147 
A MUTINY. 
Although we had enjoyed our trip so much, I was not 
sorry to find myself on board. The descent again, 
after our gipsy life, into the coquettish little cabin, 
with its books and dear home faces, quite penetrated 
me with that feeling of snug content of which I 
believe Englishmen alone are susceptible. 
I have now to relate to you a most painful occur¬ 
rence which has taken place during my absence at the 
Geysirs;—no less a catastrophe, in fact, than a mutiny 
among my hitherto most exemplary ship’s company. I 
suppose they, too, had occasion to bear witness to the 
proverbial hospitality of Iceland: salt junk, and the 
innocuous cates which generally compose ship-board 
rations, could never have produced such an emergency. 
Suffice it to say, that “ Dyspepsia and her fatal train ” 
having taken hold of them, in a desperate hour they 
determined on a desperate deed,—and, rushing aft in a 
body, demanded of my faithful steward, not only access 
to the penetralia of the absent Doctor’s cupboard, but 
that he himself should administer to them whatever 
medicaments he could come by. In vain Mr. Grant 
threw himself across the cabin-door. Remonstrance was 
useless; my horny-handed lambs were inexorable— 
L 2 
