" He slept as though
he had been dosed with narcotics. They let him be. Singleton held to
the wheel with one hand while he drank, bending down to shelter his lips
from the wind. Wamibo had to be poked and yelled at before he saw the
mug held before his eyes. Knowles said sagaciously:--"It's better'n
a tot o' rum." Mr. Baker grunted:--"Thank ye." Mr. Creighton drank and
nodded. Donkin gulped greedily, glaring over the rim. Belfast made us
laugh when with grimacing mouth he shouted:--"Pass it this way. We're
all taytottlers here." The master, presented with the mug again by a
crouching man, who screamed up at him:--"We all had a drink, captain,"
groped for it without ceasing to look ahead, and handed it back stiffly
as though he could not spare half a glance away from the ship. Faces
brightened. We shouted to the cook:--"Well done, doctor!" He sat to
leeward, propped by the water-cask and yelled back abundantly, but the
seas were breaking in thunder just then, and we only caught snatches
that sounded like: "Providence" and "born again." He was at his old game
of preaching. We made friendly but derisive gestures at him, and from
below he lifted one arm, holding on with the other, moved his lips;
he beamed up to us, straining his voice--earnest, and ducking his head
before the sprays.
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