The only alteration he made in his dress was to substitute his sou'-
wester for the bonnet, and in this guise he did his work, while the
aggrieved Tommy hopped it in blankets. The three days at sea passed like
a horrid dream. So covetous was his gaze, that the crew instinctively
clutched their nether garments and looked to the buttoning of their
coats as they passed him. He saw coats in the mainsail, and fashioned
phantom trousers out of the flying jib, and towards the end began to
babble of blue serges and mixed tweeds. Oblivious of fame, he had
resolved to enter the harbour of Battlesea by night; but it was not to
be. Near home the wind dropped, and the sun was well up before Battlesea
came into view, a grey bank on the starboard bow.
Until within a mile of the harbour, the skipper held on, and then his
grasp on the wheel relaxed somewhat, and he looked round anxiously for
the mate.
"Where's Bob?" he shouted.
"He's very ill, sir," said Ted, shaking his head.
"Ill?" gasped the startled skipper. "Here, take the wheel a minute."
He handed it over, and grasping his skirts went hastily below. The mate
was half lying, half sitting, in his bunk, groaning dismally.
"What's the matter?" inquired the skipper.
"I'm dying," said the mate.
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