There were many who went in huddled procession, They knew not wither, But, at any rate, success or calamity Would attend all in equality. There was … - Stephen Crane

They would twist their bodies for a moment and groan, and sleep the dead sleep once more...

When one exchanged the rowing-seat for a place in the bottom of the boat, he suffered a bodily depression that caused him to be careless of everything save an obligation to wiggle one finger. There was cold sea-water swashing to and fro in the boat, and he lay in it. His head, pillowed on a thwart, was within an inch of the swirl of a wave crest, and sometimes a particularly obstreperous sea came in-board and drenched him once more. But these matters did not annoy him. It is almost certain that if the boat had capsized he would have tumbled comfortably out upon the ocean as if he felt sure it was a great soft mattress.

IV

Yes, I have a thousand tongues,
And nine and nighty-nine lie.
Though I strive to use the one,
It will make no melody at my will,
But is dead in my mouth.