"You made up your bed, too."
"Did I? That's queer."
"And you don't know where you went at all, Roger?"
"No, I haven't the slightest idea."
"Were you dreaming?"
"I think I was—I'm not sure. It was something about Nick Jasniff—he was trying to take something from me and I got afraid of him. That is all I can remember."
"I thought I heard you scream—when the vessel gave that awful lurch a few minutes ago."
"That woke me up, and I found myself in one of the passageways not far from here. I was dazed by the tumble I received, but got back here all right."
"After this you had better tie yourself to the bed," was Dave's final remark, and then he turned in again and the light was again extinguished.
But anything more than fitful dozes could not be had. The North Sea is well known for its violent storms during the winter months, and this one proved to be a "corker," as Dave called it afterwards. The waves were lashed into a tremendous fury, and some broke over the steamer's deck with terrific force, one carrying away a twenty-foot section of the forward rail. The high wind was accompanied by a snow that was as fine and hard as salt, and this sifted through every crack the windows and doors afforded.