Again, Two Squalls
Would Tear Along, One On Each Side Of Us, And We Would Get A Fillip
From Each Of Them.
Now a gale certainly grows tiresome after a few
hours, but squalls never.
The thousandth squall in one's experience
is as interesting as the first one, and perhaps a bit more so. It
is the tyro who has no apprehension of them. The man of a thousand
squalls respects a squall. He knows what they are.
It was in the doldrums that our most exciting event occurred. On
November 20, we discovered that through an accident we had lost over
one-half of the supply of fresh water that remained to us. Since we
were at that time forty-three days out from Hilo, our supply of
fresh water was not large. To lose over half of it was a
catastrophe. On close allowance, the remnant of water we possessed
would last twenty days. But we were in the doldrums; there was no
telling where the southeast trades were, nor where we would pick
them up.
The handcuffs were promptly put upon the pump, and once a day the
water was portioned out. Each of us received a quart for personal
use, and eight quarts were given to the cook. Enters now the
psychology of the situation. No sooner had the discovery of the
water shortage been made than I, for one, was afflicted with a
burning thirst. It seemed to me that I had never been so thirsty in
my life.
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