When daylight came (after this, the most dismal of all my nights at
sea), our signals went up telling of the sad condition of the crew, and
begging for medical assistance. Toward night the gale went down; but, as
no boat came off, a gloom darker than midnight settled over the crew of
the pest-ridden bark, and in dismay they again prayed to be spared to
meet the loved ones awaiting them at home.
Our repeated signals, next day, brought the reply, "Stand in."
_Carramba!_ Why, we could hardly stand at all; much less could we get
the bark underway, and beat in against wind and current. No one knew
this better than they on the island, for my signals had told the whole
story, and as we were only a mile and a half from the shore, the flags
were distinctly made out. There was no doubt in our minds about that!
Late in the day, however, a barge came out to us, ill-manned and
ill-managed by as scared a set of "galoots" as ever capsized a boat, or
trembled at a shadow! The coxswain had more to say than the doctor, and
the Yahoo--I forgot to mention that we were still in Yahoodom, but one
would see that without this explanation--the Yahoo in the bow said more
than both; and they all took a stiff pull from a bottle of
_cachazza_,[3] the doctor having had the start, I should say, of at
least one or two pulls before leaving the shore, insomuch as he appeared
braver than the rest of the crew.
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