"You leave me 'lone," he murmured, from the darkness of the bunk.
"You mind your own business, you leave me 'lone."
Channing returned to the bow and placed the situation before the
captain. That gentleman did not hesitate. He disappeared down the
companion-way, and, when an instant later he returned, hurled a
bottle over the ship's side.
The next morning when Channing came on deck the land was just in
sight, a rampart of dark green mountains rising in heavy masses
against the bright, glaring blue of the sky. He strained his eyes for
the first sight of the ships, and his ears for the faintest echoes of
distant firing, but there was no sound save the swift rush of the
waters at the bow. The sea lay smooth and flat before him, the sun
flashed upon it; the calm and hush of early morning hung over the
whole coast of Cuba.
An hour later the captain came forward and stood at his elbow.
"How's Keating?" Channing asked. "I tried to wake him, but I
couldn't."
The captain kept his binoculars to his eyes, and shut his lips
grimly. "Mr. Keating's very bad," he said. "He had another bottle
hidden somewhere, and all last night--" he broke off with a relieved
sigh.
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