impossible to pour anything into a glass, with results too
dreadful to narrate.

"I call that a dirty trick," he said presently, in a feeble
voice, glowering at Bickley.

"I expect I shall have to play you a dirtier before long, for
you are a pretty bad case, old fellow."

As a matter of fact he had, for once Bastin had begun really we
thought that he was going to die. Somehow we got him into his
cabin, which opened off the saloon, and as he could drink nothing
more, Bickley managed to inject morphia or some other compound
into him, which made him insensible for a long while.

"He must be in a poor way," he said, "for the needle went more
than a quarter of an inch into him, and he never cried out or
stirred. Couldn't help it in that rolling."

But now I could hear the engines working, and I think that the
bow of the vessel was got head on to the seas, for instead of
rolling we pitched, or rather the ship stood first upon one end
and then upon the other. This continued for a while until the
first burst of the cyclone had gone by. Then suddenly the engines
stopped; I suppose that they had broken down, but I never
learned, and we seemed to veer about, nearly sinking in the
process, and to run before the hurricane at terrific speed.

"I wonder where we are going to?" I said to Bickley. "To the
land of sleep, Humphrey, I imagine," he replied in a more gentle