The seas continually break on the weather bulwarks and scatter clouds of heavy spray over the backs of all who must venture into, the waist of the ship.

The dogs sit with their tails to this invading water, their coats wet and dripping.

It is a pathetic attitude, deeply significant of cold and misery; occasionally some poor beast emits a long pathetic whine.

The group forms a picture of wretched dejection; such a life is truly hard for these poor creatures.
We manage somehow to find a seat for everyone at our cabin table, although the wardroom contains twenty-four officers.

There are generally one or two on watch, which eases matters, but it is a squash.