“They’ve taken it to the last drop,” I panted, and then to the doctor—“Oh, Mr Frewen, I feel as if I had been committing a dozen murders. I wish I had not said a word about the soup.”
Chapter Thirty.
Seeing how thoroughly upset I was, the mate told Mr Frewen to speak to me as soon as he was gone; for he was about to join the men on the watch by the forecastle-hatch, so as to be ready to take action as soon as possible after the drug had acted.
“How soon will it be?” he asked Mr Frewen.
“I cannot tell you. I never administered it like this before, only in small doses as an opiate in cases of intense suffering. It may be soon, it may be an hour or two. If they have, as we suppose, an ample supply of spirits and tobacco below, it is possible that they may retard the action.”
“Well,” said Mr Brymer, “be ready to come well-armed when I give the signal—two whistles, mind. I shall call upon you the moment I fancy it can be done. Hist!—the men.”
For the two sailors whom we had made prisoners through their being at the wheel had been apportioned the duty of taking the steward’s place, that poor fellow having without doubt gone overboard on the night of the rising; and as Mr Brymer left the cabin, these two quickly and roughly prepared the table for our mid-day meal, went forward, and brought back a tureen of soup, with a kind of ragout of the kangaroo’s tail from the tin.
The dinner was just ready, when there was a noise from forward; and we hurried to the door-way, but it was only to hear a roaring chorus rise from the forecastle-hatchway.