"Captain Bunker, for God's sake! what are you doing?"
Captain Bunker turned slowly and without apparent concern towards his
captor. Hurlstone fell back before the vacant, lack-lustre eyes that
were fixed upon him.
"Captain Bunker's my name," said the madman, in a whisper. "Lemuel
Bunker, of Nantucket! Hush! don't waken him," pointing to the prostrate
fisherman; "I've put him to sleep. I'm Captain Bunker--old drunken
Bunker--who stole one ship from her owners, and disgraced himself, and
now is going to steal another--ha, ha! Let me go."
"Captain Bunker," said Hurlstone, recovering himself in time to prevent
the maniac from dashing into the water. "Look at me. Don't you know me?"
"Yes, yes; you're one of old Bunker's dogs kicked overboard by Perkins.
I'm one of Perkins' dogs gone mad, and locked up by Perkins! Ha, ha! But
I got out! Hush! SHE let me out. SHE thought I was going to see the boys
at San Antonio. But I'm going off to see the old barque out there in the
fog. I'm going to chuck Perkins overboard and the two mates. Let me go."
He struggled violently. Hurlstone, fearful of quitting his hold to
release the fisherman, whom Captain Bunker no longer noticed, and not
daring to increase the Captain's fury by openly calling to him, beckoned
the pinioned man to make an effort.
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