"Heave the log," he cried out, and the two other hands in the watch lay aft and hove it before the skipper came up to relieve the deck—for Mr. Chris was an "only mate."
"Seven knots, sir," replied the man with the log.
"Seven knots," replied Mr. Chris.
The wheel was relieved. I saw the captain come up the companion. He and Mr. Chris spoke a few words together, and then the mate went below. I turned in wondering!
We worked easily up the coast for the next few days, up inside the Great Barrier reef—through the lovely scenery of the Whitsunday passage—in and out amongst the islands, and along the gloriously beautiful Queensland coast, until finally we rounded Cape Tribulation, and stood in for Cooktown, where we were to call and fill up with water and fresh provisions before proceeding on our voyage.
The road down to the little wharf where we lay dwindled off into a narrow track that wandered away amongst the tropical vegetation around the base of the mountain that formed the southern boundary of the harbor.
Captain Dane had been on deck most of the time, coming up amongst the Islands, and turned in early for a good rest before tackling the rest of the passage north, which is the most difficult navigation inside the reef. We were to sail next day, and he made up his mind to get all the sleep he could now.
His wife in the cool of the evening went for a stroll ashore. Mr. Chris thought he would like to stretch his legs, so after seeing everything cleared up he went over the side, and I, feeling the same way, followed soon after.
There was little to interest me in Cooktown after I had taken a look at the stone marking the supposed spot where Captain Cook hove down the Endeavour, after running her on to one of the sunken reefs off the
