Australian Tales - Setis

“Why Don't You Speak to Him?”
ONE dreary afternoon, I was pacing the quarter-deck of a beautiful
little brig, bound to some of the evergreen islands of Polynesia. A fresh
south-east gale was blowing, and the white curling billows ran high,
while the little stormy petrels, on their rapid wing, whirled about in the
wake of our wavebeaten vessel — now lost for a moment in the hollow
of the seas, and again mounting to the foaming crests — standing, as it
were, on their very summits, and dipping their black bills into the water
to pick up some precarious morsel of food.
“Up and down, up and down;
From the base of the wave to the billow's crown;
Amidst the flashing and the feathery foam,
The stormy petrel finds a home.”
Pity the luckless passenger who should kill, or in any way maltreat, one
of those ominous birds! — he would be sure of the scowling looks and
illwill of the sailors for the remainder of the voyage, and would be
blamed for every casualty that occurred. I have met with but few seamen
who have not had a superstitious regard for stormy petrels, or “Mother
Carey's chickens,” as they are more commonly called. They are supposed
to be the harbingers of bad weather, and may generally be seen, in some
latitudes, whirling over the troubled waters with surprising velocity, and
apparently in high enjoyment.
Our little vessel was under double-reefed topsails, reefed courses, and
storm staysail, and trembled from keel to truck, as she struggled through
the heavy seas, which presented formidable barriers to her rapid
progress; while she would occasionally plunge her bows deep into the
hissing waves, and send a shower of spray as far aft as the mainmast. The
flag at the mainmast head, bearing the figure of a dove with an olive
branch, denoted the peaceful character of the vessel, which was then on
her way to various mission stations, with annual supplies, and a hearty
welcome awaited her from many anxious ones, who were daily looking
for her over the sea with straining eyes.
My sea legs have been pretty well drilled; and I was never afraid of a
little spray; so I buttoned on my overcoat, and continued my unsteady
promenade. As I did so, I could not help noticing the ghastly look of the
man at the wheel. Though tall and well-made, he was terribly emaciated,