steer, and
what time he thought it probable we should get back. He whistled for a
few minutes, and then said crustily: "_I_ am going to sea--_you_ may go
home if you think proper." Turning my eyes upon him, I perceived at once
that, in spite of his assumed _nonchalance_, he was greatly agitated.
I could see him distinctly by the light of the moon--his face was
paler than any marble, and his hand shook so excessively that he could
scarcely retain hold of the tiller. I found that something had gone
wrong, and became seriously alarmed. At this period I knew little
about the management of a boat, and was now depending entirely upon the
nautical skill of my friend. The wind, too, had suddenly increased, as
we were fast getting out of the lee of the land--still I was ashamed
to betray any trepidation, and for almost half an hour maintained a
resolute silence. I could stand it no longer, however, and spoke to
Augustus about the propriety of turning back. As before, it was nearly
a minute before he made answer, or took any notice of my suggestion.
"By-and-by," said he at length--"time enough--home by-and-by." I had
expected a similar reply, but there was something in the tone of these
words which filled me with an indescribable feeling of dread. I again
looked at the speaker attentively. His lips were perfectly livid, and
his knees shook so violently together that he seemed scarcely able to
stand. "For God's sake, Augustus," I screamed, now heartily frightened,
"what ails you?--what is the matter?--what _are_ you going to do?"
"Matter!" he stammered, in the greatest apparent surprise, letting go
the tiller at the same moment, and falling forward into the bottom of
the boat--"matter--why, nothing is the--matter--going home--d--d--don't
you see?" The whole truth now flashed upon me. I flew to him and raised
him up. He was drunk--beastly drunk--he could no longer either stand,
speak, or see. His eyes were perfectly glazed; and as I let him go
in the extremity of my despair, he rolled like a mere log into the
bilge-water, from which I had lifted him. It was evident that, during
the evening, he had drunk far more than I suspected, and that his
conduct in bed had been the result of a highly-concentrated state of
intoxication--a state which, like madness, frequently enables the victim
to imitate the outward demeanour of one in perfect possession of his
senses. The coolness of the night air, however, had had its usual
effect--the menta