On the eighteenth day out from Sydney, we were cruising under the lee of Erromanga--of course you know Erromanga, an isolated island between the New Hebrides and the Loyalty group--when suddenly our dusky Polynesian boy, Nassaline, who was at the masthead on the lookout, gave a surprised cry of "Boat ahoy!" and pointed with his skinny black finger to a dark dot away southward on the horizon, in the direction of Fiji. I strained my eyes and saw--well, a barrel or something. For myself, I should never have made out it was a boat at all, being somewhat slow of vision at great distances; but, bless your heart! these Kanaka lads have eyes like hawks for pouncing down upon a canoe or a sail no bi…
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