Sunday, December 8, 1929
Rolled plenty in a choppy sea. Didn’t do much except read and get beaten at bridge.
Some of the boys (wonder who?) swiped pineapple from the storeroom and made some liquor. Yesterday it was just right—so much so that over four gallons disappeared down various throats and Lee got tight together with Cardwell. The latter passed out like a light and spent about six hours sprawled on the deck before he came to.
The loud-mouthed workaway had had enough to feel sour and the result was a fight between him and the deck engineer after dinner. The latter, Springer, fell and broke his arm.
Lee staggered up to the bridge and told the mate he had a pain in his leg, rheumatism of something, and couldn’t stand his wheel watch. Johnson (used to be a robber till it got too hot for him) consumed quantities and at eight bells managed to make the lookout on the fo’cas’le head with much difficulties. Tom, Roberts, and I were there and we got him going on religion, etc.—roaring like a bull one minute, like a child the next. When he learned I was a Holy Roller he became all excited and tried to turn me Hindu. He would only become an H.R. on one condition—that it would make him a better man. I couldn’t claim that for this religion for he was already such a good man. Might have suggested it for his figure though. Made 159 miles today.