I never did get fairly awake until the afternoon. During the
journey from Ostend to Cologne I was three-parts asleep and one-part
partially awake.

At Ostend, however, I was sufficiently aroused to grasp the idea
that we had got somewhere, and that I must find my luggage and B.,
and do something or other; in addition to which, a strange, vague
instinct, but one which I have never yet known deceive me, hovering
about my mind, and telling me that I was in the neighbourhood of
something to eat and drink, spurred me to vigour and action.

I hurried down into the saloon and there found B. He excused
himself for having left me alone all night--he need not have
troubled himself. I had not pined for him in the least. If the
only woman I had ever loved had been on board, I should have sat
silent, and let any other fellow talk to her that wanted to, and
that felt equal to it--by explaining that he had met a friend and
that they had been talking. It appeared to have been a trying
conversation.

I also ran against the talkative man and his companion. Such a
complete wreck of a once strong man as the latter looked I have
never before seen. Mere sea-sickness, however severe, could never
have accounted for the change in his appearance since, happy and
hopeful, he entered the railway-carriage at Victoria six short hours
ago. His friend, on the other hand, appeared fresh and cheerful,
and was relating an anecdote about a cow.

We took our bags into the Custom House and opened them, and I sat
down on mine, and immediately went to sleep.