Thus it is that when this sleepy officer or scientist clambers down on to the deck he will, if he is lucky, find the water there, instead of leaving it in his bunk.  He searches round for his sea-boots, gets into his oilskins, curses if the strings of his sou’wester break as he tries to tie them extra firmly round his neck, and pushes along to the open door into the wardroom.  It is still quite dark, for the sun does not rise for another hour and a half, but the diminished light from the swinging oil-lamp which hangs there shows him a desolate early morning scene which he comes to hate—­especially if he is inclined to be sick.

As likely as not more than one sea has partially found its way down during the night, and a small stream runs over the floor each time the ship rolls.  The white oilcloth has slipped off the table, and various oddments, dirty cocoa cups, ash-trays, and other litter from the night are rolling about too.  The tin cups and plates and crockery in the pantry forrard of the wardroom come together with a sickening crash.

The screw keeps up a ceaseless chonk-chonk-chonk (pause), chonk-chonk-chonk (pause), chonk-chonk-chonk.

Watching his opportunity he slides down across the wet linoleum to the starboard side, whence the gangway runs up to the chart-house and so out on to the deck.  Having glanced at the barograph slung up in the chart-room, and using all his strength to force the door out enough to squeeze through, he scrambles out into blackness.

The wind is howling through the rigging, the decks are awash.  It is hard to say whether it is raining, for the spray cut off by the wind makes rain a somewhat insignificant event.  As he makes his way up on to the bridge, not a very lofty climb, he looks to see what sail is set, and judges so far as he can the force of the wind.

Campbell, for he is the officer of the morning watch (4 A.M.-8 A.M.) has a talk with the officer he is relieving, Bowers.  He is given the course, the last hour’s reading on the Cherub patent log trailing out over the stern, and the experiences of the middle watch of the wind, whether rising or falling or squalling, and its effect on the sails and the ship.  “If you keep her on her present course, she’s all right, but if you try and bring her up any more she begins to shake.  And, by the way, Penelope wants to be called at 4.30.”  Bowers’ ‘snotty,’ who is Oates, probably makes some ribald remarks, such as no midshipman should to a full lieutenant, and they both disappear below.  Campbell’s snotty, myself, appears about five minutes afterwards trying to look as though some important duty and not bed had kept him from making an earlier appearance.  Meanwhile the leading hand musters the watch on deck and reports them all present.

“How about that cocoa?” says Campbell.  Cocoa is a useful thing in the morning watch, and Gran, who used to be Campbell’s snotty, and whose English was not then perfect, said he was glad of a change because he “did not like being turned into a drumstick” (he meant a domestic).