Читать книгу Into the Frozen South онлайн

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More seasoned men—I wonder why seasickness is always considered amusing?—advised various remedies. To drink hot salt water steadily was one; to swallow salt pork at the end of a string was another. The best remedy proposed was hard work, so I clenched my teeth and resolved to stick it out. I had to be one up on Mooney, who had thrown up the sponge by now, as well as practically everything else. I will draw the veil.

Yet even when seasick it was possible to realize something of the splendour of the sea. Big ships went past, thrusting white water grandly before their bows, with gay-coloured bunting streaming from their spans to wish us the best of fortune. A noble windjammer, clothed in shimmering canvas from truck to rail, overhauled us, leaning to the strenuous breeze, with the dark shadows playing mysteriously in her bulging canvas and the foam flicking over her catheads. I was one of that goodly brotherhood, even though a sick one. It was my right to laugh at the whipping white-caps, though I hardly felt like laughing at anything. Never mind! Nelson was sick every time he left port, so who was I to complain?