# Castaway on the Auckland Isles/Chapter 4

CHAPTER IV.
WINTER IN AUCKLAND ISLAND.—THE MOUNTAINS.—AN EQUINOCTIAL GALE.—A WEARY JOURNEY.
Sunday, May 15, 1864.—Six long and dreary months have now passed since I left Sydney, and the idea of the sad lot which may and must have fallen on those I love so much, wrings my soul with agony, and a remorse which I fear is crushing me fast to the earth. Oh, my God! how long is this to last? Oh, release me from this bondage! Night and morning, daily and in my dreams, I offer up my prayers to Thee. Oh, hear me! and release me that I may flee to the succour of those dear innocent ones who are now suffering for my folly. Give me but an opportunity of making amends for this and many other thoughtless acts—the hope of which only at present sustains me. Were it not for this hope, I should pray for death, or perhaps seek it by my own hand. What is life to me, but for their sakes? A mere burden. I have already lived a long and chequered life in a few short years; I should feel satiated with it, but for their sakes may it please God to spare me, at least as long as them. But set me at liberty to provide for them, I will be content even with separation; but let me not have doomed them to wretchedness and misery. Hear my prayer, O Lord! and grant my release.
During the last three or four days we have had the most varied and extraordinary weather that ever I remember witnessing. There have not been two hours alike during the whole time, except in the general calm or very light airs, varying from all points of the compass; but chiefly from S. and S.E. One hour the sky is clear, with bright sunshine, and only a few bright fleecy clouds visible, ​almost without motion. Then suddenly rises an imperious cloud, which immediately covers the whole sky, and down falls a pelting shower of rain, sleet, or hail, generally accompanied with a thick fog. Thus it continues night and day. The barometer has kept very low; yesterday it was down to 28⋅30, but it has been rising rapidly since, and is now (11 a.m.) at 29⋅18, which is the only apparent indication of a change. There is snow on the tops of the mountains. We have not yet had frost where we are, although yesterday at noon the thermometer was as low as 34°. This morning, about six o'clock, we felt the shock of an earthquake; it was not violent, but the tremor continued about a minute. Eight p.m.—The weather continues as before, only that the showers are now alternately sleet and snow. Barometer 29⋅45; thermometer 33°.
Sunday, May 22, 1864.—The weather continued as before described until yesterday morning, since which time it has been dull, cloudy, and foggy; but wild, with N.W. airs. On Friday morning the ground was all covered with snow; but now it has disappeared even from the tops of the mountains, and the birds are again singing blithely. The blow-flies are busy again, and I begin to think that the winter will not be severe enough to banish them entirely. The small flies, or what I have called mosquitoes, will evidently not leave, for on Friday, with the thermometer at freezing (32°), they were biting. We have seen one of the dogs again, and we have also seen one of those animals which I have before mentioned as burrowing in the earth. The one that we saw was up a tree, and the dog was barking at him; but on seeing us they both made off. The animal had short legs and short ears, a long tail, and grey-coloured fur like a cat, which he somewhat resembles, only that his body is long, and not so big round as that of a cat. This animal evidently lives upon birds and eggs, from the fact that we frequently find feathers and egg shells about their holes. Speaking of eggs, we have not as yet found any; but probably we arrived here too late in the season ​The seals do not appear to come on shore in the daytime so much as they used to do. We very seldom see any on shore now, unless we wait for them coming up late in the evening, or go before daylight in the morning, and get them before they go into the water. To-day the barometer is 30⋅3, thermometer 46°.
Sunday, May 29, 1864.—It has been blowing a very heavy gale during all the past week, with continued hail, snow, and rain, and yesterday thunder and lightning: the wind was from between S.W. and N.W. It has been impossible to launch the boat, or even to go out of the house, and we have to live entirely on salt seal, roots, and cold water; for we have been obliged to abandon the beer, which I have before mentioned, as it gave us all the bowel complaint. But yesterday I sauntered out with one of the men, and we managed to kill a seal; but we had to carry it on our backs a distance of about two miles, which is no joke, over these rocky beaches, and through this thick bush. However, we were glad to have it for the carrying. Mr. Raynal is again laid up, with a sore finger, and one of the men is also laid up, with a sprained ankle. Since noon the weather has moderated: the glass is rising, and I think we shall be able to get out the boat to-morrow. The barometer was at the lowest on Friday, 28⋅60; to-day it is at 29⋅40; thermometer 34°.
Sunday, June 5, 1864.—Since last Sunday the wind has generally been very light, from between N.W. and W., with a great deal of fog and drizzling rain. The barometer has been as high as 30⋅30, and the thermometer about 40°. On Monday we went up to the harbour, and paid a visit to the island, to look for fresh meat; but to our disappointment we found no seals there, and the island has evidently been deserted by them for some time. Neither do they appear to go on shore anywhere now so much as they did in summer; but they appear more numerous in the water than I have ever seen them. We managed to get some mussels and two seals, but we had a long hunt ​for them. It was late at night when we returned to the camp. We have now got some good roads made about the house, which was very necessary, for the ground is so soft that after any part of it has been trodden a little it becomes mud, which in this damp weather never has a chance to get dry. We are also getting a considerable clearing round the place; for we burn a great deal of wood—not less than a large cart-load a day. Consequently it is getting cut down very fast. Light airs from N.W. and thick fog to-day. Barometer falling, 29⋅50; thermometer 40°.
Sunday, June 12, 1864.—During the past week the weather has been bad. We have had a good deal of S.W. and southerly gales, with snow; but this has all disappeared again. Yesterday we went out in the boat to look for something to eat; but unfortunately (and for the first time) we got nothing but half-a-dozen small fish. We were not able to get any mussels, as the tide was not low enough (it being now neaps), and we did not see a single seal on shore. They appear to keep in the water almost constantly. Now, as the water is warmer than the air, and they only come on shore in the night, after dark, to sleep, and go into the water before daylight, it would be madness for us to go through the bush to look for them in the dark. They are very numerous in the water, and if we actually get hard up for something to eat, I shall fasten to one with a harpoon. But our boat is only a dingy, and so frail that I am afraid she will not stand it, or else I would have tried it before this time; for 'tis now a fortnight since we got one, and for the last few days we have lived on pickling. We have to look pretty sharp after our bellies now, and I fear very much that we shall go hungry yet before the winter is out.
It is very fortunate that the weather is not severely cold, and I am somewhat surprised at it; for we have scarcely had frost as yet, and it is now mid-winter. On Friday morning we found ice in a tub, about as thick as ​a shilling, which is the first actual frost we have had. Our parrots are beginning to talk, but I think they are the ka-ka-po, a very rare bird, which is found in New Zealand and on some of the Philippine Islands, and eagerly sought after by naturalists. In the spring, if God spares me, I intend to get as many young ones as I can. Mr. Raynal has had a very bad finger. It was a fester, and I thought at one time he would lose it; but it is now out of danger. The man who sprained his ankle is also well again. It is now seven months since we left Sydney. I shall not attempt to give expression as to what I feel on this point; but I may say that I begin to look forward to the coming of summer, when surely we shall be relieved. The barometer has been low, 28⋅60 during the week, but it is now up again. Wind N.W., was S.E. outside; barometer 29; thermometer 30°.
Monday, June 20, 1864.—Since Thursday last we have had remarkably fine weather, with a slight frost, and very light easterly airs and calms. This is the first easterly wind we have had to continue more than six hours. On Tuesday and Wednesday the wind was S. and S.S.W., light, with dark gloomy weather, fog, and drizzling rain, which is something very extraordinary with southerly wind. On Monday morning two of the hands went before daylight to a place where we know a mob of seals frequent in the night. They found great numbers on shore, and just as the day began to break they began to go into the water. They killed two cows. It is evident that they only come up for a few hours in the night to sleep, and stop in the water all the day.
On Friday we went down to Flagstaff Point, and, finding our signal-board right, we caught fish and got mussels until dark, when we returned home with a load of mussels, but only a few fish. We can manage very well for provisions when the weather is fine, but still we have to look very sharp after it, for the days are very short (they are now at their shortest). We have only eight hours ​daylight, and we have taken nearly all the fish and mussels that were anywhere within two or three miles of the house; and we cannot very well go any farther along the shores without the boat. Besides, the mussels are very scarce anywhere excepting at low water spring tides; and at that time it is always dark now, as it is high water on full and change days about noon.
Yesterday we all (excepting the cook) went on to the mountains to the north, taking the same track up that I took on the 24th January. We travelled on until we reached the top of a mountain which is situated about the centre of the island, and is, I think, the highest part of the land. From here we had a full view of the whole group. The south island, as I noticed on 13th January, is scarcely disconnected, and one to the extreme north is at some distance from the mainland—perhaps six miles, and it may be about six miles in circumference. The whole extent of the group from north to south I judge to be 30 or 35 miles, and about fifteen miles east and west at the widest part. The western shore is high and bold, particularly the southern end, carrying almost a straight line N.N.E., and with one or two small islets (perhaps there are more; I saw two) off the middle of the island, but close to it. To the eastward of the extreme northern part, there appears to be a number of dangerous sunken reefs, on which the water breaks heavily, although it was calm, and has been calm, or nearly so, for the last four days. Some of these reefs extend to a distance of not less than ten miles from the land.
On the eastern side of the island, from about the centre of the coast line, the land trends away in a N.W. direction to its northern extremity. This part of the land is much lower than the southern parts, and from the western coast slopes away in undulating ridges to the N.E. shore, which is cut up by indentions, small bays, and chasms. From the appearance of this part of the island, I have no doubt but it is swarming with seals. The shores are clad ​with scrub and stunted timber, similar to the shores of this bay. The view from the summit of the mountain on which we stood, at an elevation of about 800 or 1000 feet, is something grand and magnificent; a prospect so rude and craggy I have never met with. The summit of the mountains consists of nothing but rocks, that are totally barren and naked, and are thrown up in every possible variety of shape and ruggedness. There are chasms and perpendicular precipices, hundreds of feet deep, down which it is fearful to look; and looking from these to the sea, which is visible all round, gives a beautiful relief to the eye. I have an outline sketch of the group. We were seven hours out. The travelling on the top of the mountains was very good, as all the springs and soft places were frozen over. In coming back I caught a bird something like a water-hen. Barometer, 30⋅20; thermometer, 32°.
Sunday, June 26, 1864.—I closed my note of last Monday without furnishing the details of Sunday's excursion. The mountain which we went on to we have, ever since we had the misfortune to come here, distinguished by the name of the Giant's Tomb. Its summit, when seen from the bay, bears a very striking resemblance to an immense coffin; and since I have been to it, I find that it will bear the same appearance from the offing on the eastern and N.E. sides of the island. On arriving there, we found this apparent coffin to be a solid wall or ridge of rock, about 100 yards long and 20 feet thick, running in a N.W. and S.E. direction; on the S.W. side about 20 feet high, and on the N.E. side not less than 45 feet high. In its S.E. end, which overlooks a valley, is a large cavern. This valley is about a mile long, and appears not to be more than 200 yards wide. It is bounded on both sides by precipitous rocks, rising to a height of from 600 to 800 feet. Its head is bounded by a semi-circle of the same precipitous nature, but rising to the height of about 1,000 feet; and at the summit is the before-mentioned cave, into which we managed to get, though not without exposing ourselves to ​the danger of falling from top to bottom. On our return we found a plant, which we have not seen anywhere else on this island; but there is plenty of it on Campbell's Island. We brought some of it down and cooked it, and found it very good to eat, and particularly good to put in the soup, which is very purging; and we find that this vegetable has a contrary effect. Everything here is evergreen, even the grass. Some of the trees have blossoms now, and there are small red berries which are at present ripe; they are very good, and the birds are very fond of them. I am reserving some of the seed; I have no doubt but with cultivation they may be made a very nice fruit.
On Thursday morning we went down the harbour in the boat, and at the break of day we landed and killed a seal, the only one we saw on shore, although there were plenty in the water. At low water we got a load of mussels, and then went to select a place for keeping a look-out for a vessel, when we begin to expect one. And now that the shortest days are past, I began to look forward with hope towards the time when we may expect one. Last night we heard one of the dogs barking close to the house. During the whole of the week, and up to four o'clock this afternoon, the weather has been very mild—calm in the night time, and very light northerly N.W. airs in the day; but the weather generally dark, and gloomy, and foggy, with the barometer about 30⋅0, and thermometer 44° at noon. At 4 p.m. to-day a breeze sprang up from the westward, and is now blowing a strong breeze, and squally, with frequent showers. Barometer 29⋅20; thermometer, 30°.
Sunday, July 3, 1864.—Blowing a strong gale at W.N.W.; barometer steadily rising from 29⋅50, where it stood when the gale commenced; but before the gale commenced it had been down to 29⋅25. 8 p.m.: Barometer standing at 29⋅96; gale continuing to blow steadily. Midnight: Barometer perceptibly falling; weather showery and foggy. It has been stormy during the whole of the past week. On Tuesday and Wednesday a ​considerable quantity of snow fell—all the ground was covered; but since midnight of Wednesday we have had a heavy gale from the W.N.W., with much rain, which still continues; but the barometer has been rising to-day. Very likely the gale will take off at midnight. I find that in the locality of these islands, as also on the coast of New Zealand, the barometer is of very little service to a stranger, and would, to say the least, lead his judgment of the weather into error, by its strange irregularities. It frequently falls below 29 inches, with light southerly airs and fine weather, which continue so long as the barometer keeps down (sometimes 60 hours); but immediately after the barometer begins to rise, and gets above 29 inches, it is followed by a gale commencing at S.W., and blowing between S.W. and N.W. for generally three days, and dies away at north. The gales following this, with a very low barometer, are the heaviest, and generally accompanied by rain, and blow with great fury. When the barometer falls to 29⋅25 and again commences to rise, a strong gale may be expected from the west, where it continues sometimes seven days, and until the barometer has risen to 30 inches, when it may be expected to die away suddenly. Again, the barometer at 29⋅50 and lowering dark weather, a N.W. or northerly gale may be expected; and these gales are accompanied by much rain, and invariably haul to the southward, and die away with a rising barometer, and are of the shortest duration. But I should recommend the stranger navigating these parts to be ruled by his own judgment, independent of the barometer; but use great caution, as these gales come on very suddenly.
The only time that the barometer can be implicitly relied upon is when it is above 30 inches. Then the weather is fine, with light airs, generally southerly, but sometimes east and north-east, which does not continue more than two or three days. After this very fine weather, a gale seldom comes on suddenly. A south-east gale, or even fresh breeze, we have not yet had. As far as my experience ​goes, I find the summer gales heavier, of longer duration, and more frequent than those of the winter. In winter, or in this winter, we have had the most moderate weather; but fogs (which are frequent all the year round) are more prevalent, and excessively dense during the latter season, almost constantly enveloping entirely the land, and rendering its approach dangerous. On Thursday morning we got three seals, after going out every previous morning without success. We killed them about two miles from the house, butchered them, and hung them up, carrying as much as we could home with us. The weather has been so bad ever since that we have not been able to launch the boat to go for the remainder.
Monday, July 4, 1864.—Gale continued till 3 p.m., when it backed to N.W. by W. and increased to a whole gale, which has continued to blow from the same point with great violence throughout the day. Weather dark, foggy, and showery. Barometer: 9 a.m., 29⋅92; noon, 29⋅90; 4 p.m., 29⋅88; 8 p.m., 29⋅94; wind W.N.W., gale unabated; 10 p.m., 29⋅95; wind N.W., gale unabated.
Tuesday, July 5, 1864.—The gale continued until 3 a.m., and died away suddenly. Nine a.m.: Barometer 30⋅9, light northerly airs, and foggy dark weather, though very mild. Noon: Barometer, 30⋅11; thermometer, in open air, 47°. Thus, if the barometer gets above 30 inches, the gale is done, and a day or two of fine weather may be expected; but should it fall the slightest before it arrives at 30 inches, whilst the gale is blowing, the wind will haul again to the westward, and blow harder. But after blowing hard from the westward, when it backs, and gets to the northward of N.W., it invariably dies away, independent of the state of the barometer. To illustrate Sunday's note on the weather and barometer, I shall insert at full my observations since that time.
​Sunday, July 10, 1864.—Tuesday last was a fine, mild day, with light northerly airs. The barometer rose to ​32⋅25 and fell again suddenly, and was followed by a strong north-east gale on Wednesday, which lasted 24 hours, with dark cloudy weather. On Thursday we had a hot wind from the N.N.W., and rain during the latter part. Thermometer at noon stood at 52°, barometer at 29⋅22. Since Thursday the wind has been north-west by north, fresh breeze, and almost constant rain; but the weather has kept very mild—in fact it is much more like summer than winter; and to-day, with its alternate sunshine and showers, has put me very much in mind of an April day at home, although the present month corresponds to January in the northern hemisphere. I had expected to find the winter very severe, but thus far I am agreeably mistaken. I hope I may be mistaken on the whole. The birds continue their merry song, and the blow-flies are quite troublesome again. The mosquitoes, or, more strictly speaking, sand-flies, have never ceased to be troublesome. To-day we heard the dogs barking, but they were at the other side of the bay. Barometer rising, 29; 8 a.m., thermometer 48°.
Sunday, July 17, 1864.—During the past week the weather has been very variable, but without any hard gales. About three weeks ago we commenced to look for ​a place suitable for keeping a look-out, when we began to expect a vessel; and as we did not succeed on that occasion, we have occupied nearly all the past week in the same object. I think we have at last fixed on a place, although the place we have chosen is not a very good one for a look-out, as we shall not be able to see a ship until she is inside the heads; whereas I should have liked to have been in some place where we could have seen clear out to sea. But, under our present circumstances, I find that this would be impossible; for we can find no such place where those keeping the look-out would be able to provide themselves with food; for seals and roots are not to be found at all places in the harbour, and where they are to be found would be out of their reach.
Travelling along the shore is at the best tedious and difficult, and in many places impossible; so that they would have to depend entirely on the people at home for supplies; and as the weather is so bad and uncertain, should we go to what would really be a good place, those who were there might, perhaps, starve before supplies could be got to them. Besides, there is no safe place for keeping the boat should she be caught down there in a breeze, and unable to get back. As, for instance, on Thursday, Mr. Raynal and I went down by ourselves in the boat, and while down there it came on a strong breeze, and we could not pull the boat back again. We moored her in the safest place we could find, and, taking the sail on shore, made a sort of shelter, lit a fire, and sat by it all night. And a sorry shelter we had, for it came on to rain heavily. The sail is an old thing, full of holes, and we got quite wet. This, it may be easily understood, was not very comfortable in 51° south latitude, in the middle of winter. However, we were obliged to put up with it. We were on the east side of Flagstaff Point. We had brought a little cold seal and roots with us, which had all been eaten on that day. On Friday the breeze was stronger, and the rain continued to fall heavily all day. In the morning we shot two ​widgeons—one we roasted, and the other we stewed by piecemeal in a quart pot, which is used as a bailer for the boat. We waited till about noon, expecting the breeze to take off; and as there was no prospect of it doing so, I was obliged to undertake the journey on foot to wind up the chronometer, which, if neglected, would run down on the following morning; and as, although the boat was in danger, one of us could do no good by remaining alone, we decided on both of us going. It is needless to detail our troubles in getting through the scrub and grass in a pelting rain. Suffice it to say that we were six hours in going the distance of five miles, and arrived home an hour after dark. We had not a dry thread on us, and were almost sinking with exhaustion from fatigue and hunger. The men had been very uneasy about us, for they were afraid we were blown out to sea. Fortunately they had killed a young seal of this year on that morning, which was quite a treat, for it is the first young seal we have got for a long time, and assuredly we did ample justice to it; immediately after which we went to bed, and required no rocking to put us to sleep.
We rose on Saturday morning, without feeling any further bad effects than a slight stiffness. After breakfast we started back again to look after the boat, about which I had felt very uneasy; for should we lose her we lose our means of getting a living. We took about a day's provision with us; we should have found it impossible to carry more. A strong breeze was blowing when we started, and the grass and scrub were dry, as there had been no rain since midnight; but before we had got half a mile from the house it commenced to rain, and continued until we arrived at the boat, which fortunately we found as we had left it, only that she was about half full of water. After bailing her out we made a fire, stripped off our clothes one piece after another, and managed to get them dry some way or other, and had something to eat in the meantime. As the night came on the breeze died away, ​and towards midnight we started off, and got the boat home safe and sound. But we must not hazard leaving the boat again: therefore I have decided on keeping the look-out on the hill about two miles from the house, where we can see a long way down the harbour, and we shall be able to make a signal from the house for them to bring the boat down should a vessel come in to look for us—and surely one will. On the first day of October I intend to go to keep the look-out myself. I shall remain there until we give up all hopes of any one coming. It would be a relief could I only feel sure that some one would come to look after us. To-day is a beautiful day, with a very light southerly air, and light scattered clouds, and the atmosphere is particularly clear; barometer, 30 inches; thermometer, 40° at noon. The barometer quite deceived me on Thursday morning. From the appearance of the weather I should have expected a fresh north-west breeze, which actually came; but the barometer was at 30⋅20, which indicates light southerly or easterly airs.
Sunday, July 24, 1864.—Throughout the past week the weather has been exceedingly fine; wind (when any) generally from the south, or eastward; very light airs, but frequently calm. On Thursday, and only for six hours, the wind was very light, from the N.W. The thermometer from last Sunday has been gradually, and almost imperceptibly, falling, and is now at 29⋅50. It will be seen that with the barometer between 29⋅50 and 30 inches, we have frequently had strong gales, so that this is another instance of its deceitfulness, and almost uselessness, in this locality; but at the present moment, from its state, and the appearance of the weather, which is dark, gloomy, and misty, I have every reason to expect an easterly or N.E. gale.
On Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday we had sharp frost. The thermometer was as low as 22°, and when it was at 29°, which is 3° below freezing, the flies were blowing, and the sand-flies were biting furiously. I give up all hopes of their ceasing hostilities during the winter, so it ​may be imagined what an annoyance they are in the summer, as all my descriptions would fail to convey an idea of its extent. It is almost impossible to do anything for them. Yesterday I was repairing the boat, and the sand-flies were so troublesome that I was compelled to take refuge in the house two or three times before I could complete my job. They are worse near the water.
On Monday morning we went up the bay in the boat to try and get a seal, as our fresh meat was just out. We arrived some time before daylight, near a place which we knew was frequented by a mob. We lay in wait until the day began to dawn, when they began to come down to the water, and we had the good fortune to kill four—three young ones, and one cow, which was in calf. We might have got one or two more, had we wanted them. But these were more than we could use whilst fresh. One of them we salted. Our greatest difficulty was to find out where the seals are, for every time we kill any they shift their camp, and I fear much that they will disappear altogether before we get away from this infernal place. We have heard the dogs barking several times during the last week, but we have not seen them. We frequently see their tracks in the woods, but not near the house. I think it very strange that they don't; for I feel convinced that these precise dogs have been left here by some one, for, had male and female been left, there would have been more now.