Australian Tales - Setis

pitch in a hot ladle.
I can call to mind too, my tender emotion, when for the first time, I
visited Greenwich College, and the Dreadnought Hospital-ship, and saw
many poor old veterans on their “beam-ends,” total wrecks; and others
“hove down in their bunks for repairs.” I ever afterwards felt a virtuous
disposition to thrash the vulgar street boys, who cruelly delighted to tease
some of those poor old pensioners, as they hobbled through the streets,
by shouting “timber toes, or goose.”
I recollect too, when I was a schoolboy, how I used to admire, and
envy, the natty little midshipmen, whom I occasionally saw on shore,
dressed in their gold-laced caps, blue jackets with gold buttons, and
“white ducks.” I used to think they were all embryo heroes, and that no
profession was so full of adventure, and éclat as theirs. I longed to be a
middy, for I fancied they always wore “white ducks” and faces as bright
as their buttons; and I knew that they rejoiced in the favour of the pretty
girls and fond old matrons all the world over. Of course, I had then never
seen middies as I have since seen them in a gale of wind, huddled under
the lee of the long-boat, like half-drowned chickens, or dancing beneath
the break of the poop, on a cold stormy night, to keep their toes from
freezing, dressed in rough monkey-jackets, sou'wester hats, and tarpaulin
trousers. There was very little romance about them or their rig, at such
time: and no more shine in their buttons then than in rusty rivets; while
“white ducks” were as scarce on deck as white swans.
Poor Jack tars! I have often lain in my cot on a dark stormy night, and
listened to your shouts and songs, sounding in dismal concert with the
howling of the wind through the ratlines. I have often, too, had
troublesome fears, while you were aloft on the top-sail yards, lest the
rigging should be chafed or rotten in any part, and, during a heavy lurch,
the masts should carry away, and I should see you no more. Aye, and I
have frequently gone on deck to lend you a hand when the sails were wet
and heavy, and the ropes ran stiffly through the blocks; and you were
glad of my little voluntary help. The officer of the middle watch, too,
was often glad of my company when on his dreary duty.
I can call to mind many dismal nights, far in the icy south; when
running under small sail, and the sea like a cliff high above the taff-rail,
threatening every minute to overwhelm us. And one night especially,
when the decks were white with snow, and the wind roared through the
shrouds like thunder: scarcely a stitch of canvas could be spread on the
groaning ship, which was rushing through the foaming waters like some
mad monster of the deep, and the officer of the watch stood by the
steersmen, anxiously engaged in conning the course. Two men, as white
as millers, were lashed to the helm, and skilfully they performed their
arduous duty. “Steer steadily, my brave men,” I shiveringly ejaculated as
I hurried below to my comfortable cabin; “but one false turn of the