"Bad as it is, I'd rather be here than on the island camping out, with Joe Chester left behind," said Ralph.
"Yes, of course you would. If I had my fiddle here I'd cheer you up; that is, if I didn't feel kind of gone about my own stomach." And Ben sat down suddenly on the captain's green chest in the corner, looking very pale.
It was Ralph's turn now to wait upon him, and putting his head out of the door he shouted, "Captain, where shall we sleep?"
"Oh, anywhere you've a mind to. Take the bunks if you want to. Marcus and I'll look out for ourselves."
Ralph looked sharply at the rough bed, and said, "It isn't a royal couch, but tumble in, Ben." Ben was too sick to care where he went, and letting Ralph pull off his boots and coat, he literally tumbled in, as requested.
Whether it was a lack of good consciences that the old captain had spoken of, or the strangeness of their situation, or the awful sea-sickness, the boys could not sleep. They lay and tossed in their close berths, listening to the "thud" and "swish" of the waves against the sides of the little vessel, and the creak of the yards, as the canvas swung around in the wind.
It was a bright moonlight night, and the fishing was good, so the noise on deck continued nearly all night, making it still more impossible for the boys to sleep, until, their labours being over, Marcus came below for a nap. Rolling himself in a blanket, he dropped down in the corner of the cabin, and in less than five minutes he was snoring loud enough to drown the creak of the sails.
Ralph and Ben slept at last, and were only aroused in the morning by the captain's voice as he hailed another fishing-vessel. Marcus was preparing breakfast, and the odour of the coffee came into the cabin to tempt the boys.
"That smells good," cried Ben, throwing off his blanket. "Let's get out of this pen, Ralph, as quick as ever we can. I believe I'm hungry."
"Good!" said the captain, looking down into the little cabin, having overheard the exclamation. "How fare ye this morning?"