Forester felt somewhat uneasy at having Marco ride any longer on the top, especially now that the sailor was going up too.

But the coach was full.

He himself was wedged into his seat, so that he could not get out easily.

He knew, too, that two or three of the passengers were going to get out at the next stage, and so he concluded to let Marco remain outside until that time, and then to take him in again.
Marco's admiration for the sailor was very much diminished when he saw how helpless he had rendered himself by his excesses, and how unceremoniously the driver pulled and hauled him about, in getting him into his seat.
"There! hold on there," said the driver to him, in a stern voice,--"hold on well, or you'll be down head foremost under the horses' heels, at the first pitch we come to." The poor sailor said nothing, but grasped an iron bar which passed from the top of the coach down by the side of the seat, and held on as well as he could.
They rode on in this manner for some miles, the head of the sailor swinging back and forth, helplessly, as if he was nearly asleep.
Whenever Marco or the driver spoke to him, he either answered in a thick and sleepy tone of voice, or he did not reply at all.

Marco watched him for a time, being continually afraid that he would fall off.