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Updated: May 5, 2025
I went to rest that night in a condition which may be described as semi-sea-sick. For some time I lay in my bunk moralising on the madness of those who choose the sea for a profession. Suddenly I was roused and the seasickness instantly cured by the watch on deck shouting down the hatchway to the mate, "South Sand Head Light is firing, sir, and sending up rockets!"
The door of the gangway was within reach, and Breckon laid hold of the rail beside it and put the girl within. "Are you hurt?" he asked. "No, no; I'm not hurt," she panted, sinking on the cushioned benching where usually rows of semi-sea-sick people were lying. "I thought you might have been bruised against the bulkhead," he said. "Are you sure you're not hurt that I can't get you anything?
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