“Don’t stand on ceremony, gentlemen,” cried the mate, angrily. “Mr Drew, are you all right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then take command here. You have your gun, keep a sharp look-out, and no mercy now, down with the first of the treacherous dogs who comes near.”
“Right. I’m ready,” said Drew; “but pray see to my friends.”
Oliver was already on his way to the cabin hatch.
“You trust me for that, sir,” said the mate. “Steady there. Ah! An arrow! Here, quick; down with Mr Panton.”
The men who had lifted him from the deck, panting with fear and horror, were quick enough in their actions, and the two young men were soon lying one on each side of the cabin floor.
“You shall be attended to directly, Mr Lane,” said the mate, hurriedly. “You’re not bleeding much. Here, Smith, hold this cloth tightly against Mr Lane’s arm.”
He hurried to Panton’s side, and turned him more over upon his face, showing the broken shaft of an arrow sticking through the cloth of the young man’s jacket. Then quickly taking out his knife, he did not hesitate for a moment, but ordering Wriggs to hold the cabin lamp so as to cast its light upon the broken arrow, he inserted his knife, and ripped the light Norfolk jacket right up to the collar, and across the injured place, so that he could throw it open, and then serving the thin flannel shirt the young man wore in the same way, the wound was at once laid bare, and the extent of the injury seen.
“Can’t ha’ gone into his heart, sir,” said Wriggs, respectfully. “’Cause it’s pinting uppards.”