‘A quart. Well, it is a great deal: but I am surprised it should kill a man. At an admixture of three to one, that amounts to six ounces or so – inebriating, but scarcely lethal.’ ‘Lord, Doctor,’ said the gunner, looking at him with affectionate pity, ‘that ain’t the mixture. That’s the rum.’ ‘A quart of rum? Of neat rum?’ cried Stephen. ‘That’s right, sir. Each man has his half-pint a day, at twice, so that makes a quart for each mess for dinner and for supper: and that is what the water is added to. Oh dear me,’ he said, laughing gently and patting the poor corpse on the deck between them,
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