Doffing his oilskins and hipboots and turning his kit of Costen lights (Rockets for warning vessels that came too near the coast) over to his successor, “X” packed his pipe with the doctored tobacco and sat down behind the stove to have a good smoke.  The joke was on the rest of us, for by the time “X” has burned three pipes of rubberized weed, all unconscious of anything wrong, the stench was something terrible and drove us all out doors.”