“Yes, terribly.”
“Well, don’t be uneasy about that. I gave you a strong dose of opium yesterday, and you’ve only just slept it off. Never mind about the head. Let your doctors see your arm.”
This was carefully unbandaged, the captain displaying no mean skill.
“Swollen a bit,” he said; “the bandages have been drawn too tight. A nasty hurt; but you’re a healthy man, and the wound looks the same. There’s no poison here.”
“Do you feel sure?” asked Sir Humphrey, while Brace looked anxiously on.
“Certain, sir. Look for yourself. A bit hot and inflamed, and very tender to the touch, but quite natural. A poisoned wound would look very different from that. Here, squire, we’ll give it a good bath and a new bandage and it will be quite easy. We’re not going to turn back from our voyage because our leader has been hurt.”
“Your words do me good, captain,” said Sir Humphrey, smiling. “A man cannot help feeling just a bit nervous when he has received such a wound, can he?”
“Of course not, sir. He wouldn’t be a man if he didn’t. I don’t suppose a marble image minds much about a chip or its head being knocked off. But I know I should.”
“Should you, captain?” said Brace drily.
“Of course I—No, I shouldn’t,” cried the captain. “I suppose a fellow wouldn’t think much without his head. But let’s talk sense. I’m not a doctor, Sir Humphrey, but I’ve had a lot of queer jobs to tackle in my time, and only lost one patient. He was too much for me. Fell from the main-top cross-trees and broke his neck. I couldn’t set that. But I did set a broken arm and a broken leg. Made ’em stronger than they were before. Then I had a chap nipped between a water-cask and the side of the hold. Broke two of his ribs. I mended him too.”