Bill had been standing at the galley-door, with the kid of
beef in his hand for the forecastle mess, when, away he went, kid,
beef, and all. He held on to the kid till the last, like a good
fellow, but the beef was gone, and when the water had run off, we
saw it lying high and dry, like a rock at low tide- nothing could
hurt that. We took the loss of our beef very easily, consoling
ourselves with the recollection that the cabin had more to lose than
we; and chuckled not a little at seeing the remains of the chicken-pie
and pan-cakes floating in the scuppers. "This will never do!" was what
some said, and every one felt. Here we were, not yet within a thousand
miles of the latitude of Cape Horn, and our decks swept by a sea not
one half so high as we must expect to find there. Some blamed the
captain for loading his ship so deep, when he knew what he must
expect; while others said that the wind was always southwest, off
the Cape, in the winter; and that, running before it, we should not
mind the seas so much. When we got down into the forecastle, Old Bill,
who was somewhat of a croaker,- having met with a great many
accidents at sea- said that if that was the way she was going to act,
we might as well make our wills, and balance the books at once, and
put on a clean shirt.
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