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On the 16th, we re-embarked; but the wind being still unfavourable, we anchored under shelter of Carnac Island, where we passed a most delightful day, rambling about the rocks, catching crabs with pointed sticks. Our men took some young mutton birds in the holes in which they burrow like rabbits; and the natives of our party begged hard to remain all night, in order to catch the old ones in their holes, which they do not enter before nightfall; but, as we intended to sail with the first of the land breeze, we made them sleep with ourselves on board, much to their regret.
17th.—A fine breeze all day: we were running parallel to the coast, but at a considerable distance, to clear Cape Naturaliste.
18th.—Abreast of the Cape; which is neither high nor bluff. The coast ten miles distant. We can perceive cattle in the valleys, and the first ridge of bare-looking hills in the back ground. Two fires are perceptible.
19th.—We are now opposite the part of the coast to which you seem to have turned your attention. It is bold and rocky, reminding me greatly of the Irish coast—more to be admired for the picturesque than trusted for its safety. It is probable that there may be many nooks, sounds, or bays, affording shelter, but they are not yet known.
It is a work of time, expense, and difficulty to explore the windings of a coast; more an object for Government to accomplish, than for an individual to undertake. You conjecture that this is a desirable part of the continent to select for a settlement, but it may be long before this place shall be located, and a solitary settler would labour under many disadvantages in his isolation.
It would be very injudicious to choose an uninhabited district, when there are so many places here in which we can have the protection and comfort of society. A Robinson Crusoe kind of life may do very well in romance, but will not be pleasant in reality.
