properly; and then, seemingly in direct contradiction to his previously expressed confidence in the safety and seaworthiness of the 'Moa,' he said that he could poke a stick through her anywhere. We asked him not to do it.
It came on to splash, and we went below to reflect, and search once more for that half-sovereign.
The cabin was small and close, and dimly lighted, and evil smelling, and shaped like the butt end of a coffin. It might not have smelt so bad if we hadn't lost that half-sovereign. There was a party of those gipsy-like Assyrians―two families apparently―the women and children lying very sick about the lower bunks; and a big, good-humoured-looking young Maori propped between the end of the table and the wall, playing a concertina. The sick people were too sick, and the concertina seemed too much in sympathy with them, and the lost half quid haunted us more than ever down there; so we started to climb out.
The first thing that struck us was the jagged top edge of that iron hood-like arrangement over the gangway. The top half only of the scuttle was open. There was nothing to be seen except a fog of spray and a Newfoundland dog seasick under the lee of something. The next thing that struck us was a tub of salt water, which came like a cannon ball and broke against the hood affair, and spattered on deck like a crockery shop. We climbed down again backwards, and sat on the floor with emphasis, in consequence of stepping down a last step that wasn't there, and cracked the back of our head against the edge of the table. The Maori helped us up, and we had a drink
