“Hand me that brandy, quick, major!” exclaimed Smearly, as he dropped on one knee and bent over the sufferer, parting the lips with his fingers and pouring a spoonful between the closed teeth. “Now pull that mattress closer, and some of you fellows make a pillow of your coats, and find something to throw over him when he comes to; it’s the cold that’s killing him. He’ll pull through, I think.”
Smearly’s early training in the hospital service while making sketches during the war had more than once stood him in good stead.
The major was the first man in his shirt-sleeves; Leroy’s commodore coat was beginning to be of some real service. Two of the scow’s crew added their own coats, and then ran for an army blanket in the cabin of the scow. The sufferer was lifted up on the mattress and made more comfortable, the coats placed under his head, the army blanket tucked about him.
The injured man gave a convulsive gasp and partly opened his eyes. The brandy was doing its work. Sanford leaned over him to see if he could recognize him, but the ooze and slime clung so thickly to the mustache and closely trimmed beard that he could not make out his features. He seemed to be under thirty years of age, strong and well built. He was dressed in a blue shirt and overalls, and looked like a mechanic.
“How many others?” asked Sanford, looking toward the wreck.
“He’s the only one alive,” answered the captain of the scow. “We hauled him through the winder of the caboose just as she was a-turnin’ over; he’s broke something, some’ers, I guess, or he’d ’a’ come to quicker. There’s two dead men under there,” pointing to the sunken caboose, “so the brakeman says. If we had a diver we could git ’em up. The railroad superintendent’s been here, an’ says he’ll send for one; but you know what that means,—he’ll send for a diver after they git this caboose up; by that time they’d be smashed into pulp.”
The yacht had now steamed back to the wreck with word from Mrs. Leroy to send for whatever would be needed to make the injured man comfortable. Sam delivered the message, standing in the bow of the yacht. He had not liked the idea of leaving Sanford, when the yacht moved off from the scow, and had so expressed himself to the sailing-master. He was Sanford’s servant, not Mrs. Leroy’s, he had said, and when people were getting blown up and his master had to stay and attend to them, his place was beside him, not “waitin’ on de ladies.”
With the approach of the yacht Sanford looked at his watch thoughtfully, and raising his voice to the sailing-master, who was standing in the pilot-house, his hand on the wheel, said: “Captain, I want you to tow this scow to Mrs. Leroy’s dock, so a doctor can get at this wounded man. He needs hot blankets at once. Then crowd on everything you’ve got and run to Keyport. Find Captain Joe Bell, and tell him to put my big air-pump aboard and bring Caleb West and his diving-dress. There are two dead men down here who must be got at before the wrecking train begins on the caboose. My colored boy, Sam, will go with you and help you find the captain’s house,—he knows where he lives. If you are quick you can make Keyport and back in an hour.”
CHAPTER XXIV—THE SWINGING GATE
When the tug landed Caleb at Keyport this same afternoon, he hurried through his duties and went straight to his cabin. Mrs. Leroy’s sympathetic words were still in his ears. He could hear the very tones of her voice and recall the pleading look in her eyes. He wished he had told her the whole truth then and there, and how he felt toward Betty; and he might have done so had not the other ladies been there, expecting her aboard the yacht. He did not feel hurt or angry; he never was with those who spoke well of his wife. Her words had only deepened the conviction that had lately taken possession of his own mind,—that he alone, of all who knew Betty, had shut his heart against her. Even this woman,—a total stranger,—who had taken her out of the streets and befriended her still pleaded for her. When would his own heart ever be softened? What did he want her to do for him? Crawl back on her hands and knees and lie outside his door until he took her in? And if she never came,—what then?