abin. After leaving Moreton
Bay the sea became rough. A water spout formed not far from the ship,
and it appeared large enough to swamp us had we been under it. The wind
made it hard to light matches for a smoke, so Captain Pennefather
introduced his flint and steel, and lit a stick composed of dry buffalo
manure; this we found very useful with which to light our pipes.

CHAPTER VIII.

We arrived at Sydney on a Friday night early in January, 1876. John Dean
required a rig out, and being a man of 21 stone weight could not buy a
ready-made shirt, so had to be measured. We stayed at the Occidental
Hotel, in Wynyard Square, and hearing that "Our Boys" was being played
at the Theatre Royal, took seats in the orchestra stalls, which
consisted of wooden spring seats. We arrived when all was quiet and the
play in progress. As John sat down every screw came out of the seat, and
he plumped on the floor to the amusement of the audience. The fun was
greater when he was seen slowly, but successfully, to lower himself into
another seat.

After the performance, thinking we had sufficient bump of locality to
find our hotel without inquiry, we walked, and continued walking until
we found ourselves down at the wharves, which, we had been told, was an
undesirable quarter at any time, but especially late at night. From a
passer-by, we learnt that the hotel was a long distance off. After
receiving instructions, we reached our lodging just as the bar was being
closed at midnight. Dean suggested a drink, which we ordered at a side
window, and asked the barmaid to bring the liquor into an adjoining
room. A man calling himself Count Bismarck, and who was greatly excited
about something, was in the bar. He said to Dean, "Aren't you going to
shout for me." Dean replied, "No," at which the Count remarked, "Oh,
never mind, I have plenty of money." Dean replied, "You must be a mean
blooming beggar, then, to ask me to shout." Dean and I sat at a small
table discussing the play, when a revolver shot rang out and something
seemed to strike us. We immediately rushed for a green baize door, but
saw no one. On returning to the room, the barmaid, who was quite pale,
asked "Are you dead?" I answered, "No." At the moment I did not realise
the absurdity of the question, or that the answer was unnecessary.

We failed to find the German, who had disappeared. Mr. Yeo, the
landlord, ran in to inquire what the trouble was. When we returned to
the room