“Ha’ mussy on us! Here, Mr Belton, sir, quick,” cried the boatswain, hoarsely. “You said I warn’t to bring pistols. Wish him as ’vented ’em had been drowned first. Look ye here, sir; is no one going to bring a light? Mr Belton, sir; Master Syd; pray make haste. I’ve made you another job.”
All this in a wild, excited manner, as, trembling now with horror, Sydney knelt down by a dark-looking object on the rocks, lying quite motionless, and for a few moments he could not collect himself sufficiently to render any aid.
“Ha’ mussy on us!” groaned the boatswain. Then with an angry burst, “I want to know how he got here.”
“Stowed hisself away in the boat,” said one of the men, “when we corned away, but I thought he’d gone back again to the ship.”
“Brought him down. My own boy,” groaned the boatswain. “Ah, here’s the light.”
“Quick! Stand round so as to shelter the candle,” cried Syd, who was now recovering himself and trying to act in a calm, business-like manner; and directly after he was kneeling there in the centre of that ring of anxious faces, and proceeding by the light of the candle, which the boatswain held down, to examine the boy, who lay curled up in a heap.
To all appearances he was dead, so still did he lie; but the moment Syd took hold of one hand to feel the injured boy’s pulse, there was a sudden spasmodic jerk and a loud yell which went echoing up the valley.
“Hah!” ejaculated Syd, for he knew it was a good sign. “Hold still, Pan,” he continued, gently; “let me see where you are hurt.”
“Let him be, sir. I’ve killed um, I know I have!”
Syd tried to find where the boy was wounded, but at every touch Pan shrieked out as if in agony, and kicked out his legs and drew himself up again as if trying to make himself into a ball.