on board without farther delay, we entrusted our valuable lives in a
four-oared boat, despite the dismal prognostications of our worthy
host. A pleasant row that was, at one moment covered over with
salt-water--the next riding on the top of a wave, ten times the size
of our frail conveyance--then came a sudden concussion--in veering
our rudder smashed into a smaller boat, which immediately filled and
sank, and our rowers disheartened at this mishap would go no farther.
The return was still rougher--my face smarted dreadfully from the
cutting splashes of the salt-water; they contrived, however, to land us
safely at the "Old Falcon," though in a most pitiable plight; charging
only a sovereign for this delightful trip--very moderate, considering
the number of salt-water baths they had given us gratis. In the evening
a second trial proved more successful, and we reached our vessel
safely.

A first night on board ship has in it something very strange, and the
first awakening in the morning is still more so. To find oneself in a
space of some six feet by eight, instead of a good-sized room, and
lying in a cot, scarce wide enough to turn round in, as a
substitute for a four-post bedstead, reminds you in no very agreeable
manner that you have exchanged the comforts of Old England for the
"roughing it" of a sea life. The first sound that awoke me was the
"cheerily" song of the sailors, as the anchor was heaved--not again,
we trusted, to be lowered till our eyes should rest on the waters of
Port Philip. And then the cry of "raise tacks and sheets" (which I, in
nautical ignorance, interpreted "hay-stacks and sheep") sent many a
sluggard from their berths to bid a last farewell to the banks of the
Thames.

In the afternoon we parted company with our steam-tug, and next