After that I must have been insensible again, for the next thing I remember is hearing a groan, and directly after the voices of men talking in a familiar way.
“That’s it, lads; altogether, and out she comes.”
I could see light now, for something was lifted off me, and I looked out through a framework of shattered woodwork at the bright sunshine.
“Now then,” said the same voice; “lift him out on to the deck.”
It was Bob Hampton speaking, and it was Dumlow who spoke next in a low growl.
“Poor lad; he’s got it bad, arn’t he?”
I thought in my half-stunned fashion that they were talking about me; but they were lifting some one else, and just then Jarette came up. I couldn’t see him, but I could hear him blundering over the wreck around, and his words plain enough as he said sharply—
“Dead? Overboard with him if he is.”
“No, he arn’t dead,” said Bob Hampton. “Doctors don’t die in a hurry. He’ll come to and cure hisself, I dessay. Come on, mate.”
In a muddled, dreamy way I knew now that it was a doctor they were carrying, and if it was a doctor I felt that it must be Mr Frewen; but what it all meant, or why I was lying there, I could not tell in the least.