The wind had drawn more northerly, becoming rather "scant" for a course north of George's Shoal, so we squared away down South Channel. Being right before wind and sea, the bark, having a large proportion of her heavy cargo in the lower hold, began to roll most distressingly. She seemed to nearly dip each rail alternately in quick succession. As the night wore on it grew worse and worse, every drawer slid out in the state-rooms, the doors of lockers swung open, their contents got adrift, kegs of paint took to rolling, the turpentine-can upset, scenting the air, and the pantry floor showed a medley of tin ware, crockery, brooms, edibles and sundry "small stores" engaged in kaleidoscopic performances. After getting some of these things secured more firmly than had been possible in the haste of their reception, the weary skipper went to his bed, but not to sleep. The berth was fore-and-aft and he rolled from side to side with every motion. Then, in distraction, he removed to the transom sofa running 'thwartships across the cabin, and here he slipped up and down, standing now on his feet and then on his head. O, the miseries of that night! The close cabin, the smoky oil-lamp, the smell of turpentine and the quick, incessant motion created suggestions of sea sickness, even to a veteran mariner. The mind sympathized with the body, and thus the captain reflected:--"O, what a fool I am to go to sea, there are the beautiful home, the spacious rooms, the comfortable and steady bed, the beloved family circle. What have I done? Renounced them all for a year. For what? To be shut up in this dismal den, with a crowd of rude vagabonds, deprived of everything that makes life enjoyable, and visited with everything to make it miserable. Only let me set foot on shore again and you'll never catch me on board of a ship."