Darkness in these days cannot be allowed to hinder one. If there are no lighthouses people have to do without them, as all those did who made Hobart from the westward. It was nasty navigation to go for that land in the dark, for there were several outlying dangers that might very easily bring a ship to grief. On this occasion I made the land at one a.m. and a dark night at that, but when I subsequently saw what the coast was like by daylight, I liked it even less. On the other hand when once the land is made the coast leading to and up the Derwent river is singularly beautiful, and many parts of it rejoice in good old Kentish names, showing very clearly the origin of some of its first settlers. My instructions were to make the ship a “show” ship, and to offer the townsmen hospitality. Accordingly after we had coaled we made preparation for a big luncheon party to which were invited members of the government and the leading people of the place. It was a most successful function, and in responding to a toast I took the opportunity of pointing out that if anyone on a future voyage lost wives or families on their way to Hobart by being wrecked on the west coast for want of a light, they would not be able to say that they had not been warned. The language might have been brutal, but I was feeling the matter keenly and I am glad to say the words went home. We had a most successful and enjoyable function, which every one appreciated, and the good people of Hobart had every opportunity of seeing what was described in the manager’s letter of instruction as “my noble ship.” It may be as well to state that we had anticipated the Brindisi mail. A lot of time had been wasted as far as a quick passage to New Zealand was concerned, first at Santa Cruz and then at Hobart, but no time was lost when the last of our guests was over the side, and we made the best of our way for Auckland. The remembrance of going into that port is very vivid even now, for although I had been there once as a boy, that gave me no help in taking a ship into what were practically unknown waters. On the passage out I had of course studied my charts carefully, and had formed my expectations of what the various places would look like, and as it turned out my surmises were not very wide of the mark. Indeed I am inclined to think that navigating a ship into port is better done if it is learned from a chart than by acquiring local knowledge by actual inspection. I found latterly even on the Cape route that it was better to steer known courses entering or leaving port than merely to con the ship by sight. And here I had a very curious experience tending to strengthen my argument. I steered perfectly safe but close courses round various corners, passed inside an island towards the entrance of the harbour, after which I picked up a pilot who told me that ships seldom used that passage because of the dangerous patches in it. That was quite true, but the dangers