Neither Judge Merlin nor Mr. Brudenell was at the breakfast table.
In fact there was no one in the saloon, except Captain Mountz and
two or three other seasoned old voyagers.

The remainder of the passengers were all dreadfully ill in their
berths. The prediction of the old captain was fulfilled in their
cases at least; they had eaten the last comfortable meal they could
enjoy for many days.

As soon as Ishmael had eaten his breakfast he went below in search
of the companions of his voyage.

He found the judge lying flat on his back, with his hands clasping
his temples, and praying only to be let alone.

The stateroom steward was standing over him, bullying him with a cup
of black tea, which he insisted upon his taking, whether or no.

"If he drinks it, sir, he will have something to throw up; which
will be better for him than all this empty retching. And after he
has thrown up he will be all right, and be able to get up and eat
his breakfast and go on deck," said the man, appealing to Ishmael.

"Ishmael, kick that rascal out of my room, and break his neck and
throw him overboard!" cried the judge, in anguish and desperation.

"Friend, don't you know better than to exasperate a seasick man?
Leave him to me until he is better," said Ishmael smiling on the
well-meaning steward.