“What’s that?” said the captain sharply, for the doctor had made no scruple about giving his opinions aloud.
“I say your slaver or pirate captain looks as if he had come to visit the doctor and not the captain,” replied the gentleman addressed.
“Come to go into irons,” said the captain.
“Not he, sir. He doesn’t want iron; steel is more in his way. Poor fellow! He looks as if you could blow him away.”
“From the mouth of a gun? Well, he deserves it.”
“But surely this is not the ruffian you folks have been talking about—firing upon the boats, and—Ah, here he is!”
For the well-made cutter now came alongside, the slave crew who rowed it and the coxswain being well-armed, and hooking on quite as a matter of course, the latter showing his white teeth, an example followed by the rest of the crew, while the occupant of the stern sheets rose feebly and painfully, gladly snatching at the hands offered to him, by whose aid he climbed the side with difficulty and stood tottering on the deck.
“The captain?” he said to Mr Anderson. “No; I saw you ashore, sir. Thanks,” he added, taking the arm the chief officer extended to him. “I am greatly obliged, sir, for I am very weak.”
“Yes,” said the doctor, stepping forward. “A deck-chair, there. That’s right, Mr Murray; a little more under the awning. Sit down, sir. Mr Roberts, a glass of water, if you please.”
“You are very good, gentlemen,” said the visitor, recovering a little, for he was evidently on the point of fainting. “I am better now. Can I speak to the captain?”