`You shouldn't go to sleep upon the ground with your head to leeward then,' growled a man in one of the berths.

`With my head to where?' asked Mark.

The man repeated his previous sentiment.

`No, I won't another time,' said Mark, `when I know whereabouts on the map that country is. In the meanwhile I can give you a better piece of advice. Don't you nor any other friend of mine never go to sleep with his head in a ship any more.'

The man gave a grunt of discontented acquiescence, turned over in his berth, and drew his blanket over his head.

`-- For,' said Mr. Tapley, pursuing the theme by way of soliloquy in a low tone of voice: `the sea is as nonsensical a thing as any going. It never knows what to do with itself. It hasn't got no employment for its mind, and is always in a state of vacancy. Like them Polar bears in the wild-beast shows as is constantly a- nodding their heads from side to side, it never can be quiet. Which is entirely owing to its uncommon stupidity.'

`Is that you, Mark?' asked a faint voice from another berth.

`It's as much of me as is left, sir, after a fortnight of this work,' Mr. Tapley replied, `What with leading the life of a fly, ever since I've been aboard -- for I've been perpetually holding-on to something or other in a upside-down position -- what with that, sir, and putting a very little into myself, and taking a good deal out of myself, there an't too much of me to swear by. How do you find yourself this morning, sir?'

`Very miserable,' said Martin, with a peevish groan. `Ugh. This is wreched, indeed!'

`Creditable,' muttered Mark, pressing one hand upon his aching head and looking round him with a rueful grin. `That's the great comfort. It is creditable to keep up one's spirits here. Virtue's its own reward. So's jollity.'

Mark was so far right, that unquestionably any man who retained his cheerfulness among the steerage accommodations of that noble and fast-sailing line-of-packet ship, `The Screw,' was solely indebted to his own resources, and shipped his good humour, like his provisions, without any contribution or assistance from the owners. A dark, low, stifling cabin, surrounded by berths all filled to overflowing with men, women, and children, in various stages of sickness and misery, is not the liveliest place of assembly at any time; but when it is so crowded (as the steerage cabin of `The Screw' was, every passage out), that mattresses and beds are heaped upon the floor, to the extinction of everything like comfort, cleanliness, and decency, it is liable to operate not only as a pretty strong banner against amiability of temper, but as a positive encourager of selfish and rough humours. Mark felt this, as he sat looking about him; and his spirits rose proportionately.

There were English people, Irish people, Welsh people, and Scotch people there; all with their little store of coarse food and shabby clothes; and nearly all with their families of children. There were children of all ages; from the baby at the breast, to the slattern-girl who was as much a grown woman as her mother. Every kind of domestic suffering that is bred in poverty, illness, banishment, sorrow, and long travel in bad weather, was crammed into the little space; and yet was there infinitely less of complaint and querulousness, and infinitely more of mutual assistance and general kindness to be found in that unwholesome ark, than in many brilliant ballrooms.

Mark looked about him wistfully, and his face brightened as he looked. Here an old grandmother was crooning over a sick child, and rocking it to and fro, in arms hardly more wasted than its own young limbs; here a poor woman with an infant in her lap, mended another little creature's clothes, and quieted