"Search the bunks forward—lose no time."
"Aye, aye, sir."
There Pedro was found and dragged forth. He offered no resistance, but moaned heavily, and hung lifeless in their hands.
"Hoist the carrion up, and over with him," said Captain Phillips, who, though naturally one of the kindest and jolliest of men, seemed, for the time, to be hardened and pitiless, as he said, "all mercy had been quite squeezed out of him."
"Stop, if you please," said Heriot, who looked earnestly at Pedro's eyes, and felt his pulse; "we must not be quite so merciless to them as they would have been to us."
"What do you mean, doctor?" asked Phillips, impatiently.
"This man is dying," replied Heriot.
"Dying!" repeated all, drawing near.
"Yes—look here," said Heriot.
And certainly Pedro's face, when viewed by the cold, clear light of the waning moon, presented a most striking and appalling aspect. His features were regular, even handsome; his black eyes, that nearly met over the long and well-cut nose, seemed darker now; his tawny hue was gone, and a death-like tint, as of white marble, had replaced it, forming a singular contrast to the intense blackness of his beard, moustache, and curly hair; his lower jaw had fallen, his eyes were almost closed, his respirations were heavy and uncertain, his pulse was low and sinking, and he drooped helplessly in the arms of Foster and Morrison, who had dragged him to the port gangway.