My Danish Sweetheart, Volume Ii by W. Clark Russell

We sat chatting thus until something after nine. The comfort of this cabin after the lugger, the knowledge that Helga and I would each have a comfortable bed, comparatively speaking, to lie in, the conviction that our stay in the barque must be short, and that a very few hours might see us homeward bound, coupled with a sense of security such as never possessed me in the open lugger, not to mention the influence of my one pretty big tumbler of rum punch, had put me into a good humour.

'Is not this better than the lugger? ' I said to Helga, as I motioned with my cigar round the cabin, and pointed to the slippers upon my feet. 'Think of my little windy bed under that boat's deck, Helga, and recollect your black forepeak.'