We convoyed a land expedition as far as the Rockingham Bay in 17 south under a Mr. Kennedy, which was to work its way up to Cape York in 11 south and there meet us.  A fine noble fellow poor Kennedy was too.  I was a good deal with him at Rockingham Bay, and indeed accompanied him in the exploring trips which he made for some four or five days in order to see how the land lay about him.  In fact we got on so well together that he wanted me much to accompany him and join the ship again at Cape York, and if the Service would have permitted of my absence I should certainly have done so.  But it was well I did not.  Out of thirteen men composing the party but three remain alive.  The rest have perished by starvation or the spears of the natives.  Poor Kennedy himself had, in company with the black fellow attached to the party, by dint of incredible exertions, pushed on until he came within sight of the provision vessel waiting his arrival at Cape York.  But here, within grasp of his object, a large party of natives attacked and killed him.  The black fellow alone reached Cape York with the news.  The other two men who were saved were the sole survivors of the party Kennedy left behind him at a spot near the coast, and were picked up by the provision vessel when she returned.

You may be sure I am not sorry to return home.  I say home advisedly, for my friend Fanning’s house is as completely my home as it well can be.  And then Nettie had not heard anything of me for six months, so that I have been petted and spoiled ever since we came in...as I tell her I fear she has rested her happiness on a very insecure foundation; but she is full of hope and confidence, and to me her love is the faith that moveth mountains.  We have, as you may be sure, a thousand difficulties in our way, but like Danton I take for my motto, “De l’audace et encore de l’audace et toujours de l’audace,” and look forward to a happy termination, nothing doubting.

[To his mother (announcing the probable time of his return).]

Sydney, February 11, 1850.

I cannot at all realise the idea of our return.  We have been leading such a semi-savage life for years past, such a wandering nomadic existence, that any other seems in a manner unnatural to me.  Time was when I should have looked upon our return with unmixed joy; but so many new and strong ties have arisen to unite me with Sydney, that now when the anchor is getting up for England, I scarcely know whether to rejoice or to grieve.  You must not be angry, my dear Mother; I have none the less affection for you or any other of those whom I love in England—­only a very great deal for a certain little lassie whom I must leave behind me without clearly seeing when we are to meet again.  You must remember the Scripture as my excuse, “A man shall leave his father and mother and cleave unto his” (I wish I could add) wife.  Our long cruises are fine times for reflection, and during the last I determined that we would be terribly prudent and get married about 1870, or the Greek Kalends, or, what is about the same thing, whenever I am afflicted with the malheur de richesses.