The rain drove fiercely.

We grew sick enough.
"This is worse than the 'poison spring' at Katahdin!" groaned Kit.
The skipper came down.
"Is it a big gale ?" Raed managed to ask.
"Just an ordinary north-easter." "Well, then, I never wish to meet an extraordinary one!" gasped Wade.
The captain mixed us some brandy and water from his own private supply, which we took (as a medicine).

But it wouldn't stay _down_: nothing would stay down.

Our stomachs refused to bear the weight of any thing.

Night came on: a wretched night it was for us.