He does not finish the speech. His breath fails him, and he seems relapsing into the syncope from which he has been aroused. Fearing this, they question him no farther, but continue to administer restoratives. They give him more wine, making him also eat of the fruits found upon the table.
They have also set the skipper free; but soon see cause to regret it. He strides to and fro, flings his arms about in frenzied gesture, clutches at decanters, glasses, bottles, and breaks them against one another, or dashes them down upon the floor. He needs restraining, and they do that, by shutting him up in a state-room.
Returning to Don Gregorio, they continue to nurse him; all the while wishing the surgeon to come.
While impatiently waiting they hear a hail from the top of the cabin-stairs. It is their coxswain, who shouts:—
“Below there!”
He is about to announce the cutter’s return from the frigate.
Ah no! It is not that; but something different; which instead of gratifying, gives them a fresh spasm of pain. Listening, they hear him say:—
“Come on deck, Mr Crozier! There’s a bank o’ black fog rollin’ up. It’s already close on the barque’s starboard bow. It look like there’s mischief in’t; and I believe there be. For God’s sake, hurry up, sir!”