Bang had been unable to speak from excess of astonishment; but the skipper and I, finding there was no help for it, had followed Campana’s example, and kept pace with him in our peeling, so that by the time he disappeared, we were ready to topple into our quatres, which we accordingly did, and by this time we were both at full length, with our heads cased each in one of Don Ricardo’s silk nightcaps, contemplating Bang’s appearance, as he sat in disconsolate mood in his chair at the head of the table, with the fag-end of a cigar in the corner of his cheek. “Now, Bang,” said Transom, “turn in, and let us have a snooze, will ye?” Bang did not seem to like it much. “Zounds, Transom, did you ever hear of a gentleman being put to bed on a table? Why, it must be a quiz. Only fancy me dished out and served up like a great calipi in the shell! However, here goes--But surely this is in sorry taste; we had our chocolate a couple of hours ago--capital it was by the by--in vulgar Staffordshire china, and now they give us silver....” “Be decent, Bang,” cut in the skipper, who was by this time more than half asleep. “Be decent, and go to bed--that’s a good fellow.” “Ah, well” Aaron undressed himself, and lay down; and there he was laid out, with a candle on each side of his head, his red face surmounted by a redder handkerchief tied round his head, sticking out above the white sheet; and supported by Captain Transom and myself, one on each side. All was now quiet. I got up and put out the candles, and as I fell asleep, I could hear Aaron laughing to himself “Dished, and served up, deuced like Saint Barts. I was intended for a doctor, Tom, you must know. I hope the Don is not a medical amateur; I trust he won’t have a touch at me before morning. Rum subject I should make. Possibly he may want to practice cutting for the stone--he! he!” All was silent for some time. “Hillo--what is that?” said Aaron again, as if suddenly aroused from his slumbers--“I say, none of your fun, Transom.” A large bat was flaffing about, and I could hear him occasionally whir near our faces. “Oh, a bat--hate bats--how the skipper snores! I hope there be no resurrection-men in St Jago, or I shall be stolen away to a certainty before morning. How should I look as a skeleton in a glass-case, eh?” I heard no more, until, it might be, about midnight, when I was awakened, and frightened out of my wits, by Bang rolling off the table on to my quatre, which he broke in his fall, and then we both rolled over and over on the floor. “Murder!” roared Bang. “I am bewitched and bedevilled. Murder! a scorpion has dropped from the roof into my mouth, and stung me on the nose. Murder! Tom--Tom Cringle--Captain--Transom, my dear fellows, awake and send for the doctor. Oh my wig--oh dear oh dear.”