The 'Silver Crown' is our ship's name,
To Queensland she is bound,
With twice two hundred passengers
To cultivate the ground.
II
At early morn the purser cries,
'Fresh water, down below!'
With pots and pans men tumble up
To catch the limpid flow.
III
At eight o'clock it's breakfast time,
And then the fun begins,
To see the passengers all round
The galley with their tins.'
CHAPTER III
WITHIN THE TROPICS
The 'Silver Crown' was now in the midst of the steady north-east trade wind, the anchors had been taken in-board and secured on the forecastle-head, the cables were stowed away in their respective lockers, while the plugging of the hawse-pipes rendered the forecastle itself more comfortable and dry for the crew. With lower, topmast, topgallant, and even royal studding-sails swelling out bravely on the fresh breeze the clipper maintained her reputation for fast sailing, each day's run finding her drawing nearer the 'doldrums,' or the calm belts situated on either side of the equator.
Every hour of those lovely days brought fresh attractions and delight to Jack Clewlin, who never wearied of watching the shoals of flying-fish rise above the sea, and with extended 'wings' speed off to leeward.
Bonito, skip-jack, dolphin, and the gracefully-moving porpoise, gambolled fearlessly under the bow, now momentarily disappearing in the fringe of foam cast up by the cleaving cut-water, or forging far ahead without apparent effort.