, which passes through into the hole below, and rests
on the keelson.

The cabins, which surround the saloon, are separated from it by open
woodwork, for purposes of ventilation. The entrances to them from the
saloon are by sliding doors. They are separated from each other by
folding-doors, kept bolted on either side when one cabin only is
occupied; but these can be opened when the neighbours on both sides
are agreeable.

My own little cabin is by no means dreary or uninviting. A window,
with six small panes, lets in light and air; and outside is a strong
board, or "dead-light," for use in rough weather, to protect the
glass. My bunk, next to the saloon, is covered with a clean white
counterpane. A little wash-stand occupies the corner; a shelf of
favourite books is over my bed-head; and a swing-lamp by its side.
Then there is my little mirror, my swing-tray for bottles, and a
series of little bags suspended from nails, containing all sorts of
odds and ends. In short, my little chamber, so fitted up, looks quite
cheerful and even jolly.

It grows dusk, and there is still the same bustle and turmoil on deck.
All are busy; everybody is in a hurry. At about nine the noise seems
to subside; and the deck seems getting into something like order. As
we are not to weigh anchor until five in the morning, some of the
passengers land for a stroll on shore. I decide to go to bed.

And now begins my first difficulty. I cannot find room to extend
myself, or even to turn. I am literally "cribbed, cabined, and
confined." Then there are the unfamiliar noises outside,--the cackling
of the ducks, the baa-ing of the sheep, the grunting of the
pigs,--possibly discussing the novelty of their position. And, nearly
all through the night, just outside my cabin, two or three of the
seamen sit talking together in gruff undertones.

I don't think I slept much during my first night on board. I was lying
semi-conscious, when a loud voice outside woke me up in an
instant--"The anchor's up! she's away!" I jumped up, and, looking out
of my little cabin window, peered out into the grey dawn. The shores
seemed moving, and we were off! I dressed at once, and went on deck.
But how raw and chill it felt as I went up the companion-ladder. A
little steam-tug ahead of us was under weigh, with the 'Yorkshire' in
tow. The deck was now pretty well cleared, but white with frost; while
the river banks were covered with snow.

Other ships were passing down s