The minutes which followed were busy ones indeed, for, as may be imagined, there was much to be done after such a brisk little encounter. Swinging the launch round, while the Turk gave the engine steam, Smith steered her in till she was quite close to the island; then the motor-boat came alongside her, and the two vessels were moored there, the crew of the British vessel taking ropes ashore, and their own and the launch's anchor.
"I'm not a sailor," Geoff told the men aboard the motor-boat, when at last they were secured to the island, "so I'll leave it to the senior amongst you to look to your damages. You've got some shot-holes about your hull, I'm sure, for I heard the bullets strike, and I can see water spurting in in more than one direction. Just post four men up on to the deck of the launch to look after our prisoners, and let one man make his way through the reeds of the island to the far side to keep watch for the arrival of more enemies. Now, Philip, give a hand and let us look to the Commander."
Leaping down into the cabin, they found Commander Houston lying full length upon the floor, his face wonderfully changed from that to which they had become accustomed. Instead of displaying a ruddy countenance, and cheeks which glowed with health and vigour, there was now a deathly pallor upon the merry face of their friend, which seemed to have shrunken and grown smaller. But if the gallant sailor had suffered an injury, as indeed he had without a doubt, and if he were placed hors de combat by it, there was yet no loss of spirit, no lack of joviality; indeed the same happy smile wreathed the pallid face of this most gallant fellow, while he was still actually making a pretence of smoking.
"A nice brisk little affair; eh, boys?" he said weakly, in tones which evidently astonished and disgusted himself, for he apologized for them. "Don't take any notice of my voice," he told them; "it's nothing, believe me; merely a shot through my chest, for which I have to thank that Turkish Commander. A mere trifle, I assure you," he went on, and then coughed violently, while blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth.
He shut his eyes, and, in the midst of calling to them again, fell backwards heavily, leaving both Geoff and Philip dismayed at his appearance. Springing forward, Phil lifted his head and supported the Commander against his knee, while Geoff rapidly undid his tunic, and, seeing clearly from the stain upon it where the wound must be, tore the shirt open. But what to do further was the question with him, for, though our hero may have had some experience already of travelling, and had undoubtedly seen rather more of foreign places than is the lot of most young fellows, yet he was singularly ignorant of wounds, had seen few indeed, and had practically no training in minor surgery. But amongst the crew there was one who was quite an experienced old sailor, who, had he cared to tell his tale, no doubt could have yarned to them of many a naval scrap in out-of-the-way places. It was the Cox who joined them now—a short, broad-shouldered, rather wizened fellow, with a cheerful smile always on his face, and with that brisk, respectful, helpful way about him so common to his counterpart, the non-commissioned officer, in the army.
"You just hold on to him like that," he told Philip, who was supporting the Commander's head and shoulders. "No," he added in a warning voice, "no, I wouldn't let him lie down flat, sir, if I was you, 'cause, you see, sir, he's hit through the lung, and he's bleeding internally. If you just think for a moment, sir, you'll see that that sort of thing is likely to drown a man, to swamp his lungs, as it were, and the more you can sit him up for a while the better. Hi, Marsden," he called, "let's have that surgical pannier!"
If Geoff and his chum were entirely ignorant of wounds beyond what knowledge was required to place a first field dressing in position—and that was a task which every officer and man learned as a matter of course—the Cox was, on the other hand, quite a respectable surgeon. While Philip held the Commander's heavy frame up, the broad-shouldered little sailor cut away his tunic and shirt, and, having exposed the wound both at the front and at the back—for the bullet had passed right through the body—he swiftly dabbed each wound with his brush loaded with iodine, and then clapped on a dressing.
"Next thing is to bandage him up so as to leave the other side of his chest free to move, and keep this side just as still as possible," he told Geoff; "that will give the damaged arteries and veins a chance to heal and stop bleeding. Beg pardon, sir, but if you'd hold the box of dressings I can help myself easier."
With dexterous hands—hands which were as gentle as might be, in spite of this sailor's rough calling—the Cox rapidly secured the dressings with a roller bandage. Meanwhile, at a call from Geoff, the cabin cushions had been laid on the boards at the bottom of the cabin, and on this improvised bed the Commander was now laid, his head well propped up with cushions.
"And we'll just roll him over on to his damaged side, like that," the Cox told them. "That means that, as he breathes, that side won't move, and can't move overmuch, while the other one will be doing all the work for him. He is opening his eyes, I do declare! Why!—--"