The doctor came to see Esdale frequently, and advised that he should be taken to a spare berth in the cabin, but the captain would not allow it.
“All lads get sick when they first come to sea if there’s a gale of wind, and he’ll come round again by-and-by,” he remarked in his usual off-hand way.
This was not told to Esdale, who said, indeed, that he preferred remaining where he was.
As the weather was tolerably warm, I believe that he was as well off on the half-deck as he would have been in the cabin.
At last the gale came to an end—or rather we ran out of it. Esdale got somewhat better again, but I observed that he had changed greatly in appearance since we came on board.
I had now to abandon all hopes of the ship putting back, but there was still a possibility of getting on board a homeward-bound vessel.
Two days after the gale had ceased, while I was below, I heard the cry of “Sail, ho!” from the man at the masthead.
I hurried on deck. We had the wind abeam, and so had she—a soldier’s wind as it is called. We should meet the approaching vessel before long and pass each other, with not a cable’s length between us.
I watched her eagerly. We drew closer and closer to each other. When we got nearly abreast I went up to the first mate and asked him what she was.
“She’s from the Brazils, bound for Liverpool,” he answered.