All their terms
of affection and gratitude were spent upon me, and in a sense
wasted (for I could not understand half of them), yet they made
all known by their manner. Poor Hope was so much revived at the
bare thought of anything being done for him that he seemed already
stronger and better. I knew he must die as he was, and he could
but die under the medicines, and any chance was worth running. An
oven exposed to every wind and change of weather is no place to
take calomel; but nothing else would do, and strong remedies must
be used, or he was gone. The applications, internal and external,
were powerful, and I gave him strict directions to keep warm and
sheltered, telling him it was his only chance for life. Twice
after this, I visited him, having only time to run up, while
waiting in the boat. He promised to take his medicines regularly
while we were up the coast, until we returned, and insisted upon
it that he was doing better.
We got under way on the 10th, bound up to San Pedro, and had three
days of calm and head winds, making but little progress. On the
fourth, we took a stiff southeaster, which obliged us to reef our
topsails. While on the yard, we saw a sail on the weather bow, and
in about half an hour passed the Ayacucho, under double-reefed
topsails, beating down to San Diego.
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