journey, for then there came the swooning sensation one feels in the
immediate ascent of a lift. When the bench was as high as it could go it
overbalanced, canting acutely, and, grabbing my blanket, I left
diagonally for a corner of the saloon, accompanied by some sea-boots I
met under the table. As I was slowly and carefully climbing back, the
floor reversed, and I stopped falling when my head struck a panel. The
panel slid gently along, and the mate's severe countenance regarded me
from inside the bunk. I expected some remonstrance from a tired man who
had been unfairly awakened too soon. "Hurt yourself?" he asked. "It's
getting up outside. Dirty weather. Take things easy."

I took them as easily as perhaps should be expected of a longshoreman.
There was no more sleep, though no more was wanted. By putting out my
hand to the table I managed to keep where I was, even when, in those
moments of greatest insecurity, the screw was roaring in mid-air. Our
fascinating hanging lamp would perform the impossible, hanging acutely
out of plumb; and then, when I was watching this miracle, rattle its
chain and hang the other way. A regiment of boots on the floor--I
suppose it was boots--would tramp to one corner, remain quiet for a
while, and then clatter elsewhere in a body. Towards daybreak the
skipper appeared in shining oilskins, tapped the barometer, glanced at
me, and laughed because my pillow--which was a linen bag stuffed with old
magazines--at that moment became lower than my heels, and the precipitous
rug tried to smother me. I enjoyed that laugh.

Later still, I saw that our dark skylight was beginning to regain its
sight. Light was coming through. Our lunatic saloon lamp was growing
wan. I ventured on deck. When my face was no more than out of the
hatch, what I saw was our ship's stern upturned before me, with our boat
lashed to it. It dropped out of view instantly, and exposed the blurred