My owner was my captain, and his wife was his.

We were forever putting into port for fresh bread and meat, milk and eggs, for she could eat none other.

If the wind got up but ever so little, we had to run into shelter and anchor until the sea was smooth.

The manners of the sailors shocked her.
She would scream at night when a rat ran across her, and would lose her appetite if a living creature, of which, as usual, the ship was full, fell from a beam onto her platter.

I was tempted, more than once, to run the ship on to a rock and make an end of us all.
"No, no: a day's sail out from Plymouth, in a freshly launched ship, on a fine day, with a store of good victuals and a few flasks of good wine, is a right merry business; but farther than that I wish not to see a passenger, on board any ship which I command." The others laughed.
"Well, Master Diggory, we must be going," Nicholas Turnbull said; "it is getting late.