“May God bless you and may your bones bleach in these sands.” The Captain toasted his now wrecked ship, a haunting farewell to the vessel that had faced the untamed seas. Turning to his men, he held aloft a bottle of whisky, a grim yet resolute gesture in the face of adversity. “Boys,” he said, his voice firm, “have a drink.” The salty breeze carried his words as a rallying cry amidst the wreckage. The crew and two stowaways were battered but alive, having survived the wreck of the Peter Iredale.
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