All hands were called, the preparations had been completed, and Winchester waited only for the reappearance of Cuffe, to issue the order to have the prisoner placed on the grating.

A midshipman was sent into the cabin, after which the commanding officer came slowly, and with a lingering step, upon the quarter-deck.

The crew was assembled on the forecastle and in the waists; the marine guard was under arms; the officers clustered around the capstan; and a solemn, uneasy expectation pervaded the whole ship.

The lightest footfall was audible.

Andrea and his friend stood apart, near the taffrail, but no one saw Carlo Giuntotardi or his niece.
"There is yet some five-and-twenty minutes of sun, I should think, Mr.
Winchester," observed Cuffe, feverishly glancing his eye at the western margin of the sea, toward which the orb of day was slowly settling, gilding all that side of the vault of heaven with the mellow lustre of the hour and latitude.
"Not more than twenty, I fear, sir," was the reluctant answer.
"I should think five might suffice, at the worst; especially if the men make a swift run." This was said in a half whisper, and thick husky tones, the Captain looking anxiously at the lieutenant the while.
Winchester shrugged his shoulders, and turned away, unwilling to reply.
Cuffe now had a short consultation with the surgeon, the object of which was to ascertain the minimum of time a man might live, suspended by the neck at the yard-arm of a frigate.