fortune with hardihood. Only the thought of
Sophia vexed him while he ate, and he sighed once or twice with a
violence that set the rats scampering. Then it struck him that his
morning prayers were unsaid, and, scrambling on his knees, he
committed himself to the care of Heaven, and afterwards felt still
easier at heart. Also, being a prudent youth in some respects, he
decided to reserve half of the loaf in case no more should be brought
for the day; and, because his hunger was excessive, it took some time
to decide on the amount to be set aside. Indeed, he was still
discussing this with himself when the _Good Intent_ shook with the
roar of the royal salute.

For the moment Tristram imagined that he must be in the midst of a
sea-fight at the very leat. But his apprehensions were presently
distracted by the motions of the ship under him--motions which at
length became erratic and even alarming. For the _Good Intent_ was
not only heaving up and down, but seemed to be tearing forward in a
series of vehement rushes, with intervals of languid indecision.
Tristram's stomach soon began to abhor these intervals, and in a
little while he found himself wondering to what end he had set aside
half a loaf from his breakfast. For, as it seemed to him, he was
going to die, and the sooner the better.

"Decidedly," he thought, "my breakfast was poisoned, else I could
never feel like this."

The _Good Intent_ took another lurch forward, and a clammy sweat
broke out on both sides of his forehead.

"If I have enemies so wicked," sighed he, "may God forgive them!"
And, uttering this Christian wish, he fell forward with his forehead
against the boards.

A little past noon the sentry brought him a fresh loaf, with a plate
of fat bacon and another pannikin. The sea being choppy, by this
time the vessel echoed from end to end with groans and lamentations.

"Is it a massacre?" Tristram asked, sitting up and regarding the man
with wild eyes. But the sight of the bacon, which was plentifully
doused with vinegar, conquered him afresh. The sentry chuckled and
went away.

To be short, our hero passed two-and-twenty hours in this extremity
of wretchedness, and was only aroused, early next morning, by a
corporal who thrust his head in at the hatchway and bade him arise
and come on deck with all speed, as the regiment was about to
disembark. And, as a matter of fact, when Tristram tottered up the
ladder into the fresh air which sw