When I left John Steadiman in charge, the ship was still going at a great
rate through the water. The wind still blew right astern. Though she
was making great way, she was under shortened sail, and had no more than
she could easily carry. All was snug, and nothing complained. There was
a pretty sea running, but not a very high sea neither, nor at all a
confused one.
I turned in, as we seamen say, all standing. The meaning of that is, I
did not pull my clothes off--no, not even so much as my coat: though I
did my shoes, for my feet were badly swelled with the deck. There was a
little swing-lamp alight in my cabin. I thought, as I looked at it
before shutting my eyes, that I was so tired of darkness, and troubled by
darkness, that I could have gone to sleep best in the midst of a million
of flaming gas-lights. That was the last thought I had before I went
off, except the prevailing thought that I should not be able to get to
sleep at all.
I dreamed that I was back at Penrith again, and was trying to get round
the church, which had altered its shape very much since I last saw it,
and was cloven all down the middle of the steeple in a most singular
manner.
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