This was provoked by Frycollin, who, finding himself above the boundless sea, was seized with another fit of terror.

Like a child, like the Negro he was, he gave himself over to groaning and protesting and crying, and writhing in a thousand contortions and grimaces.
"I want to get out! I want to get out! I am not a bird! Boohoo! I don't want to fly, I want to get out!" Uncle Prudent, as may be imagined, did not attempt to quiet him.

In fact, he encouraged him, and particularly as the incessant howling seemed to have a strangely irritating effect on Robur.
When Tom Turner and his companions were getting ready for fishing, the engineer ordered them to shut up Frycollin in his cabin.

But the Negro never ceased his jumping about, and began to kick at the wall and yell with redoubled power.
It was noon.

The "Albatross" was only about fifteen or twenty feet above the water.