Meanwhile the waves had increased, and had all the appearance of soon becoming much larger. Already the frail embarkation was tossed about like an egg-shell.
“Listen to me, Señor Don Cornelio Lantejas!” said Costal.
“Ah!” woefully murmured the Captain, on hearing his patronymic pronounced; for ever since his proscription as Cornelio Lantejas, he had held his own name in horror. Never did it sound to him with a more lugubrious accent than now.
“Listen!” said Costal, repeating himself with emphasis; “I know you are a man for whom death has no terrors. Well, then! I think it would not be right of me to conceal from you—a fact—”
“What fact?”
“That if we stay here one hour longer, we must both go to the bottom. The waves are constantly growing bigger, as you see—”
“And what can we do?” demanded Lantejas, in a despairing tone.
“One of two things,” replied Costal. “The barges are either waiting for us where we left them, or they are directing their course towards the isle. It is absurd to suppose they have returned to the town. When one receives an order from a great general to attack any particular point, one does not return without making an attempt. The boats, therefore, must still be where we parted from them.”
“Well, what would you do?”
“Why, since it is easy for me to swim to them—”