Some of the letters brought back by our boat
were directed to New Bedford, and some to Fairhaven, Massachusetts.
There is a light to-day on Booby Island, and regular packet
communication with the rest of the world, and the beautiful
uncertainty of the fate of letters left there is a thing of the past.
I made no call at the little island, but standing close in, exchanged
signals with the keeper of the light. Sailing on, the sloop was at
once in the Arafura Sea, where for days she sailed in water milky
white and green and purple. It was my good fortune to enter the sea on
the last quarter of the moon, the advantage being that in the dark
nights I witnessed the phosphorescent light effect at night in its
greatest splendor. The sea, where the sloop disturbed it, seemed all
ablaze, so that by its light I could see the smallest articles on
deck, and her wake was a path of fire.
On the 25th of June the sloop was already clear of all the shoals and
dangers, and was sailing on a smooth sea as steadily as before, but
with speed somewhat slackened. I got out the flying-jib made at Juan
Fernandez, and set it as a spinnaker from the stoutest bamboo that
Mrs. Stevenson had given me at Samoa. The spinnaker pulled like a
sodger, and the bamboo holding its own, the _Spray_ mended her pace.
Several pigeons flying across to-day from Australia toward the islands
bent their course over the _Spray_. Smaller birds were seen flying in
the opposite direction.
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