With his flags and whitewash he'd marked out most of the lines
he wanted for soundings: but there were two creeks he hadn't yet
found time to explore--Porthnavas, on the opposite side, and the very
creek by which we're sitting. So, as he came abreast of this one, he
determined to have a look at it; and after rowing a hundred yards or
so, lay on his oars, lit his pipe, and let his boat drift up with the
tide.
The creek was just the same lonesome place that it is to-day, the
only difference being that the pallace at the entrance had a roof on
it then, and was rented by Sam Trewhella--the same that followed old
Hockaday's coffin, as I've told you. But above the pallace the woods
grew close to the water's edge, and lined both shores with never a
clearing till you reached the end, where the cottage stands now and
the stream comes down beside it: in those days there wasn't any
cottage, only a piece of swampy ground. I don't know that Bligh saw
much in the scenery, but it may have helped to soothe his mind: for
by and by he settled himself on the bottom-boards, lit another pipe,
pulled his hat over his nose, and lay there blinking at the sky,
while the boat drifted up, hitching sometimes in a bough and
sometimes floating broadside-on to the current, until she reached
this bit of marsh and took the mud very gently.
Pages:
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288