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Account of 
extensive beach running out of sight to the left, on 
which the surf beats incessantly, causing by its spray a 
sparkling vapour or mist, through which he can barely 
perceive the high green banks, backed by distant cloud- 
capped mountains. To the right of this beach is a pretty 
little island, forming, with a rocky point on the opposite 
shore, what is called the “ Gates,” or proper entrance 
into Macquarie Harbour. From this point a fine sandy 
beach extends to near the South Head, where it termi¬ 
nates by the Pilot’s Station. 
The Pilot’s Station, situated about a quarter of a mile 
from the flag-staff already mentioned, embraced, besides 
a comfortable cottage for himself and family, with good 
out-houses, a good garden and potato field. He was 
allowed a boat’s crew r , composed of prisoners belonging 
to the settlement. These men were always ready for 
service: one of them w as stationed at the flagstaff to 
watch for vessels. When not otherwise employed, they 
assisted the pilot in tilling his ground. 
It was surprising to observe through what terrific seas 
the pilot w r ould take his boat out to the ships making the 
harbour; indeed, even in going to the settlement, they 
had often to encounter a most dangerous surf, caused by 
the extremity of the bar, or the spit, as it was called, 
lying in front of the pilot’s house, which he was obliged 
to cross. I have more than once observed the dexterity 
and bravery with which this obstacle has been sur¬ 
mounted. A stranger cannot but feel alarmed on such 
an occasion. We will fancy him sitting in the fine six- 
oared wdiale-boat, pulling swdftly over a smooth surface 
towards the Gates.—“ Look out, Sir,” cries the coxswain; 
“ hold fast, we are close on Mr. Lucas’s Spit.” M Mr. 
Lucas’s what?” exclaims the astonished passenger. u No 
time to tell you now r , Sir ; but hold fast.” These words 
have scarcely escaped from the coxswain’s lips, when the 
