New Zealand. (Continued from our Last). The next morning broke anything but cheerfully, for it was raining at times, and a dizzling kind of misty dampness dimmed the brightness overhead. It was cold too, although as we sped along, a pleasant change was perceptible. To those of your readers who have crossed the ocean (and but few of them have not) and put up with either the agreeables and disagreeables, as the. case might be, of a lengthened sea voyage, there is little that I can write, concerning a six days’ trip from one colony to another, that can interest them. There is the same monotonous, diurnal round of periodic eating, and nocturnal sleep. Even in fine weather, and under the most auspicious circumstances, it requires the element of pronounced congeniality—mingled with (what is seldom found at the early stages amongst British travellers) an unsolicited expression of sociability, and desire to cast off, with well-bred courtesy, the outer forms and ceremonies of every day life, that strangers naturally feel when in each other’s company for the first time and without an introduction —to make the time on shipboard pass happily along. But, when the days are dark and miserable, and the sun is obscured from observation, the effect ii most depressing. The only enjoyment, such as this, fellow-voyagers can have, is what one may term in-door amusements, such as music, cards, chess, &c., while not a few shut themselves up within themselves, and devour the contents of a “ Ouida" or “ Charlotte Bronte" novel. Conversation soon tires ; gentlemen yawn and adjourn to the smoking saloon ; ladies suffer from ennui, and intermittent regurgitations of the biliary duet, while the children, of which there is always a large percentage, keep up an almost incessant howl for something —they know not what—on one side or other of the moon. Children never, or hardly ever, are sick at sea. I often wonder at this physiological fact; and I have wondered at both the physiology and the fact. I have mentally enquired why children—-particularly babies whose nurses are already prostrate—won't be sick like other wellbehaved people ? How I have wished, when seeking repose after casting up a long column of figures, generally called “ accounts," over the vessel s side, that the half-dozen little urchins —who kept stumbling over my legs, which, under cover of a comforting rug, I thought were in nobody's road, —would be struck mute for an hour or so, with a malady similar to my own I But no ; they seem to stuff and gorge, or are stuffed and gorged, to keep them quiet (?) I suppose, more at sea than on shore; and it is not until some Sympathetic friend suggests the possibility of their rolling overboard from the motion of the vessel, that their guardians are alive either to their danger, or the great nuisance they are to all an board. One thing that added much to our discomfort was the continuance of a fog, which followed the atorm, and continued until we made the Tasman Coast, for over four days. It was very dismal, this period, especially to me, for I had never before experienced a fog at sea. I have seen plenty on shore, from a “ regular Londoner ” in the month of November, to the more harmless and less insidious ones of New Zealand. But those on the waste of waters are anything but cheering in their effect on the landsman'sjimagination, who, until use becomes a second nature, is in momentary dread that some other “ illfated vessel ” (that’s the correct maritime expression) would be steering exactly the same course, only, as Paddy would say, in an opposite direction, when a collision would inevitably happen as a matter of course, and then—the deluge. No; fogs at sea are not pleasant. And if they are not the horrid, screeching, bellow of the fog horn is a great deal less so. A regulation of the service, and a very proper one, is that the fog-horn or whistle shall be sounded every few minutes, so as to give any of these would-be-ill-fated vessels an opportunity to steer clear, or, at any rate to know of the presence of approaching danger. Surrounding circumstances give effect, tone, or color, as the case may be, to the central figure of anything. Even a sirloin of beef looks all the better if garnished with horse-radish, and better still if it is surrounded by a jovial company of hungry appetites. It was the very much surrounding circumstances of the fog—which made the use of the horn necessary—that caused the blood to almost curdle when the said horn belched forth its blast as a warning sound ; and it was the circumstance of the night time when all wns dark and drear, that added to the intensity of the feeling. Happily, however, there was little chance of-our meeting with anything, for the track is not a much-frequented one. Still on we sped, and for four days could hardly see the ships length ahead. Consequently we were running by dead reckoning, genial old Captain Carey ever and anon joining in his passengers curiosity, and satis, fying them by explanations of the use of the patent log,—and his nautical knowledge alone guiding him—and interesting them as to the probable time and place of “ making" Hobart. On the third day the mist began to left towards noon, and high hopes were entertained that a peep at the

sun would enable our commander to ascertain his position, but, No ! There was no show of old Sol sufficiently long for the purpose, and the fog horn gave its dismal shout at short internals, throughout another nights’ gloom. On the -Ith day after our departure from the Bluff, the fog, which had given signs at the previous evening’s sunset of departing, began to lift itself, so that sight could be obtained for some distance around the ship. This was immensely satisfactory to all aboard who concerned themselves about the matter ; and it was extremely gratifying to them also, as well as endorsing the skill and accurate judgment of Captain Carey, for according to what he told us, while enjoying our matutinal coffee, we ought to make the land about 20 miles southward of Cape Pillar, and so we did. The Captain felt convinced that he was right, and confident in his compass and log, but before he could see where he was to a certainty, about 6 a.m.,he thoughtit prudent to slowthe engines and deflect his course to the southward, so that, in case the weather should not clear, the vessel would be running in deep water. About 8 a.m. the horizon cleared suddenly on the starboard bow, and the ship’s head was found to be bearing towards Tasman | Head, and just about the distance . from our proper course that had been ' run after Captain Carey’s decision to I err on the right side. As the morning I advanced and we entered the river Derwent, the clouds broke, and the first glimpse of sunshine we had seen for four days welcomed us to one of the fairest spots on the earth’s surface, —the beautiful Island of Tasmania.