XXI RETROSPECT 533 



excepting from accidents, of a sea-life are at an end. The 

 short space of sixty years has made an astonishing difference 

 in the facility of distant navigation. Even in the time of 

 Cook, a man who left his fireside for such expeditions under- 

 went severe privations. A yacht now, with every luxury of 

 life, can circumnavigate the globe. Besides the vast improve- 

 ments in ships and naval resources, the whole western shores 

 of America are thrown open, and Australia has become the 

 capital of a rising continent. How different are the circum- 

 stances to a man shipwrecked at the present day in the Pacific, 

 to what they were in the time of Cook ! Since his voyage a 

 hemisphere has been added to the civilised world. 



If a person suffer much from sea-sickness, let him weigh it 

 heavily in the balance. I speak from experience : it is no 

 trifling evil, cured in a week. If, on the other hand, he take 

 pleasure in naval tactics, he will assuredly have full scope for 

 his taste. But it must be borne in mind how large a pro- 

 portion of the time, during a long voyage, is spent on the 

 water, as compared with the days in harbour. And what are 

 the boasted glories of the illimitable ocean ? A tedious waste, 

 a desert of water, as the Arabian calls it. No doubt there are 

 some delightful scenes. A moonlight night, with the clear 

 heavens and the dark glittering sea, and the white sails filled 

 by the soft air of a gently -blowing trade- wind ; a dead calm, 

 with the heaving surface polished like a mirror, and all still 

 except the occasional flapping of the canvas. It is well once 

 to behold a squall with its rising arch and coming fury, or the 

 heavy gale of wind and mountainous waves. I confess, however, 

 my imagination had painted something more grand, more terrific, 

 in the full-grown storm. It is an incomparably finer spectacle 

 when beheld on shore, where the waving trees, the wild flight 

 of the birds, the dark shadows and bright lights, the rushing of 

 the torrents, all proclaim the strife of the unloosed elements. 

 At sea the albatross and little petrel fly as if the storm were 

 their proper sphere, the water rises and sinks as if fulfilling its 

 usual task, the ship alone and its inhabitants seem the objects 

 of wrath. On a forlorn and weather-beaten coast the scene is 

 indeed different, but the feelings partake more of horror than 

 of wild delight. 



Let us now look at the brighter side of the past time. The 



