“Then I’m afraid you’ll never get your men to do without it. There’s nothing like example—‘example’s better than precept.’”
“I believe you’re right. But you haven’t heard the end of my misfortunes, nor the worst either. It was a little foggy as we were getting into the Channel, and I’d given, of course, strict orders to keep a good look-out; so two of our sharpest fellows went forward when it began to get dark, and I had a steady man at the wheel. I’d been on deck myself a good many hours; so I just turned in to get a wink of sleep, leaving the first mate in charge. I don’t know how long I’d slept, for I was very weary, when all in a moment there came a dreadful crash, and I knew we were run into. I was out and on deck like a shot; but the sea was pouring in like a mill-stream, and I’d only just time to see the men all safe in the Condor—the ship that ran into us—and get on board myself, before the poor Elizabeth went down head foremost. It’s very strange. I hadn’t been off the deck ten minutes, and that was the first time I’d gone below for the last sixteen hours. It’s just like my luck. The captain of the Condor says we were to blame; and our first mate says their men were to blame. I can’t tell how it was. It was rather thick at the time; but we ought to have seen one another’s lights. Some one sung out on the other ship; but it was too late then, and our two poor fellows who were forward looking out were both lost. It’s very strange; don’t you think so?”
“It’s very sad,” replied the other; “and I’m heartily sorry for it. It’s a bad job anyhow; and yet, to tell you the honest truth, I’m not so very much surprised, for I suspect that the drink was at the bottom of it.”
“No, no; you’re quite mistaken there. I never saw either the mate or the man at the wheel, or any of the men who were then on deck, drunk, or anything like it, during the whole voyage.”
“That may be,” said the other; “but I did not say it was drunkenness, but the drink, that I thought was at the bottom of it. The men may have been the worse for drink without being drunk.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“No, I see you don’t; that’s the worst of it. Very few people do see it, or understand it; but it’s true. A man’s the worse for drink when he’s taken so much as makes him less fit to do his work, whatever it may be. You’ll think it rather strange, perhaps, in me to say so; but I do say it, because I believe it, that more accidents arise from the drink than from drunkenness, or from moderate drinking, as it is called, than from drunkenness.”
“How so?”
“Why, thus. A man may take just enough to confuse him, or to make him careless, or to destroy his coolness and self-possession, without being in the least drunk; or he may have taken enough to make him drowsy, and so unfit to do work that wants special attention and watchfulness.”
“I see what you mean,” said the other.