Well, then, here goes; try your paces, Dobbin.
"On the morning of Sunday, April 11th, 1842, the good ship Elphinston--( that's the way to begin, I suppose, as per ledger, log-book, and midshipman's epistles to mamma)--in fact, dear, we cast anchor just outside a furious wall of surf, which makes Madras a very formidable place for landing; and every one who dares to do so certain of a watering.

There lay the city, most invitingly to storm-tost tars, with its white palaces, green groves, and yellow belt of sand, blue hills in the distance, and all else _coleur de rose_.

But--but, Emmy, there was no getting at this paradise, except by struggling through a couple of miles of raging foam, that would have made mince-meat of the Spanish Armada, and have smashed Sir William Elphinston to pieces.

How, then, did we manage to survive it?
for, thank God always, here I am to tell the tale.

Listen, Emmy dear, and I will try not to be tedious.
"We were bundled out of the rolling ship into some huge flat-bottomed boats, like coal-barges, and even so, were grated and ground several times by the churning waves on the ragged reefs beneath us: and, just as I was enjoying the see-saw, and trying to comfort two poor drenched women-kind who were terribly afraid of sharks, a huge, cream-coloured breaker came bustling alongside of us, and roaring out 'Charles Tracy,' gobbled me up bodily.