The Argosy — page 232: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Cruise of the Reserve Squadron. 215 cot with the help of a chair; but the more I tried, the more the oscillating thing went from me. In vain I made desperate plunges. The ship was not perfectly steady, and now the cot slipped away with a lurch, and now the chair went sliding backwards. It was a very disagreeable sensation. At last, in some miraculous manner, I found myself safely packed, and then discovered that the cot, not having been evenly slung, was lopsided. This would have been enough to upset one even on shore. When at length I slept, I was haunted by dreams of shipwrecks, battles, and a thousand other ills. In the midst of a tremendous scene of fire and carnage, I started up, and the crooked cot pitched me out head first with an alarming crash. How I got in again, whether whole or in pieces, I never knew. But the Captain was highly amused at what had gone nigh to prove my end. Sec closely allied in this life are tragedy and comedy. One night Captain Jago was dining with the Admiral on board the Flag Ship. In the course of conversation with the Duke of Con- naught, he was cruel enough to mention the ill fate that had befallen mea few days ago. Anything ludicrous in the misfortunes of our friends makes us laugh in spite of ourselves. “How came he to do that?” asked the Duke of Connaught. ‘TI really hardly know,” replied Captain Jago ; “but, at the time, I believe e was saying his prayers.” There was now much merriment at mycost. But the next day, going on board the Flag-ship to record my name in the Admiral’s Visitors’ Book, I was careful to leave behind me a true and correct version of this ‘‘ perverted incident.” That same afternoon, when we were revelling in the shady groves of that Arosa Paradise, all our laughter had nearly been changed to mourning. ‘The Admiral, who had gone some miles up the country to fish, fell into the weir. For nearly half an hour he was in the water, and sank and rose four times. He had given up hope, and perhaps no one else in the whole Fleet would have had any chance of life: but few are so much at home in the water as His Royal Highness. Finally, as we know, he was saved. It did not do to think of what might have been. A cruise cut short. A return to England almost before we had left her shores: a sad and solemn return indeed. A sort of Dead March across the waters of the ocean; a hushed and mournful squadron; flags half-mast high. A good Providence ruled it otherwise, and great was the rejoicing. The Defence and Valiant had not fired their quarter’s allowance of ammunition on joining the squadron, and were in consequence ordered to sea at 6.0 a.m., the day of sailing from Arosa, with instructions to carry out their Target-practice and rejoin the Squadron in the evening. In full sunshine the two vessels steamed away between the undulating hills and low-lying shores. Once out on the broad sea, we commenced firing. As ill-luck had it, I was more EOnnicloooks (SO)