the worst death a man can die. You shall hear now for what I was
delivered; you shall read of my reward.

My floating coffin was many things in turn; a railway carriage, a
pleasure boat on the Thames, a hammock under the trees; last of all
it was the upper berth in a not very sweet-smelling cabin, with a
clatter of knives and forks near at hand, and a very strong odor of
onions in the Irish stew.

My hand crawled to my head; both felt a wondrous weight; and my
head was covered with bristles no longer than those on my chin, only
less stubborn.

"Where am I?" I feebly asked.

The knives and forks clattered on, and presently I burst out crying
because they had not heard me, and I knew that I could never make
them hear. Well, they heard my sobs, and a huge fellow came with
his mouth full, and smelling like a pickle bottle.

"Where am I?"

"Aboard the brig Eliza, Liverpool, homeward bound; glad to see them
eyes open."

"Have I been here long?"

"Matter o' ten days."

Where did you find me