It was time to set table.
Heavy with the brief heaviness of sleep I had had, I dressed and stumbled up on to the poop in the hope that the wind would clear my brain.

Mr.
Pike had the watch, and with sure, age-lagging step he paced the deck.
The man is a marvel--sixty-nine years old, a life of hardship, and as sturdy as a lion.

Yet of the past night alone his hours had been: four to six in the afternoon on deck; eight to twelve on deck; and four to eight in the morning on deck.

In a few minutes he would be relieved, but at midday he would again be on deck.
I leaned on the poop-rail and stared for'ard along the dreary waste of deck.

Every port and scupper was working to ease the weight of North Atlantic that perpetually fell on board.