The mingled noise of wind and wave and ship was so deafening as to
make conversation difficult and nearly impossible. And yet Ishmael
and the captain seemed to feel in courtesy compelled to bawl at each
other across the table as they see-sawed up and down.

"The gale seems to have knocked down all our fellow passengers and
depopulated our saloon," cried Ishmael, soaring up to the sky with
his side of the table.

"Yes, sir, yes, sir; a lot of land-lubbers, sir; a lot of lubbers,
sir! Gale? Nothing but a capful of wind, sir! Nothing but a capful
of wind!" roared the captain, sinking down to the abyss on his side
of the table.

Here the steward, seizing a favorable moment, deftly served them
with soup. And nothing but the utmost tact and skill in marine
legerdemain enabled this functionary to convey the soup from the
tureen to the plates. And when there, it required all the attention
and care of the diners to get it from plate to lip. And, after all,
more than half of it was spilled.

"Thank goodness, that is over! The solids won't give us so much
trouble," said the captain, handing his empty plate to the steward.

The second course was served. But the motion of the ship increased
so much in violence that the two diners were compelled to hold still
more firmly on to the edge of the table with one hand, while they
ate with the other, as they were tossed up and down.

"You're a good sailor, sir!" bawled the captain as he pitched down