We answered by lighting our candle under the tent and letting the
light shine through. At the same time we got the direction of the wind
and how we were hauling from my little pocket-compass, the boat's
compass being smashed. With this candle our poor fellows lit their
pipes, their only solace, as our raging thirst prevented us from eating
anything. By this time we had got into a bad tide-rip, which, combined
with the heavy, lumpy sea, made it almost impossible to keep the
'Dudley Docker' from swamping. As it was we shipped several bad seas
over the stern as well as abeam and over the bows, although we were 'on
a wind.' Lees, who owned himself to be a rotten oarsman, made good
here by strenuous baling, in which he was well seconded by Cheetham.
Greenstreet, a splendid fellow, relieved me at the tiller and helped
generally. He and Macklin were my right and left bowers as stroke-oars
throughout. McLeod and Cheetham were two good sailors and oars, the
former a typical old deep-sea salt and growler, the latter a pirate to
his finger-tips. In the height of the gale that night Cheetham was
buying matches from me for bottles of champagne, one bottle per match
(too cheap; I should have charged him two bottles). The champagne is
to be paid when he opens his pub in Hull and I am able to call that
way.
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