After a while we grew very hungry, not having broken our fast since
early in the day. The rain had turned the hard-tack into a sort of
dough; but it was better than nothing.
We used to laugh at Fred Langdon for always carrying in his pocket
a small vial of essence of peppermint or sassafras, a few drops of
which, sprinkled on a lump of loaf-sugar, he seemed to consider a
great luxury. I do not know what would have become of us at this
crisis if it had not been for that omnipresent bottle of hot stuff.
We poured the stinging liquid over our sugar, which had kept dry in
a sardine-box, and warmed ourselves with frequent doses.
After four or five hours the rain ceased, the wind died away to a
moan, and the sea--no longer raging like a maniac--sobbed and
sobbed with a piteous human voice all along the coast. And well it
might, after that night's work. Twelve sail of the Gloucester
fishing fleet had gone down with every soul on board, just outside
of Whale's-Back Light. Think of the wide grief that follows in the
wake of one wreck; then think of the despairing women who wrung
their hands and wept, the next morning, in the streets of
Gloucester, Marblehead, and Newcastle!
Though our strength was nearly spent, we were too cold to sleep.
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