twenty minutes after three in the morning
Good God ! thought I , that I should be so mad as to drown my senses when never was any wretch in such need of all his reason as I ! The boatswain 's tinder-box was in my pocket ; I groped , found a candle , and lighted it . It was twenty minutes after three in the morning . Tassard lay on his back , snoring hideously , his legs overhanging the capsized bench . I pulled and hauled at him , but he was too drunk to awake , and that he might not freeze to death I fetched a pile of clothes out of his cabin and covered him up , and put his head on a coat . My head ached horribly , but not worse than my heart .