While in the very act of performing the exploit of delivering the message, Mr.Pert was struck on the nose with a snow-ball of wondrous compactness.

Upon being informed of the disaster, the rogues expressed the liveliest sympathy.

Pert was no favourite.
After one of these storms, it was a curious sight to see the men relieving the uppermost deck of its load of snow.

It became the duty of the captain of each gun to keep his own station clean; accordingly, with an old broom, or "squilgee," he proceeded to business, often quarrelling with his next-door neighbours about their scraping their snow on his premises.

It was like Broadway in winter, the morning after a storm, when rival shop-boys are at work cleaning the sidewalk.
Now and then, by way of variety, we had a fall of hailstones, so big that sometimes we found ourselves dodging them.
The Commodore had a Polynesian servant on board, whose services he had engaged at the Society Islands.