Australian Tales - Setis

hope you will make a valuable use of your experience on this voyage.
Hold on, Sir, here is a sea coming over the quarter.”
“Hold on, indeed!” ejaculated Mr. Moans, while he ran away as fast as
if the water were boiling, and just escaped into the little deck cabin as the
wave curled over the taffrail. “I think I had need to hold on and never let
go, if I don't want to be washed overboard amongst the sharks. Well,
well, this is something entirely new to me,” he added, throwing himself
on a couch. “This change is as unsatisfactory as getting twenty bad
shillings for a new sovereign; or a shocking bad hat for a good one at any
evening party. I have change of air now, and plenty of it certainly, but it
is too strongly seasoned with salt water to be agreeably fresh. If the
‘Wild Duck’ ship seas at this rate in fine weather, I am afraid she will
duck us under altogether, if we fall in with foul weather.”
The moon rose punctually at its appointed time that night, but Mr.
Moans could only gaze at it through the cabin window; for the flying
spray precluded his going on deck with a dry skin, so he soon turned into
bed, and there he lay thinking of his specimens at home, and thinking
too, what a rare specimen of a disappointed man he was; for instead of
the delightful moonlight walks on deck with his friend Captain Gimble,
which he had anticipated, the only chance he had of having a dry chat
with his friend, was by mounting to the top of the house like a prowling
tom cat. About midnight he was aroused from an uneasy doze by the
well-known whistle of a “southerly burster” among the cordage; and then
began the most extraordinary night in his sea experience, which he is
anxious to have recorded, for the special study of certain shipowners who
may never have had the advantage of a night's lodging in one of their
overladen colliers in a southerly gale; and in the hope of arousing their
sympathies for the perils to which their seamen are exposed.
In a short time the sea began to boil and bubble, or to tumble about in a
very confused manner, owing to the sudden shift of wind. Wave after
wave leaped on the deck of the “Wild Duck;” and as she wallowed from
side to side, they had no chance to escape overboard again, except by the
small scupper holes; so they met amidships, and knocking their heads
together, like fighting goats, sent fountains of spray flying upwards, to
descend in cooling cataracts on the heads of the shivering crew; while
heavier billows thundered against the ship's side, like breakers on the
rocks at Bondi. Mr. Moans had often heard poets warble about “dancing
waves;” but he never before completely realised the pretty idea; and he
thought he would like to see the poet who could make a pleasant song
about those waves, which were dancing on the deck of the “Wild Duck.”
He had never seen or heard such a strange corroborree before. They
hissed and seethed like a thousand fryingpans full of eggs and bacon, and
seemed madly resolved to tear the tarpaulin off the main hatches, and
drown the coals. None but a stone deaf person could sleep amidst such a