A most unholy and hollow sound was rising from the cabin floor.

It might have been caused by a bullock with its windpipe cut, trying to get its breath and groaning.

Then the light came on again and we saw Bastin lying at full length on the carpet.
"He's broken his neck or something," I said.
Bickley crept to him and having looked, sang out: "It's all right! He's only sea-sick.

I thought it would come to that if he drank so much tea." "Sea-sick," I said faintly--"sea-sick ?" "That's all," said Bickley.

"The nerves of the stomach acting on the brain or vice-versa--that is, if Bastin has a brain," he added sotto voce.
"Oh!" groaned the prostrate clergyman.