In a little while he managed
to get him below, and, foolishly, filled him some more cognac. Joe
thought it best to stupefy the fellow, and the brandy certainly did send
him to sleep.
That was a bad night, for the wind rose again, and such a sea ran that
Glenn gave up hope at midnight, and got ready for the worst. At the dawn
of Christmas Day the skipper offered to relieve him, but the risk would
have been too much, and the dogged East Coaster stuck to his work,
though he was aching, drenched, and so sleepy that he did not know how
to keep his eyes open.
A queer Christmas? Yes, but not much more queer than the Christmas
passed by thousands of good fellows on that treacherous great channel.
The warps both parted with an awful jerk at noon, just as Joe was about
to drink a dismal health to Sal with some of the captain's cognac. He
took a look round, and, though I cannot say that his courage went, I am
bound to tell you that a kind of ferocious despair seized on him when he
found the bargue yawing away from the Esperanza.
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