Here is the beginning of another letter, addressed to us both: 

“A thousand thanks, dearest people, for what you tell me of Doria.  If she just misses me a little bit, all may be well.  I’ve bought some jolly gold barbaric ornaments that she may accept when I reach home; and do try to persuade her that the poor old bear is rough only on the outside.

     “Things going on just as usual.  Liosha has got a monkey given her
     by the donkey-man. . . .”

There follows a description of the monkey and its antics, and a long account of a chase all over the ship, in which all the ship’s company including the captain took part, to the subversion of discipline and navigation.  But you see—­he switches off at once to Liosha and the trivial records of the humdrum day.

At last he had something less trivial to write about.  They were in the Mozambique Channel, making for Madagascar: 

“Now that this darned cabin table is comparatively straight, I can scribble a few lines to you.  We’ve had a beast of a time.  The dirtiest weather ever since we left Beira and the cranky old tub rolling and pitching and standing on her head as I’ve never known ship do before.  Consequence was the cargo got shifted and there was a list to port, so that every time she ducked that side, she shipped half the channel.  Skies black as thunder and the sea the colour of inky water.  We had the devil’s own job getting the cargo straight.  Just imagine a black rolling dungeon full of great packing cases weighing about half a ton each all gone murderous mad.  Just imagine getting down among them, as practically all hands had to do, save the engine-room, and sweating and fighting and straining and lashing for hour after hour.  And half the time the port side of the lame old duck under water.  How she didn’t turn turtle is known only to Allah and Maturin; and One is great and the other’s a damned fine sailor.  Of course, I had to go down into the inferno of the hold like the others.  Part of the day’s work; but I didn’t like it; no one liked it.

“When the order was given all hands tumbled up to the hatchway and began swarming down the iron ladder.  It was a swaying, staggering crowd.  When you stand on a wet deck at an angle of forty-five degrees one way and thirty degrees another and constantly shifting both angles, with nothing but a rope lashed athwart the ship to catch hold of, your mind is pretty well concentrated on yourself.  I know mine was.  I slipped and wallowed on my belly hanging on to the rope like grim death till my turn came for the ladder.  I got my feet on the rungs.  I was all right, when looking up into the livid daylight whom do you think I saw calmly preparing to follow me?  Liosha.  I hadn’t noticed her.  She had sea-boots and a jersey and looked just like a man.  I roared: 

     “‘Clear out.  This is no place for you.’

     “‘I’m coming.  Go along down.’