crowd made way for him.

Below Jim Done stripped hastily, wrung out his wet clothes upon the
littered floors and climbed into his bunk, threatening to tear down a
whole terrace of the crazy structures as he did so.

The Francis Cadman was not ordinarily a passenger boat: she was
commissioned to carry two hundred and fifty sailors to the ships left
helpless in Corio Bay and Hobson's Bay, deserted by their crews, who, in
spite of official strategies, had fled to the diggings immediately after
anchors were dropped in Victorian waters.

The accommodation for the men was the roughest imaginable. Bunks of
unplaned timber were strung up in tiers under the forecastle, and
wherever space could be found for them in the dark and musty depths of
the ship. A few second-class male passengers shared these delectable
quarters with the sailors, and the Francis Cadman had secured a
complement of first-class patrons willing to pay exorbitant prices for
the dubious comforts and plain fare of the 'cabin' passage.

The gold lust was burning in the blood of Europe. Fabulous stories of
Australian treasures were flying about the nations; greedy ears drank
them in, and the wildest yarns were never doubted. In their frantic
eagerness to share in the golden harvests being reaped at Buninyong,
Clunes, Bendigo, and Ballarat, the people wasted no thought on the
hardships of the journey; there was not a ship too crazy or a doghole too
dark to carry the desperate adventurers.

Jim Done's bunk was in a third story. The den it was built in was like a
steam-warm pest-house in the hot latitudes, and in the cold a clammy