“Try and swallow it, Gray, my good fellow.”
The young man opened his eyes as if awakened from sleep, stared about till they rested on Miss Linton, when they closed again, and he drank the stimulant with difficulty.
“Stand back, please. Captain Smithers, keep every one away, and let us have all the air we can.”
Thus appealed to, the young officer motioned back those who pressed forward, the news of the accident having spread through the ship, and all who dared ascending to the quarter-deck.
“How provoking!” exclaimed Major Sandars. “One of my best men too, doctor. Really, Bolter, I must put a stop to your natural history researches.”
“Confound it all, major!” cried the little doctor, angrily; “it was an accident. That young dog caught the snake, and—no—no! it’s all right, Roberts. It was my fault; I ought to have foreseen what would happen.”
Ensign Long had begun to congratulate himself on the fact that Bob Roberts was about to have a good wigging, but found out that he was wrong, and felt annoyed to see how important a part the lad played in the proceedings to fight back the effects of the deadly poison.
“Take my coat off, Roberts,” said the doctor. “Gently, boy, gently. That’s right. Now the ammonia; good. Raise his head a little. Poor fellow, we mustn’t let him slip through our fingers. That’s it, Miss Linton. Miss Sinclair, will you get a big fan, and give him all the air you can?”
He was obeyed to the letter; while Captain Horton and the resident stood near, ready to help in any way they could, for the news had caused the deepest concern through out the ship.
“Yah!” cried Private Sim, with an ugly snarl; “there’s yer nasty favouritism. See how they’re all a-cuddling and messing that there Gray up, orficers and women and all. Might ha’ died afore they’d ha’ done anything for me.”