Explore "The Riddle of the Sands" by Erskine Childers on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I dozed but fitfully, with a fretful sense of sore elbows and neck and many a draughty hiatus among the blankets. It was broad daylight before I had reached the stage of torpor in which such slumber merges. That was finally broken by the descent through the skylight of a torrent of water. I started up, bumped my head hard against the decks, and blinked leaden-eyed upwards.
"Sorry! I'm scrubbing decks. Come up and bathe. Slept well? " I heard a voice saying from aloft.