let Howard resign. The
income from the show and the proceeds of the tallow I had gathered in
the Strait of Magellan, the last of which I had disposed of to a
German soap-boiler at Samoa, put me in ample funds.

January 24, 1897, found the _Spray_ again in tow of the tug _Racer_,
leaving Hobson's Bay after a pleasant time in Melbourne and St. Kilda,
which had been protracted by a succession of southwest winds that
seemed never-ending.

In the summer months, that is, December, January, February, and
sometimes March, east winds are prevalent through Bass Strait and
round Cape Leeuwin; but owing to a vast amount of ice drifting up from
the Antarctic, this was all changed now and emphasized with much bad
weather, so much so that I considered it impracticable to pursue the
course farther. Therefore, instead of thrashing round cold and stormy
Cape Leeuwin, I decided to spend a pleasanter and more profitable time
in Tasmania, waiting for the season for favorable winds through Torres
Strait, by way of the Great Barrier Reef, the route I finally decided
on. To sail this course would be taking advantage of anticyclones,
which never fail, and besides it would give me the chance to put foot
on the shores of Tasmania, round which I had sailed years before.

I should mention that while I was at Melbourne there occurred one of
those extraordinary storms sometimes called "rain of blood," the first
of the kind in many years about Australia. The "blood" came from a
fine brick-dust matter afloat in the air from the deserts. A
rain-storm setting in brought down this dust simply as mud; it fell in
such quantities that a bucketful was collected from the sloop's
awnings, which were spread at the time. When the wind blew hard and I
was obliged to furl awnings, her sails, unprotected on the booms, got
mud-stained from clue to earing.

The phenomena of dust-storms, well understood by scientists, are not
uncommon on the coast of Africa. Reaching some distance out over the
sea, they frequently cover the track of ships, as in the case of the
one through which the _Spray_ passed in the earlier part of her
voyage. Sailors no longer regard them with superstitious fear, but our
credulous brothers on the land cry out "Rain of blood!" at the first
splash of the awful mud.

The rip off Port Phillip Heads, a wild place, was rough when the
_Spray_ entered Hobson's Bay from the sea, and was rougher when she
stood out. But, with sea-room and under sail,