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But the Captain who had often seen the Boodah, was log-writing in the chart-room... As her ensign of greeting ran up her main, her clocks struck twelve, the full noon like an omen come; she not then three miles from the Boodah. And simultaneously with the hoisting of that ensign, and the striking of those clocks, the old-worn wheels of Roman Civilization stopped dead.
But how dull this log-writing becomes! How on earth can I find an incident to pad up this journal; what is there to write about in a route so monotonously first class! Here is absolutely the most risque exciting story I have heard for days; I must say the lady who told it has such an infectious laugh, that at the time I really thought it was very amusing.
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