Beside his engines, motionless as the gleaming cranks themselves, lay Garth, his head in a puddle of rapidly-congealing blood. With a low, fearful cry, Wilson flung himself down beside his friend, anxiously feeling for the beating of his heart.
“Thank God!” he muttered at last, “he lives!” and, without wasting further words, set to work to restore the unconscious man.
Half an hour passed ere Garth came round, and then so weak was he from loss of blood, that the engineer insisted on him retiring at once to his berth. Only when he was sleeping soundly did the comrades return to the cabin where Haverly lay.
With their eyes asking the question they dared not put into words, they approached the professor, who still watched beside his patient; and surely, never was prisoner more glad to receive reprieve, than they to hear Mervyn’s verdict: “He will live.”
Almost Seymour leapt for joy as he heard the words; but, remembering in time the need for absolute quiet, he restrained himself, and returned with Chenobi to the deck, there to use his superfluous energy in casting overboard the carcases of the slain wolf-men and their priest. That done, he and the engineer turned their attention to getting the Seal afloat again, as while she remained ashore they were exposed to the constant danger of an attack by the savages; and this, while Haverly’s condition was so serious, they wished to avoid, if possible.
By taking the tide at its flood, they managed to effect their purpose, their actions being keenly watched by the Ayuti. Then, when the vessel was once more in her natural element, they deemed themselves more secure.
“Now to get out of this mail,” said Seymour; “it’s a little too heavy for general use, though very handy in a scrap. Wilson, just keep your weather eye lifting on deck here, while I get into some decent togs.”
Presently the baronet was once more decently clothed, rejoicing in the luxury of clean linen. As for the king, he had perforce to be content with his mail suit, Seymour’s wardrobe containing nothing that would fit his huge limbs, which fact, however, did not inconvenience Chenobi in the least.
Their first meal aboard the recovered vessel was one they never forgot. Wilson, ever an adept at the culinary art, had surpassed himself. The saloon table literally groaned beneath the weight of good things; it sparkled with cut-glass and silver. At its head sat the grey-haired scientist, who had left his patient sleeping easily under the influence of a soothing draught. On his right hand sat Seymour and the Ayuti, the latter a strange-looking figure in his armour, amongst the luxurious modern furnishings of the saloon. The electric light gleamed and flashed on his mail at every movement he made, and his jewel, the insignia of his royal rank, which he had not removed, seemed almost to rival in brilliance the glare of the great arc lamp set in the ceiling above.
Everything was, of course, very strange to him. Food, vessels, and cutlery were alike unknown to him; yet, realising he must conform to the habits of his new-found friends, if he would dwell with them in their upper world, he laid aside his gauntlets, and closely followed the example of Seymour.