This excitement over, the respective crews sink into a sort of
melancholy sedateness, and Green in vain endeavours to kick up a
quadrille. The men were exhausted and the women dispirited, and
altogether they were a very different set of beings to what they were
on the Saturday. Dull faces and dirty-white ducks were the order of the
day.

The only incident of the voyage was, that on approaching the mouth
of the Medway, the _Royal Adelaide_ was hailed by a vessel, and the
Yorkshireman, on looking overboard, was shocked to behold Mr. Jorrocks
sitting in the stern of his hoy in the identical position he had taken
up the previous day, with his bunch of sea-weed under his elbow, and the
remains of the knuckle of veal, ham, and chicken, spread on the hamper
before him. "Stop her?" cried the Yorkshireman, and then hailing Mr.
Jorrocks he holloaed out, "In the name of the prophet, Figs, what are
you doing there?" "Oh, gentlemen! gentlemen!" exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks,
brightening up as he recognised the boat, "take compassion on a most
misfortunate indiwidual--here have I been in this 'orrid 'oy, ever since
three o'clock yesterday afternoon and here I seem likely to end my
days--for blow me tight if I couldn't swim as fast as it goes." "Look
sharp, then," cried the mate of the steamer, "and chuck us up your
luggage." Up went the sea-weed, the hamper, and Mr. Jorrocks; and before
the hoyman awoke out of a nap, into which he had composed himself on
resigning the rudder to his lad, our worthy citizen was steaming away a
mile before his vessel, bilking him of his fare.

Who does not recognise in this last disaster, the truth of the old
adage?