CHAPTER IV. 



(from BOULOGNE TO FOLKESTONE — BY NIGHT.) 



FIND that there is only one thing against return- 

 ing at night, which is, that there is no Night 

 Passengers' Boat. 



There is a boat at i P.M. to London, all the way- 

 direct. Sea passage, about eight hours. 



Chinton says, " It's a first-rate way of going." 



Barnley admits it, " if," he adds, " you're not in a 

 hurry." 



" And if," I say, " you happen to be a good sailor." 



" Aren't you ? " asks Chinton. 



" I don't know," I reply. " I don't know whether I am or 

 not." 



This indecision is the result of years' experience. I con- 

 sider it safer to give myself out publicly as a bad sailor, on 

 the chance of turning out a remarkably good one, and 

 astonishing everyone on board ; among others no one more 

 than myself. My sea-sickness, or, to use a more cheerful 

 phrase, my sea-wellness, depends upon all sorts of things at 

 different times, and can't be reduced to a certainty. I have 

 known myself well and hearty during a seventeen hours' 

 voyage, enjoying sleep, enjoying meals, enjoying cigars or 



