wench. Drink and do not fear. This is not the stuff to smoke the head and clog the stomach."
When Oliver Menaida finally started, he left the first officer of the coastguard, in spite of his assurances, somewhat smoky in brain, and not in the condition to form the clearest estimate of what should be done in a contingency. The boat was laden with provisions for twenty-four hours, and placed under the command of Wyvill.
The crew had not rowed far before one of them sang out:
"Gearge!"
"Aye, aye, mate!" responded Wyvill.
"I say, Gearge. Be us a going round Pentyre?"
"I reckon we be."
"And wet to the marrowbone we shall be."
"I reckon we shall."
Then a pause in the conversation. Presently from another, "Gearge!"
"Aye, aye, Will!"
"I say Gearge! where be the spirits to? There's a keg o' water, but sure alive the spirits be forgotten."
"Bless my body!" exclaimed Wyvill, "I reckon you're right. Here's a go."
"It will never do for us to be twenty-four hours wi' salt water outside of us and fresh wi'in," said Will. What's a hat wi'out a head in it, or boots wi'out feet in 'em, or a man wi'out spirits in his in'ard parts?"
"Dear, alive! 'Tis a nuisance," said Wyvill. "Who's been the idiot to forget the spirits?"
"Gearge!"
"Aye, aye, Samson!"
"I say, Gearge! hadn't us better run over to the Rock and get a little anker there?"
"I reckon it wouldn't be amiss, mate," responded Wyvill. To Oliver's astonishment and annoyance, the boat was turned to run across to a little tavern, at what was called "The Rock."
He remonstrated. This was injudicious and unnecessary.
"Onnecessary," said Wyvill. "Why, you don't suppose firearms will go off wi'out a charge? It's the same wi' men. What's the good of a human being unless he be loaded—and what's his proper load but a drop o’ spirits."
