Flying
Dutchman's tales, till the men began to look upon the captain as a sort
of Vanderdecken himself, and to fancy, I verily believe, that we were
destined ourselves to box about till the day of judgment. Now of course
a man of calm sense should be uninfluenced by these sort of tales--we
should be well assured that God only knows the future, and that words of
anger, uttered by a wicked, ignorant old woman, cannot possibly alter
His determination; still, when a man is worn out with fatigue, hardship
and hunger, when the gale howls fiercely, and the raging seas appear
every instant ready to engulph the ship, he cannot help thinking of the
words he has heard and the stories which have been told him, and looking
forward with sad forebodings to the future.

In spite, however, of the raging storm, the battered condition of the
ship, and the predictions of disaster, we jolly Orlopians resolved not
to be baffled in keeping our Christmas dinner in the accustomed manner
as far as circumstances would allow. Our means for so doing were
certainly not very extensive, either with regard to our condiments or
the utensils for serving them in. The greater part of our crockery had
been broken in the previous gales, and all our luxuries had long been
consumed. We managed, however, to exhibit a dish of boiled beef at one
end of the table, and one of boiled pork at the other, and a tureen of
peas-soup and a peas-pudding; while our second course was a plum-pudding
of huge dimensions, and solid as a round-shot--the whole washed down
with a bowl of punch. Our seats were secured to the deck, and the
dishes were lashed to the table, while it required no small amount of
ingenuity and rapidity to convey each mouthful from our plates to our
mouths. Never did the good ship tumble and roll about more violently
than she did on that 25th of December, while we young gentlemen were
drinking "sweet-hearts and wives," and other appropriate toasts. Let my
readers picture us to themselves, if they can, as we sat, each member of
the mess holding on like grim death to either a dish, or bowl, or can,
or mug, endeavouring, often in vain, to keep the contents from spilling,
and then to carry a portion of them to his mouth, our voices now
clattering away together, now one of us breaking forth into a song, and
joined in chorus by the rest, the ship rolling and pitching, the
bulkheads creaking and groaning, and the wind howling overhead. The
contrast betwe