“It appears that when he heard my shout ‘Come up,’ he understood at once what was the matter, caught up his wife, ran on deck, and across, and down into our boat, which was fast to the ladder.  Not bad for a sixty-year-old.  Just imagine that old fellow saving heroically in his arms that old woman—­the woman of his life.  He set her down on a thwart, and was ready to climb back on board when the painter came adrift somehow, and away they went together.  Of course in the confusion we did not hear him shouting.  He looked abashed.  She said cheerfully, ’I suppose it does not matter my losing the train now?’ ’No, Jenny—­you go below and get warm,’ he growled.  Then to us:  ’A sailor has no business with a wife—­I say.  There I was, out of the ship.  Well, no harm done this time.  Let’s go and look at what that fool of a steamer smashed.’

“It wasn’t much, but it delayed us three weeks.  At the end of that time, the captain being engaged with his agents, I carried Mrs. Beard’s bag to the railway-station and put her all comfy into a third-class carriage.  She lowered the window to say, ’You are a good young man.  If you see John—­Captain Beard—­without his muffler at night, just remind him from me to keep his throat well wrapped up.’  ‘Certainly, Mrs. Beard,’ I said.  ’You are a good young man; I noticed how attentive you are to John—­to Captain—­’ The train pulled out suddenly; I took my cap off to the old woman:  I never saw her again . . .  Pass the bottle.

“We went to sea next day.  When we made that start for Bankok we had been already three months out of London.  We had expected to be a fortnight or so—­at the outside.

“It was January, and the weather was beautiful—­the beautiful sunny winter weather that has more charm than in the summer-time, because it is unexpected, and crisp, and you know it won’t, it can’t, last long.  It’s like a windfall, like a godsend, like an unexpected piece of luck.

“It lasted all down the North Sea, all down Channel; and it lasted till we were three hundred miles or so to the westward of the Lizards:  then the wind went round to the sou’west and began to pipe up.  In two days it blew a gale.  The Judea, hove to, wallowed on the Atlantic like an old candlebox.  It blew day after day:  it blew with spite, without interval, without mercy, without rest.  The world was nothing but an immensity of great foaming waves rushing at us, under a sky low enough to touch with the hand and dirty like a smoked ceiling.  In the stormy space surrounding us there was as much flying spray as air.  Day after day and night after night there was nothing round the ship but the howl of the wind, the tumult of the sea, the noise of water pouring over her deck.  There was no rest for her and no rest for us.  She tossed, she pitched, she stood on her head, she sat on her tail, she rolled, she groaned, and we had to hold on while on deck and cling to our bunks when below, in a constant effort of body and worry of mind.