"No doubt of it--it is so, sir," whistled Sprawl. Here the crew of the felucca, led by little Binnacle, made a rush aft, seized the lieutenant, and having overpowered him, launched their little shallop, in which the midshipman, with two men, instantly shoved off; but they had not paddled above half a-dozen yards from the vessel's side, when the maniac, a most powerful man, broke from those who held him, knocked them down, right and left, like so many nine-pins, and seizing his _trabuco_, pointed it at the skiff, while he sung out in a voice of thunder--"Come back, Mr Binnacle; come back, you small villain, or I will shoot you dead." The poor lad was cowed, and did as he was desired. "Lower away the jolly boat," cried the commodore, in a flaming passion; but checking himself, he continued--"Gently, men--belay there--keep all fast with the boat, Mr Lanyard," who had jumped aft to execute the order--"We must humour the poor fellow, after all, who is evidently not himself." I could hear a marine, a half crazy creature, of the name of Lennox, who stood by, on this whisper to his neighbour--"Ay, Sir Oliver, better fleech with a madman than fecht with him." "Are you Mr Donovan, pray?" said the commodore, mildly, but still speaking through the trumpet. "I _was_ that gentleman," was the startling answer. "Then come on board, man; come on board," in a wheedling tone. "How would you have me to do that thing?" said poor Donovan. "Come on board, did you say? Divil now, Sir Oliver, you are mighthy unrasonable." His superior officer was somewhat shoved off his balance by this most extraordinary reply from his lieutenant, and rapped out, fiercely enough--"Come on board this instant, sir, or by the Lord, I"---- "How can I do that thing, and me dead since three bells in the middle watch last night?" This was grumbled as it were through his trumpet, but presently he shouted out as loud as he could bellow--"I can't come; and, what's more, I won't; for I died last night, and am to be buried whenever it goes eight bells at noon." "Dead!" said the commodore, now _seriously_ angry. "Dead, did he say? Why, he is drunk, gentlemen, and not mad. There is always _some_ method in madness; here there is none." Till recollecting himself--"Poor fellow, let me try him a little farther; but really it is too absurd"--as he looked round and observed the difficulty both officers and men had in keeping countenance--"Let me humour him a little longer," continued he. "Pray, Mr Donovan, how can you be dead, and speaking to me now?" "Because," said Donovan promptly, "I have a forenoon's leave from purgatory to see myself decently buried, Sir Oliver."