B. and I hurried on board at Dover, and were just in time to secure
the last two berths in the boat; and we were glad that we had
managed to do this because our idea was that we should, after a good
supper, turn in and go comfortably to sleep.

B. said:

"What I like to do, during a sea passage, is to go to sleep, and
then wake up and find that I am there."

We made a very creditable supper. I explained to B. the ballast
principle held by my seafaring friend, and he agreed with me that
the idea seemed reasonable; and, as there was a fixed price for
supper, and you had as much as you liked, we determined to give the
plan a fair trial.

B. left me after supper somewhat abruptly, as it appeared to me, and
I took a stroll on deck by myself. I did not feel very comfortable.
I am what I call a moderate sailor. I do not go to excess in either
direction. On ordinary occasions, I can swagger about and smoke my
pipe, and lie about my Channel experiences with the best of them.
But when there is what the captain calls "a bit of a sea on," I feel
sad, and try to get away from the smell of the engines and the
proximity of people who smoke green cigars.

There was a man smoking a peculiarly mellow and unctuous cigar on
deck when I got there. I don't believe he smoked it because he
enjoyed it. He did not look as if he enjoyed it. I believe he
smoked it merely to show how well he was feeling, and to irritate
people who were not feeling very well.