“If any man, thought I, were to look for an instant at the little scene now enacting here, what a moral might he reap from it; talk of the base ingratitude of the world, you cannot say too much of it.  Who would suppose that it was my boat these people were assembled in; that it was my champagne these people were drinking; that my venison and my pheasants were feeding those lips, which rarely spoke, except to raise a jest at my expense.  My chagrin increased my sickness and my sickness redoubled my chagrin.

“‘Mr. Brail,’ said I, in a low whisper, ‘Mr. Brail.’

“‘Did you speak, sir?’ said he, with about as much surprise in his manner, as though he had been addressed by a corpse.

“‘Mr. Brail,’ said I, ‘is there any danger here?’

“’Lord love you, no, sir, she’s walking Spanish, and the sea going down; we shall have lovely weather, and they’re all enjoying it, sir,—­the ladies.’

“‘So I perceive,’ said I, with a groan; ’so I perceive; but Mr. Brail, could you do nothing—­just to—­to startle them a little, I mean for fun only?  Just ship a heavy sea or two, I don’t care for a little damage, Mr. Brail, and if it were to wash over the dinner-service, and all the wine, I should not like it worse.’

“‘Why, sir, you are getting quite funny, the sickness is going.’

“’No, Mr. Brail, worse than ever; my head is in two pieces, and my stomach in the back of my mouth; but I should like you to do this—­so just manage it, will you, and there’s twenty pounds in my pocket-book, you can have it; there now, won’t you oblige me, and hark ye, Mr. Brail —­if Captain Grantham were to be washed over by mere accident it cannot be helped; accidents are always occurring in boating parties.  Go now, you know what I mean.’

“‘But sir,’ began he.

“’Well, then, Mr. Brail, you won’t—­very well:  now all I have to say is this:  that the moment I can find strength to do it, I’ll stave out a plank; I’ll scuttle the vessel, that’s all; I have made up my mind, and look to yourselves now.’

“Saying these words, I again threw myself upon the ballast, and, as the gay chorus of a drinking song was wafted across me, prayed devoutly that we might all go down to the bottom.  The song over, I heard a harsh, gruff voice mixing with the more civilized tones of the party, and soon perceived that Mr. Brail was recounting my proposal amid the most uproarious shouts of laughter I ever listened to.  Then followed a number of pleasant suggestions for my future management; one proposing to have me tried for mutiny, and sentenced to a ducking over the side, another that I should be tarred on my back, to which latter most humane notion, the fair Agnes subscribed, averring that she was resolved upon my deserving my sobriquet of Dirk Hatteraick.  My wrath was now the master even of deadly sickness.  I got upon my knees, and having in vain tried to reach my legs, I struggled aft.  In this posture did I reach