"Edgar Allan Poe - Volume 3 of 5" - читать интересную книгу автора (Poe Edgar Allan)

full of water. This being done, we hoisted jib and mainsail, kept
full, and started boldly out to sea.

The wind, as I before said, blew freshly from the southwest. The
night was very clear and cold. Augustus had taken the helm, and I
stationed myself by the mast, on the deck of the cuddy. We flew along
at a great rate -- neither of us having said a word since casting
loose from the wharf. I now asked my companion what course he
intended to 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
mental energy began to yield before its influence- and the confused
perception which he no doubt then had of his perilous situation had
assisted in hastening the catastrophe. He was now thoroughly
insensible, and there was no probability that he would be otherwise
for many hours.