es tanks for the storage of rain-water.

From the saloon we made our way right forward to the forecastle, in
which practically no damage had been done; for the reason, I suppose,
that little was there which easily could be damaged or removed. No
anchors or cables were to be seen, but the seamen's bunks remained
much as I imagine they had left them; and, on the side of one, some
sundowner had contrived to scrawl, apparently with a heated wire, this
somewhat fatuous legend:

'Occewpide by me Captin Ned Kelli Bushranger. Chrismas day 1868. Not
too bad.'

In many other parts of the ship we found, when we came to do our
cleaning, initials, dates, and occasional names, rudely carved. But
the only attempt at a written tribute to the derelict's quality as a
camping-place was the pretended bushranger's 'Not too bad'; a
thoroughly Australian commentary, and probably endorsed in speech at
the time of writing by the exclamation: 'My word!'

Internally, the _Livorno_ had been very thoroughly gutted, even to the
removal of many of her deck joists and 'tween-decks' stanchions. But
in her galley, which, having remained closed, was in quite good order,
we found the cooking range, though rusty, intact. It had been built
into the deck-house, and, being partly of tiles, would hardly have
lent itself to easy transport or use in another place. Ted had a fire
burning in it that very day, and water boiling on it in tins. Hidden
under much mouldering rubbish in the boatswain's locker were found two
deck scrapers, which proved most useful.

Ted strongly advised the adoption, as living-room, of the forecastle;
and he may have been in the right of it. The place was weather-proof,
its tiny skylight being intact. But sentiment, I think, attracted my
father to the quarter-deck. 'The weather side of the poop's my only
promenade,' he said gaily. 'And those square stern ports, with the
carving under them--it would be a sin to leave them to the birds. Oh,
the saloon is clearly our place, and we must rig a shelter over the
skylight by and by.'

In the end we accomplished little or nothing beyond inspection that
day. Towards evening Ted laid in a stock of firewood beside our camp,
while my father wrote a letter to the Werrina storekeeper, which Ted
was to take in next day with a cheque. I say we accomplished nothing,
because I can remember no useful work done. Yet I do vividly remember
falling asleep over my supper, and feeling more physically weary