A yell burst from Pan at this announcement, and Syd and Roylance exchanged glances.
The patient was evidently quite sensible.
“Smith, hold his legs,” said Syd; “Strake, you and Rogers each take an arm. I will be as tender as I can.”
“Hadn’t we better let him die in peace, sir?” groaned the boatswain.
“No; not till everything has been done to try and save him.”
“Oh!” yelled Pan.
“Now then, as softly as you can. Once I see where he is injured, I shall be able to know what to do.”
“Very well, sir,” said the boatswain, piteously. “There, my poor boy, I won’t hurt you much,” and he took Pan’s arm.
A shriek made him let go and jump away to begin wiping his brow.
“Again: quick, and let’s get it done, Strake,” whispered Syd. “Ready? Now then, all together.”