George said he should be all right, and would rather like it, but he would advise Harris and me not to think of it, as he felt sure we should both be ill.
Harris said that, to himself, it was always a mystery how people managed to get sick at sea--said he thought people must do it on purpose, from affectation--said he had often wished to be, but had never been able.
Then he told us anecdotes of how he had gone across the Channel when it was so rough that the passengers had to be tied into their berths, and he and the captain were the only two living souls on board who were not ill.
Sometimes it was he and the second mate who were not ill; but it was generally he and one other man.

If not he and another man, then it was he by himself.
It is a curious fact, but nobody ever is sea-sick--on land.

At sea, you come across plenty of people very bad indeed, whole boat-loads of them; but I never met a man yet, on land, who had ever known at all what it was to be sea-sick.

Where the thousands upon thousands of bad sailors that swarm in every ship hide themselves when they are on land is a mystery.
If most men were like a fellow I saw on the Yarmouth boat one day, I could account for the seeming enigma easily enough.

It was just off Southend Pier, I recollect, and he was leaning out through one of the port-holes in a very dangerous position.