During September and October he intended to visit the Gulf of Carpentaria, and thence sail down the west and along the south of Australia, to Tasmania, “but in such a manner that it may be possible for me to stretch northward in time to arrive at Ile-de-France in the beginning of December, 1788.”  That was the programme which he was not destined to complete—­hardly, indeed, to enter upon.  Had he succeeded, his name would have been inscribed amongst the memorable company of the world’s great maritime explorers.  As it is, the glint on his brow, as he stands in the light of history, is less that of achievement than of high promise, noble aims, romance and mystery.

One of the letters sent from Sydney concluded with these words:  “Adieu!  I shall depart in good health, as are all my ship’s company.  We would undertake six voyages round the world if it could afford to our country either profit or pleasure.”  They were not the last words he wrote, but we may appropriately take them as being, not merely his adieu to a friend, but to the world.

Time sped on; the date given for the arrival at Ile-de-France was passed; the year 1789 dawned and ticked off the tally of its days.  But nothing was heard of Laperouse.  People in France grew anxious, one especially we may be sure—­she who knew so well where the ships would anchor in Port Louis if they emerged out of the ocean brume, and who longed so ardently that renewed acquaintance with scenes once sweetly familiar would awaken memories meet to give wings to speed and spurs to delay.  Not a word came to sustain or cheer, and the faint flush of hope faded to the wan hue of despair on the cheek of love.  By 1791 all expectation of seeing the expedition return was abandoned.  But could not some news of its fate be ascertained?  Had it faded out of being like a summer cloud, leaving not a trace behind?  Might not some inkling be had, some small relics obtained, some whisper caught, in those distant isles,

“Where the sea egg flames on the coral, and the long-backed breakers croon Their endless ocean legend to the lazy, locked lagoon.”

France was then in the throes of her great social earthquake; but it stands to the credit of the National Assembly that, amidst many turbulent projects and boiling passions, they found time and had the disposition to cause the fitting out of a new expedition to search for tidings of those whose disappearance weighed heavily on the heart of the nation.  The decree was passed on February 9, 1791.

Two ships, the recherche and the Esperance, were selected and placed under the command of Dentrecasteaux.  He had already had some experience in a part of the region to be searched, had been a governor of Ile-de-France, and during a South Sea voyage had named the cluster of islands east of Papua now called the D’Entrecasteaux Group.  The second ship was placed under the command of Captain Huon Kermadec.  The Huon River in Tasmania, and the Kermadec Islands, N.E. of New Zealand, are named after him.