Although the boat would be allowed to float on the water, no water would be allowed within the boat itself. There was to be a separation of water and crew. There would then be no undue influence of Nature, and no one would be offended by common tap water.

Shortly after leaving port on that sultry August morning, the crew developed a thirst. The captain radioed the owner, who had stayed ashore. "Just find something else to drink," he suggested. "You don't need water to run a boat."

The crew soon found the liquor cabinet, and their thirst was quenched. All was well, though soon the boat wandered off course.

The next sign of the policy change was an odor coming from the head. The commodes weren't flushing properly. The captain radioed the owner. "Life doesn't require an operational commode," he barked. "Work around it!"

Soon, the crew simply decided to relieve themselves off the side. In rough seas, they lost a soul or two periodically, but they knew it was right and just to follow the rules. And only Mother Nature was offended.

About 10 days out, with the crew reeling from the constant hangovers and becoming noticeably shorthanded, a storm came up. Initially, the men cheered as they cooled off and cleaned up in the rain. They surely couldn't be blamed for using this water. For a brief moment, they wished that the separation had never been accepted.

As the storm raged, they found that the intoxicated, weakened and shorthanded crew could not properly handle the vessel. The boat pitched and yawed, and finally, many miles off course, it smashed against a reef, and they perished.