"Less talk and more work, shipmate. Eat your breakfast."
He helped the poor devil to a pannikin of tea and to a tin plate full of bad bacon.
"This tea's beastly," he declared.
"Brogger's notion of wot's fit for sailors," said Corlett. "Drink 'is 'ealth in it."
And Brogger drank. The hot infusion of the Lord knows what did him good. The fumes of fusel oil and the clouds of laudanum rolled away from him.
"I know 'em all," he said—"I know 'em, every one. This is my ship; this is the Enchantress. If it isn't, I'm mad!"
He rose up suddenly and made a bolt for the door, and ran aft. As his evil luck would have it, the very first person he ran against was the new skipper, who looked at him very fiercely.
"Where the devil are you running to?" asked Greig, giving him a push in the chest that sent him reeling.
"I'm Captain Brogger," said Brogger with the most lamentably weak air of dignity. It sat on him like a frock-coat on a gorilla.
"The devil you are?" said Greig. "So you're still drunk. Go for'ard, or I'll cure you quick!"
