Diving through a curtain of spray, the rest of the watch reached the foc's'le.
Hanging up their oilskins, they proceeded to make themselves comfortable. Some crawled into their bunks for a short spell; others, with pipes alight, sat round on the chests, then yarns and chaff began to fly round.
Without it was cold and wet, nearly dark and with every prospect of a dirty night.
The wind could be heard moaning and crying, whistling and screaming through the rigging.
The ship groaned and creaked beneath the sledge-hammer blows of the heavy head sea.
The sprays rattled outside, and all was dismal and comfortless. What wonder if the watch below is one of the comforts of a sailor's life.
"Golly, byes!" burst out the cockney, as he dashed in dripping. "Poor ole Bob, didn't 'e get it socked to 'im. 'E weren't 'ollerin' for more when the bosun got through with 'im, were 'e? Sykes alive! but it were a h'awful lickin'!"
"Begob! but it takes the divil an' all to tackle that big hefty brute of a bosun; an' now he has the poor varmint overhaulin' buntlines. Be me sowl, but Bob's fair up agin' it!" said Paddy.
"And serve him right. The amount of work he does wouldn't bother a child," remarked Jack scornfully.
"Oh, Bob's orl right. 'Is trouble is weakness. 'Ow can 'e work? That bloke ain't got more strength than a 'edge-sparrer; 'is 'ealth is give h'out."