But it was lucky for Eric that, seeing how matters were likely to go, he had succeeded in secreting his watch.
The day grew misty and comfortless, and towards evening the wind rose to a storm.

Eric soon began to feel very sick, and, to make his case worse, could not endure either the taste, smell, or sight of such coarse food as was contemptuously flung to him.
"Where am I to sleep ?" he asked, "I feel very sick." "Babby," said one of the sailors, "what's your name ?" "Williams." "Well, Bill, you'll have to get over your sickness pretty soon, _I_ can tell ye.

Here," he added, relenting a little, "Davey's slung ye a hammock in the forecastle." He showed the way, but poor Eric in the dark, and amid the lurches of the vessel, could hardly steady himself down the companion-ladder, much less get into his hammock.

The man saw his condition, and, sulkily enough, hove him into his place.
And there, in that swinging bed, where sleep seemed impossible, and out of which, he was often thrown, when the ship rolled and pitched through the dark, heaving, discolored waves, and with dirty men sleeping round him at night, until the atmosphere of the forecastle became like poison, hopelessly and helplessly sick, and half-starved, the boy lay for two days.

The crew neglected him shamefully.