“‘I’m not going below again, though,’ I said to myself.
“Nor did I.
“The boats were all on board; I got into one of these as night fell, lashed myself to a thwart, and wet though I was, I slept with my head on a coil of ropes all through that stormy night. Stiff in the morning? Yes, a little, but I was better. I got my clothes off, and a man dashed buckets of sea water over me, and this revived me so much that I went below.
“The men in my mess were at breakfast; they were sitting on deck, jammed into corners anyhow, with their sou’wester hats between their legs to steady their coffee mugs.
“‘Salt pork, my lad,’ said the bo’sun. ‘You’re just at that stage that salt pork will turn the scale.’
“I took the hunk of pork he gave me and devoured it.
“Well, the bo’sun was right. It did turn the scale with a vengeance: I went on deck and hove the lead apparently. The steward passed me and said,—
“‘You’re not sick, are you, Sandie?’
“‘No,’ I said, ‘I’m only shamming. Ugh!’
“But by the time we were over the bay I was as sea-fast as any one on board. I got my sea legs, too.