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And
they
ran
him
up
quick
,
and
propped
him
up
,
over
to
leeward
,
and
left
him
.
For
the
next
four
days
he
lived
a
simple
and
blameless
life
on
thin
captain
's
biscuits
(
I
mean
that
the
biscuits
were
thin
,
not
the
captain
)
and
soda-water
;
but
,
towards
Saturday
,
he
got
uppish
,
and
went
in
for
weak
tea
and
dry
toast
,
and
on
Monday
he
was
gorging
himself
on
chicken
broth
.
He
left
the
ship
on
Tuesday
,
and
as
it
steamed
away
from
the
landing-stage
he
gazed
after
it
regretfully
.
"
There
she
goes
,
"
he
said
,
"
there
she
goes
,
with
two
pounds
'
worth
of
food
on
board
that
belongs
to
me
,
and
that
I
have
n't
had
.
"
He
said
that
if
they
had
given
him
another
day
he
thought
he
could
have
put
it
straight
.
So
I
set
my
face
against
the
sea
trip
.
Not
,
as
I
explained
,
upon
my
own
account
.
I
was
never
queer
.
But
I
was
afraid
for
George
.
George
said
he
should
be
all
right
,
and
would
rather
like
it
,
but
he
would
advise
Harris
and
me
not
to
think
of
it
,
as
he
felt
sure
we
should
both
be
ill
.
Harris
said
that
,
to
himself
,
it
was
always
a
mystery
how
people
managed
to
get
sick
at
sea
--
said
he
thought
people
must
do
it
on
purpose
,
from
affectation
--
said
he
had
often
wished
to
be
,
but
had
never
been
able
.
Then
he
told
us
anecdotes
of
how
he
had
gone
across
the
Channel
when
it
was
so
rough
that
the
passengers
had
to
be
tied
into
their
berths
,
and
he
and
the
captain
were
the
only
two
living
souls
on
board
who
were
not
ill
.
Sometimes
it
was
he
and
the
second
mate
who
were
not
ill
;
but
it
was
generally
he
and
one
other
man
.
If
not
he
and
another
man
,
then
it
was
he
by
himself
.
It
is
a
curious
fact
,
but
nobody
ever
is
sea-sick
--
on
land
.
At
sea
,
you
come
across
plenty
of
people
very
bad
indeed
,
whole
boat-loads
of
them
;
but
I
never
met
a
man
yet
,
on
land
,
who
had
ever
known
at
all
what
it
was
to
be
sea-sick
.
Where
the
thousands
upon
thousands
of
bad
sailors
that
swarm
in
every
ship
hide
themselves
when
they
are
on
land
is
a
mystery
.
If
most
men
were
like
a
fellow
I
saw
on
the
Yarmouth
boat
one
day
,
I
could
account
for
the
seeming
enigma
easily
enough
.
It
was
just
off
Southend
Pier
,
I
recollect
,
and
he
was
leaning
out
through
one
of
the
port-holes
in
a
very
dangerous
position
.
I
went
up
to
him
to
try
and
save
him
.
"
Hi
!
come
further
in
,
"
I
said
,
shaking
him
by
the
shoulder
.
"
You
'll
be
overboard
.
"
"
Oh
my
!
I
wish
I
was
,
"
was
the
only
answer
I
could
get
;
and
there
I
had
to
leave
him
.
Three
weeks
afterwards
,
I
met
him
in
the
coffee-room
of
a
Bath
hotel
,
talking
about
his
voyages
,
and
explaining
,
with
enthusiasm
,
how
he
loved
the
sea
.
