ON THE OCEAN WAVE 69 



the illumination as best they can. A queer, pot-bellied 

 little man in his shirt -sleeves stands at the door at one 

 end of the den, pouring out a black fluid which smells 

 of boiled clothes, but is in reality ' ship's tea,' and 

 rightly so called, for on no place on God's shore could 

 such a decoction be found. All hands are eating and 

 drinking in the utmost haste ; the stale bread and the 

 cart -grease which does duty for butter rapidly vanish- 

 ing, washed down by the aforesaid tea, to which an 

 addition has been made of sky-blue milk, poured out of 

 a beer-bottle, and of the coarsest brown sugar. I 

 can remember, as if it were yesterday, how my heart 

 sank at the whole scene as I realized that this was the 

 life I was to lead henceforth for Heaven knew ho.w 

 long ! And yet, in a week's time, I was perfectly 

 happy amidst it all ; thinking it as natural as breathing 

 to fish up dead cockroaches from the bottom of my 

 cup, or to knock weevils out of my biscuit. 



But to return to my first day on board. My mess- 

 mates seemed jolly enough, and took very little notice 

 of me beyond asking my name, whilst after tea some 

 of them showed me where my chest stood, and produced 

 a marine, who, I was informed, would be my servant 

 and would look after me. I went on deck again ; the 

 shades of night were deepening over the waters of 

 Spithead, and as I peered out over the side, I saw the 

 lights of Portsmouth on one side and those of the Isle 

 of Wight on the other, seeming to suggest that hence- 

 forth my home was to be on the sea. All manner of 

 thoughts arose in my boyish mind. How far off seemed 

 Ashley Lodge I I wondered if any living being in 

 the whole world had ever been so lonely. I wondered 

 if any one at home was thinking of me and under- 



