"The bottom is just soft silt, there's nothing for the flukes to hold on" said Tom cantankerously. "And the sailors can't make up their minds what to do" he continued crucially.

"The cook has come up with some awful hard biscuit" he complained tackily "And it's full of weevils" he continued grubbily. "The sailors don't seem to take any notice of these huge waves" we went on, just as well.

"My jacket is made of real donkey skin" he said in an aside. "It's pickled in brine" he continued, assaulted. "Anyway, I'm going below decks- it's this way" he said companionably.