A PONY WATCH.
Crash! a huge sea strikes us, and the ship literally staggers with the weight of it; water pours through the door, roof, and every available crevice; the fire is smothered and the galley fills with steam; another rush of water and I am carried through the door into the scuppers, clinging to everything within reach, then as the water pours off, “Scottie,” soaked but quite unconcerned, says he is afraid that there is some sea water in the cocoa, but I abandon the idea of cocoa and rush for the stables.
Joyce is having a rough time, the bulwarks are stove in and we are now constantly awash. The rest of the watch consists of fierce inrushes of water, which terrify the ponies and send every loose article, regardless of weight, swinging about the confined space. The grey dawn at length appearing, we begin to have faith in the coming day.
At four o’clock I go aft, report to the officer on watch, then dive into the fearsome depths of ‘Oyster Alley;’ rouse the watch, and when they are up, tumble into my blankets with a sigh of relief; despite a wild medley of scientific snores, sleeping on until “Rouse and shine, rouse and shine,” from Wild brings me out to a welcome breakfast, and I learn with regret that the pony has been shot; and so another day begins.
PUTTY.
