unanswerable, and, as it appeared to me, consequent process of knocking him down and jumping on him afterwards; how Sydney Bill had kept a sly grog-shop and done the traps by having Old Tom, whoever he might be, up in a coffin, which, he said, was for his father, who insisted upon being buried in a civilised manner; how Cornish Dick had dropped on a cove sitting on his wash dirt, and had shot him then and there, and how this summary proceeding had been very much applauded by the whole diggings, although it turned out that the man was simply drunk, and no more a thief, bless you, than the Bishop. This last agreeable anecdote, by-the-by, was the cause of some very severe remarks against drinking by the ugliest and dirtiest of the three ruffians, who was then just about opening his second bottle. As it got dark they added to the generally cheerful frame of my mind, by lighting little bits of tallow candle and sticking them in an ingenious manner to the woodwork of their bunks by the aid of a little melted grease, so that my previous anxiety to see them speechlessly drunk was now converted into an agonised desire that they should remain sober, that being the only possible chance I could perceive of not adding the horrors of fire to the miseries of the tempest. By this time they had left off story-telling, and taken to singing, and as they all sang at once, and each of them a different song, the effect was infinitely more striking than agreeable. When the ugliest of them had sufficiently exercised his lungs, it seemed suddenly to strike him that I had made some personal remarks of an extremely offensive character on entering the cabin, whereupon he inquired whether I wanted anything for myself, and, if so, why I didn’t stand up to him like a man, and he would let me have it as easily as rolling off a log. At last, maddened by this everlasting persecution, I rose, dressed myself as well as I could, and went on deck again. Here, however, it was impossible for me to remain, as the waves were breaking over the ship every moment with such violence that the scuppers were insufficient to carry off the water, and the deck was knee-deep in it. Four men were at the helm, and by their side stood the captain, a mass of waterproof. To the inquiry shouted in his ear, of whether he thought things were likely to mend soon, the only answer I got was how the devil could he tell, and what the devil I wanted on deck in everybody’s way. As, under the circumstances, I did not think this a very favourable opportunity of laying my complaint before him, I took myself down to the chief cabin, and after ingeniously, as I imagined, lashing myself to a sofa, was soon asleep. I had not been so, however, many minutes before I was awakened by a tremendous concussion. For a moment I imagined that the ship had struck, and was going down, but I very soon discovered that she had only given a heavier lurch than usual, causing my ill-contrived knots to slip, and that the striking had been confined to my forehead which had come against the leg of the table with such force as to raise a lump on it as big as an egg. I had almost made up my mind to return to my disagreeable companions, when happening to cast my eyes upon the door of one of the state-cabins, I remembered having heard my next neighbour remark, at dinner, on the preceding day, that the gentleman who had taken it had not come on board as had been expected.
“By Jove!” I exclaimed, “how can I have been such an ass as not to have thought of this before. Here, steward!”
The steward emerged from his den, and balanced himself carefully in front of me.
“The state-cabin that is unoccupied, I will remove into it, and will readily pay any additional sum that may be required.”
“Very sorry, but you can’t have it, sir.”
“Can’t have it—why not?”
“Why, you see, sir, that cabin was engaged by a gentleman as came aboard late one night, about a fortnight before we sailed. He comes down, and, says he, ‘Steward, have you a cabin disengaged. ‘Yes,’ says I, ‘state-cabin.’ ‘I’ll take it,’ says he. ‘Can I pay for it now, for it won’t be convenient for me to call at the office and arrange.’ ‘Well there is no one here at this time of night authorised to take the money; but if you do not mind trusting me with it, I’ve been man and boy twenty years in Mr. Green’s service, and though I say it—who shouldn’t say it—I am to be trusted.’ Well, with that he hands me a purse, and, says he, ‘you’ll find there more than you’ll want; get me any cabin furniture you may think right, and keep what’s over for yourself. But mind one thing, when you’ve got all straight, lock the door, and don’t open it again until you get to Melbourne, unless I give you express orders to do so.’ ‘Very good, sir,’ says I; and off he goes. Well, I did as he told me, fitted the cabin up first-rate, locked it, and as he isn’t come on board to give me my orders, why it won’t be opened till we reach Hobson’s Bay.” “But, steward,” said I, “what’s the use of keeping the place locked up when the owner is not on board?” “Ah, you see our captain’s a strict sort of a chap. He holds that a bargain’s a bargain, and if he was to know that I opened that door after the gent had paid for its being kept shut, why, I should jolly soon get the sack, and that wouldn’t pay me at any price.” “But, steward, just look here; I am dying for a sleep; let me turn in for this night only. You can lock me up, you know, and let me out when no one is about: and here’s a sovereign to get yourself something to drink.” “Well, sir, seeing as how you are a gentleman, I don’t mind if I do let you in for one night; but you must mind and not split on me to any one, for things get pretty soon known on board ship by all hands, from the cabin boy to the skipper, as soon as they have once been mentioned.” “All right,” says I, “you may rely upon me.” “Mind,” says he, “you don’t make any noise in the morning. I’ll come and let you out before breakfast when the skipper’s on deck, and all hands are at work, swabbing themselves down.”
With that he opened the cabin-door, handed me a candle, pushed me hastily in, and turned the key in the lock. The cabin was a model of neatness—a nice carpet on the floor, a first-rate bunk on one side, and a delightfully soft sofa on the other; in fact, all that one could desire; everything, too, well cleeted and fastened down in its