Beyond that,"--he waved his
arm toward the ocean, as if to say "overboard for ours."
"Look here!" cried Swank excitedly, "do you suppose I want to go in
for one of these slow starvation stunts, perishing miserably on half
a biscuit a day! O man! that's old stuff. Every explorer that ever
wrote has done that, you know--falling insensible in the boat, drifting
around for weeks, being towed into port, sunbaked, like mummies. Not
on your life! What I propose is one final party--let's eat the whole
outfit tonight, hook, line and sinker."
We carried the proposition by acclamation, except Triplett who spat
sourly to windward, a thing few men can do. And we were as good as our
word.
Late into the night we roared our sea-songs over the indifferent ocean,
pledging our lost ones, singing, laughing and weeping with the abandon
of lost sheep. With Triplett it was a case of forcible feeding for he
kept trying to secrete his share of the menu in various parts of his
person, slipping fistsful of crawfish in his shirt-bosom and pouring
his cup of _hoopa_ into an old fire-extinguisher which rolled in the
ship's waist.
Pages:
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133