The Mysterious Mark

“Roll on, thou dark and deep blue ocean,—roll!” shouted a cheerful passenger, casting patronizing glances at the billowy waste on whose heaving bosom our good ship was tossed like a plaything.

“Roll on, and behanged to it!” grumbled I, “if only to roll me.”

It was my first acquaintance with Neptune, and we didn’t get on together. To say the truth, I was in no amiable mood. I had disagreed with the steward about the quality of steak he had sent me for breakfast, and finally, had disagreed with my breakfast itself and parted company with it.

It was while leaning over the traff-rail at this point that my feelings were harrowed by the poetical passenger’s quotation.

“You’re sea-sick,” he remarked.

“You see I am,” I answered gruffly, intending no pun, but a decided criticism of the self-obviousness of the statement.

“I’ve a sovereign specific for that malady,” said the stranger.

“You are a lucky man,” I answered.

“I should be happy to furnish you with it,” he replied; “I have an abundant supply of it.”

“Anything,” said I; “I’ll take anything—even arsenic to put me out of misery.”

“Come below,” said he, taking my arm. “Where’s your state-room?” he inquired, when he had descended the stairway.

I led the way to it.

“Now lie down,” said he, “and I’ll fix you up directly.”

I threw off my coat and tumbled into the berth. The benevolent gentleman went out and returned quickly with something which he put into a glass with some water and gave to me. I swallowed it without a question. The effect was almost instantaneous. A gentle languor stole over me, then followed what a little before I should have hailed as the acme of bliss, complete unconsciousness.

Whether it was the effect of the medicine, or because the weather grew mild—much obliged to the weather if that was it— I knew not, but when I awoke, which… Read More