"Away they pulled, callin' back, 'God bless 'ee, father!' and the
like; words I shan't forget. . . . Poor Daniel! . . . And there, all
of a sudden, was I, left to spend Christmas alone: which didn't
trouble me at all.

"'Stead o' which, as you might say, havin' downed sail and made
things pretty well shipshape on deck, I went below and trimmed and
lit the riding light. When I came on deck with it the _Maid in Two
Minds_ was still in darkness. 'That's queer,' thought I; but maybe
the _Early and Late's_ light reminded Dog Mitchell of his, for a few
minutes later he fetched it up and made it fast, takin' an uncommon
long time over the job and mutterin' to himself all the while.
(For I should tell you that, the weather bein' so still and the
distance not a hundred yards, I could hear every word.)

"'Twas then, I think, it first came into my mind that the man was
drunk, and five minutes later I was sure of it: for on his way aft he
caught his foot and tripped over something--one o' the deck-leads
maybe--and the words he ripped out 'twould turn me cold to repeat.
His voice was thick, too, and after cursin' away for half a minute it
dropped to a sort of growl, same as you'll hear a man use when he's
full o' drink and reckons he has a grudge against somebody or
something--he doesn't quite know which, or what. Thought I, ''Tis a
risky game o' those others to leave a poor chap alone in that state.
He might catch the boat afire, for one thing: and, for another, he
might fall overboard.' It crossed my mind, too, that if he fell
overboard I hadn't a boat to pull for him.

"He went below after that, and for a couple of hours no sound came