CHAPTER ELEVEN.
BAD WEATHER.
Later on in the afternoon, some couple of hours or so after he had been carried into the forecastle, Davis, sobered down by his rest, came aft again.

He did not, however, enter the cabin or go up on the poop, but remained hanging about the waist, as if uncertain what to do, evidently "smelling a rat," as the saying goes.
Captain Miles was prepared for this, Moggridge, the boatswain, who had made many voyages with him, and in whom he placed implicit trust, having related all that had occurred; so, although he saw Davis approach, he waited a while till the watch was relieved, when, advancing to the break of the poop, he hailed the whilom second mate below.
"Davis!" he cried, "I have got something to say to you." The other had lost all his defiant air now and looked very sheepish and crest-fallen--so much so, indeed, that he seemed unable at first to answer the captain.
"Yes, sir," said he at last, looking up and then dropping his eyes again in an instant, unable to stand the captain's straightforward glance.
"I'm sorry to have to say," continued Captain Miles, speaking slowly and distinctly, so that every word he uttered was heard fore and aft the ship, "that you, a responsible officer of this vessel, came on duty three hours ago in a state of intoxication.

The fault would have been bad enough in one of the ordinary hands, but is doubly so in a man having charge of the lives of those on board and the safety of the ship and cargo.

Besides, it is not merely on a single occasion that you have so grossly behaved, as I have noticed of late that you have been several times under the influence of liquor." "But, Captain Miles, sir," interrupted Davis at this point.

However, the captain soon silenced him.
"Hear me out, sir," he cried, his voice getting sterner and more energetic.