Sometimes it was he and the second mate who were not ill; but it was
generally he and one other man. If not he and another man, then it was
he by himself.

It is a curious fact, but nobody ever is sea-sick - on land. At sea, you
come across plenty of people very bad indeed, whole boat-loads of them;
but I never met a man yet, on land, who had ever known at all what it was
to be sea-sick. Where the thousands upon thousands of bad sailors that
swarm in every ship hide themselves when they are on land is a mystery.

If most men were like a fellow I saw on the Yarmouth boat one day, I
could account for the seeming enigma easily enough. It was just off
Southend Pier, I recollect, and he was leaning out through one of the
port-holes in a very dangerous position. I went up to him to try and
save him.

"Hi! come further in," I said, shaking him by the shoulder. "You'll be
overboard."

"Oh my! I wish I was," was the only answer I could get; and there I had
to leave him.

Three weeks afterwards, I met him in the coffee-room of a Bath hotel,
talking about his voyages, and explaining, with enthusiasm, how he loved
the sea.

"Good sailor!" he replied in answer to a mild young man's envious query;
"well, I did feel a little queer ONCE, I confess. It was off Cape Horn.
The vessel was wrecked the next morning."