OR'S
UP"--OFF BRIGHTON--CHANGE OF WIND--GALE IN THE CHANNEL--THE ABANDONED
SHIP--THE EDDYSTONE--PLYMOUTH HARBOUR--DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND.

_20th February: At Gravesend._--My last farewells are over, my last
adieus are waved to friends on shore, and I am alone on board the ship
'Yorkshire,' bound for Melbourne. Everything is in confusion on board.
The decks are littered with stores, vegetables, hen-coops, sheep-pens,
and coils of rope. There is quite a little crowd of sailors round the
capstan in front of the cabin door. Two officers, with lists before
them, are calling over the names of men engaged to make up our
complement of hands, and appointing them to their different watches.

Though the ship is advertised to sail this evening, the stores are by
no means complete. The steward is getting in lots of cases; and what a
quantity of pickles! Hens are coming up to fill the hen-coops. More
sheep are being brought; there are many on board already; and here
comes our milk-cow over the ship's side, gently hoisted up by a rope.
The animal seems amazed; but she is in skilful hands. "Let go!" calls
out the boatswain, as the cow swings in mid-air; away rattles the
chain round the wheel of the donkey-engine, and the break is put on
just in time to land Molly gently on the deck. In a minute she is snug
in her stall "for'ard," just by the cook's galley.

Passengers are coming on board. Here is one mounting the ship's side,
who has had a wet passage from the shore. A seaman lends him a hand,
and he reaches the sloppy, slippery deck with difficulty.

It is a dismal day. The sleet and rain come driving down. Everything
is raw and cold; everybody wet or damp. The passengers in wet
mackintoshes, and the seamen in wet tarpaulins; Gravesend, with its
dirty side to the river, and its dreary mud-bank exposed to sight; the
alternate drizzle and down-pour; the muddle and confusion of the
deck;--all this presented anything but an agreeable picture to look
at. So I speedily leave the deck, in order to make a better
acquaintance with what is to be my home for the next three months.

First, there is the saloon--long and narrow--surrounded by the cabins.
It is our dining-room, drawing-room, and parlour, all in one. A long
table occupies the centre, fitted all round with fixed seats and
reversible backs. At one end of the table is the captain's chair, over
which hangs a clock and a barometer. Near the after end of the saloon
is the mizen-mast