“I suppose not.”
“Very well then, dear lad, what would have happened?”
“I’m afraid—he would have died.”
“And how soon, sir?”
“He would have bled to death. I can’t say how soon. Before night.”
“Exactly, sir. Well, then, you came and set to work in a way as made every Jack here feel as if he’d do anything for you, sir; and it’s to-morrow now, and the lufftenant arn’t dead.”
“No, Strake; not yet.”
“Nor arn’t going to be; what more do you want? Come, rouse up, my lad, and hold your head higher. Don’t be skeered. Let go at us; call us swabs and lubbers, anything you can lay your tongue to; the men ’ll like it from you. And as to Mr Terry, as has gone up where I planted the flagstaff this morning, don’t you fret about him. He daren’t hardly say his soul’s his own.”
“You’ve planted the flagstaff?”
“Yes, sir; right on the top, fastened it down between some rocks, and got guys out to other rocks. I didn’t hyste the colours, for this wind would tear the bunting all to rags.”