Pray, captain, quoth I, as I was going down into the cabin, is a man never overtaken by Death in this passage?
Why, there is not time for a man to be sick in it, replied he——What a cursed lyar! for I am sick as a horse, quoth I, already——what a brain!——upside down!——hey-day! the cells are broke loose one into another, and the blood, and the lymph, and the nervous juices, with the fix’d and volatile salts, are all jumbled into one mass——good G—! everything turns round in it like a thousand whirlpools——I’d give a shilling to know if I shan’t write the clearer for it——
Sick! sick! sick! sick!——
—When shall we get to land? captain—they have hearts like stones——O I am deadly sick!——reach me that thing, boy——’tis the most discomfiting sickness——I wish I was at the bottom—Madam! how is it with you? Undone! undone! un——O! undone! sir——What the first time?——No, ’tis the second, third, sixth, tenth time, sir,——hey-day!—what a trampling over head!—hollo! cabin boy! what’s the matter?—
The wind chopp’d about! s’Death!—then I shall meet him full in the face.
What luck!—’tis chopp’d about again, master——O the devil chop it——
Captain, quoth she, for heaven’s sake, let us get ashore.
[ CHAPTER III]
It is a great inconvenience to a man in a haste, that there are three distinct roads between Calais and Paris, in behalf of which there is so much to be said by the several deputies from the towns which lie along them, that half a day is easily lost in settling which you’ll take.
First, the road by Lisle and Arras, which is the most about——but most interesting and instructing.