"Heave yo!" sung out a jolly tar; "pitch your cargo overboard. You'll sail better if you lighten ship."
"Dom this ere sailing—ugh—I will die."
Thus resolving, John laid himself down by the galley, and closed his eyes with a heroic determination.
Such an event, as might be expected, was a great joke to the crew—a land-lubber at sea being with sailors always a fair butt, and poor John's misery was aggravated by their, as it seemed to him, unfeeling remarks, yet he was so far gone that he could only faintly "dom them." His master, who knew that he would soon be well, made no attempt to relieve him; and John was for some time unmolested in his vigorous attempt to die.
He was aroused at length by the same tar who had first noticed his sickness,
"I say, lubber, are you sick?"
"Yes, dom sick."
"Well, I expect you've got to die, there's only one thing that'll save you—get up and follow me to the cock-pit."
John attempted to rise, but now really unwell, he was not able to stir. His kind physician calling a brother tar to his aid, they assisted John below.
"There, now, you lubber, I'm going to cure you, if you'll only foller directions."