Approaching Port Darwin from the east the navigation is difficult and dangerous. All the day before, we had steamed very slowly in order to avoid reaching the passage of the Vernon Isles after nightfall. The islands are inhabited, and the smoke of bush fires was frequently to be seen, either signal fires lighted by the natives, or by Europeans, to burn off the dead grass at the end of the winter.
The approach to Port Darwin is charmingly pretty. The tropical vegetation that comes down nearly to the water's edge is a vivid green, and the cliffs that fringe the shore a warm red. The tops of quite important-looking houses were showing among the trees.
This was Port Darwin, where we had been told there was "nothing to see," for it was only "an arid wilderness." There is no sensation quite like that of steaming slowly into an unknown port, the future is so fraught with delightful and unusual possibilities. The shores take shape and colour, houses just descried with glasses become clear and distinct, people are seen on the beach, the vegetation can now be identified, and finally the ship draws up alongside of the wharf, or the tender has come to fetch us, and we set foot on a strange shore in quest of new adventure.
At Port Darwin adventure had come to us.
