reaching Hobart in a few hours began to appear as a dead certainty.  With this comfortable feeling we had just sat down to the breakfast table in the fore-saloon, when the door was pulled open with what seemed unnecessary violence, and the face of the officer of the watch appeared in the doorway.  “We’re on the wrong side of the head,” was the sinister message, and the face disappeared.  Good-bye to our pleasant plans, good-bye to our breakfast!  All hands went on deck at once, and it was seen only too well that the melancholy information was correct.  We had made a mistake in the thick rain.  The wind, that had now increased to a stiff breeze, had chased the rain-clouds from the tops of the hills, and on the point we had taken for Tasman Head, we now saw the lighthouse.  It was therefore Tasman Island, and instead of being in Storm Bay, we were out in the open Pacific, far to leeward of the infamous headland.

There was nothing to be done but to beat and attempt to work our way back to windward, although we knew it would be practically labour in vain.  The breeze increased to a gale, and instead of making any headway we had every prospect of drifting well to leeward; that was the usual result of trying to beat with the Fram.  Rather annoyed though we were, we set to work to do what could be done, and with every square foot of canvas set the Fram pitched on her way close-hauled.  To begin with, it looked as if we held our own more or less, but as the distance from land increased and the wind got more force, our bearings soon showed us that we were going the way the hen kicks.  About midday we went about and stood in towards land again; immediately after came a violent squall which tore the outer jib to ribbons; with that we were also obliged to take in the mainsail, otherwise it would pretty soon have been caught aback, and there would have been further damage to the rigging.  With the remaining sails any further attempt was useless; there was nothing left but to get as close under the lee of the land as we could and try with the help of the engine to hold our own till the weather moderated.  How it blew that afternoon!  One gust after another came dancing down the slopes of the hills, and tore at the rigging till the whole vessel shook.  The feeling on board was, as might be expected, somewhat sultry, and found an outlet in various expressions the reverse of gentle.  Wind, weather, fate, and life in general were inveighed against, but this availed little.  The peninsula that separated us from Storm Bay still lay there firm and immovable, and the gale went on as if it was in no hurry to let us get round.  The whole day went by, and the greater part of the night, without any change taking place.  Not till the morning of the 6th did our prospects begin to improve.  The wind became lighter and went more to the south; that was, of course, the way we had to go, but by hugging the shore, where we had perfectly smooth water, we succeeded in working our way down to Tasman Island before darkness fell.  The night brought a calm, and that gave us our chance.  The engine worked furiously, and a slight favourable current contributed to set us on our way.  By dawn on the 7th we were far up Storm Bay and could at last consider ourselves masters of the situation.