on deck ordering life-preservers and ropes to be thrown to the man, who was still calling out most dismally, but seeming not to take advantage of the means given him to save his life.
He was silent now, and people in low whispers said, “It is all over, he’s drowned, poor wretch!” Just then a young man suddenly threw his arms forward, with his hands together, and plunged head foremost into the sea. A few orders rapidly delivered by the officers to the men helping, and aided by the young man, the poor drowning sailor was on deck again; dreadfully exhausted, though, for he had been trying to swim to shore with all his clothes on, digger’s long boots as well; and when he found he could not do so, he became awfully frightened, and bawled out for help, for he then recollected that Hobson’s Bay was famous for sharks, fifteen, some eighteen, feet long; and so he got detected in escaping from his ship.
At ten o’clock next morning a steamer came alongside for passengers. It filled in an instant, and away it went, the people standing up in it, it was so full, and crying “Huzza! huzza! huzza!” all the way they went.
There was another steamer alongside soon after. It was much smaller, and not so clean as the other; but as we had to seek friends and find lodgings in Melbourne before the night, I thought we had better get into it, and so away we went on our first trip to shore, feeling sorry to leave the splendid ship, though, that had brought us so safely through the perils and dangers of the long voyage.
We had scarcely lost sight of our ship when the little steamer stopped alongside an old hulk to take in coals. Then the men belonging to both vessels stood gossiping, smoking, and drinking together a considerable time. There was a man fast asleep in the cabin, so we remained on deck in the broiling sun. Feeling dreadfully thirsty, I at last asked the man who appeared to be the master of the steamer, to let me have a glass of water.
“We ha’n’t got no water on board, marm; but we’ve got some prime Guinness’s stout, if you’d like to ’av some on it.”
I hesitated.
“It’ll be some time ’fore we gits to Melbourne,” added he; “for when me and my mates ’as ’ad our brekfists, we’re a-going round up there a bit, ’cos two wessels is a-waiting for us, what we’ve got to tow along, you see.”
The steamer at last started again. We were so glad; but suddenly Frederica exclaimed:
“Why, ma, we are going to pass our dear old ship. Look, here she is!”
A number of people came to the portholes, and waved their hands to us, and laughed at us. So when we were going to repass it, with a great vessel following us as closely as if it were going to swamp us every minute, I proposed bread and cheese in the cabin below for us three, and I asked the master at once what he would charge us for some.
“Well, I’ll do it reasonable,” said be, holding his hat above his head with one hand, while he scratched it with the other. “Let me see, bread and cheese for three, two bob; a bottle of Guinness’s, half-a-crown: that’s cheap, now, ha’n’t it? I knows it is.”
After eating the bread and cheese, we remained some length of time in the cabin below, it was cooler there than on deck; but on hearing the steamer scraping along the ground as she went, we rushed on deck again to know what was the matter, and we found the master scratching his head and exclaiming to his men:
“Now, this here is a pretty kittle of fish indeed. Confound you, you lazy blubber-heads; vy this will jest delay us another hour.”
The steamer was stuck fast in the sands.
It seemed a very long hour to us; but at last, the tide having released us, the little steamer was making up for lost time, and getting to Melbourne as quickly as possible.
We were now in a narrow river.
“I hope we shall not get stuck on the sands again,” said I, thinking we were “hugging the shore,” as sailors say.
“Not here, not here,” said the master, with a knowing shake of the head. “They calls this here river the ‘Yarrs Yarra:’ no sands here; a good-sized wessel, a deal larger nor this on, could steam up quite close on heither side.”
“Yarra Yarra! What a funny name, ma,” said Josephine.
“Vell, you see, my little dear, it’s a haboriginal name: it means a river what has got no hend whatsomhever. Them’s young wattles and tea-scrub what’s a-growing on them banks there; there’s plenty on ’em here.”
A little hut now made its appearance on our left side with half a door, and no window to it: the man said they had been broken away to give air to the people sleeping there at night. Farther on there was another wretched-looking hovel, and a poor, infirm old woman was standing at the doorway, looking at us.
“What a desolate place to live in,” said I.
“Vy, that’s a palliss to some on ’em,” said. the man.
“Oh, ma! what is it?” exclaimed my children, putting their handkerchiefs over their faces.
“Ha, ha, ha!” roared the mate, evidently. enjoying our discomfiture. “Vy, them’s the slaughter-’usses stinks so. The vind’s this vay, that’s vy ve gits it now: ven ve turns the corner, ve shull come up close agin ’em.”
In a few moments a most appalling sight met our view: piles of bullocks’ skulls, sheep’s skulls, bones, horns, and hides were lying about in front of some broken, weather-beaten old sheds; pigs and ducks of immense size were feeding on heaps of offal; carcasses of bullocks and sheep were hanging up in rows to the roof of an adjoining shed; and at the back, in pens, droves of bullocks and sheep were waiting their doom.
A number of savage, hideous-looking bulldogs rushed to the water’s edge and barked furiously as we passed them. I was very glad when we could see them no longer.
A much larger building, but of the same kind, now came in view.
“That was a slaughter-’uss, too,” said the Master; “but lots o’ hemigrunts are living there