Seeing the blood, his consternation expressed itself with maternal vehemence.
"_Cristo del Grao!_...

My captain's going to die!..." He wanted to run to the galley in search of cotton and bandages.

He was something of a quack doctor and always kept things necessary for such cases.
Ulysses stopped him.

He would accept his services, but he wished something more.
"I want to eat, Uncle Caragol," he said gayly.

"I shall be content with whatever you have....