t,
and scowled at the Englishman heavily. Joe made signs for them to
turn-to at the pumps, but they scowled still more. Then he signed that
he wanted something to eat, but the fellows only looked venomous, and
poor Joe groaned, "To-morrow's Christmas Day, and no tommy to eat--let
be the pudden!"

It was indeed heartrending; but the skipper was a thoughtful man, and
when he found that his mate was famine-struck, he risked swamping the
boat, and sent some beef and biscuit. The shameless Spaniards had plenty
below, but they were enraged for some reason or other, and they would
have let their deliverer hunger himself to the bone.

That evening, while Joe was easing the warps by shoving pieces of coir
where the bite came, he felt a grip on his neck. Like a flash he
thought, "Now, the knife." He wrenched himself round, and there was the
Spanish captain, glaring, trembling, and breathing hard.

"See, see! You been help, Ingleese!" and he pointed to the dusk as he
shrieked.

Joe saw at once that the man was wild with drink, and he put on a smile,
with a notion of coaxing the captain over. In a little while he managed
to get him below, and, foolishly, filled him some more cognac. Joe
thought it best to stupefy the fellow, and the brandy certainly did send
him to sleep.

That was a bad night, for the wind rose again, and such a sea ran that
Glenn gave up hope at midnight, and got ready for the worst. At the dawn
of Christmas Day the skipper offered to relieve him, but the risk would
have been too much, and the dogged East Coaster stuck to his work,
though he was aching, drenched, and so sleepy that he did not know how
to keep his eyes open.

A queer Christmas? Yes, but not much more queer than the Christmas
passed by thousands of good fellows on that treacherous great channel.
The warps both parted with an awful jerk at noon, just as Joe was about
to drink a dismal health to Sal with some of the captain's cognac. He
took a look round, and, though I cannot say that his courage went, I am
bound to tell you that a kind of ferocious despair seized on him when he
found the bargue yawing away from the Esperanza. She might broach-to any
time, and then all would be over. Poor Joe! Not a soul was there to
comfort him. The Spanish sluggards came up sometimes and scowled, then
they went below again. It was cruel work. The skipper of the Esperanza
made desperate efforts to get up, but dusk fell before he came near,
and then it was to