I should probably have pursued my defence of Biddy against this grudging—not to say insulting—tribute to her charity, if I had not begun to feel too
tired to talk, and very much teased by the heaving of the vessel.
“I wish the ship would be quiet till we start,” I said. “We’re not at sea yet.”
In reply to this Alister at some length, and with as much emphasis as whispering permitted, explained to me that a ship could not, in the nature of things, keep still, except in certain circumstances, such as being in dry dock for repairs or lying at anchor in absolutely still water.
“Good gracious!” I interrupted. “Of course I know all that. You don’t suppose I expect it not to move?”
“I understood ye to say that ye wushed it,” he replied with dignity, if not offence.
“I don’t know what I wish!” I moaned.
My companion’s reply to this was to feel about for me and then to begin scrambling over me; then he said—“Move on, laddie, to your right, and ye’ll find space to lie on the flat of your back, close by the ship’s side. I’m feared you’re barely fit for the job ye’ve undertaken, but ye’ll be easier if ye lie down, and get some sleep.”
I moved as he told me, and the relief of lying flat was great—so great that I began to pull myself together again, and made ready in my mind to thank my unseen companion for the generosity with which he
had evidently given me the place he had picked for himself. But whilst I was thinking about it I fell fast asleep.