'Nay,' said he, 'I did nothing; no more than that astrolabe with which Mr. Oxenham yonder is taking our position. I was but a poor instrument for Captain Drake to shape your courses withal.'
'Still I must thank you, Sergeant, from my heart.'
'I pray you, sir, if you love me, say no more. Let us pass to other things. How does this most uncivil motion sort with your worship's stomach?'
'Well enough, Sergeant; does it quarrel with yours?' I asked, for he looked a little pale.
'To be plain with you, sir, the sea and I are not so good friends as we hope to become. Last night was most evil to me in yonder fly-boat—Swan, they call it; yet for liveliness Sparrow would sort better with its nature. There was, moreover, a mariner of the watch who would increase my load by singing continually a most woeful, ancient ballad of pilgrims at sea. Thus it ran, sir:—
'"Thus meanwhile the pilgrims lie,
And have their bowlies fast them by,
And cry after hot Malvoisie,
Their health for to restore.
And some would have a salted toast,
For they might eat nor sodden nor roast;
A man might soon pay for their cost
As for one day or twain."
And more very sickly stuff to like intent, sir, to a very doleful tune.'
'I fear, Sergeant,' said I, 'your voyage to the Indies will not be as pleasant as you could desire.'
'Indeed, sir,' said he, 'I wish we could fetch thither a-horseback, being, as I think, the only honourable manner of going for gentlemen. Still, since it has pleased God to put this shifty, rude, uncourtly sea betwixt us and the Indies, we must e'en make shift with a ship.'
'I am sorry for you, Sergeant,' I answered. 'A horse indeed would have been a conveyance you better understood.'