As soon as the patients had been tended there were a score of matters to take Syd’s attention; but he was well seconded by Roylance, who, to Terry’s disgust, threw himself heart and soul into the work of keeping the fort as if it were a ship.
The lieutenant progressed wonderfully now that the feverish stage was over, and one day he said—
“I can’t work, Syd, my dear boy, for I am as weak as a baby, and I shall not interfere in any way, so go on and behave like a man.”
Pan forgot to use his sling to such an extent that there could be no mistake about his wound being in a fair way to heal, and were other proof needed it was shown in the way in which he tormented his helpless father. For though the boatswain pooh-poohed the idea of anything much being the matter with him, it was evident that he suffered a great deal, though he never winced when his injuries were dressed.
“Serves me right,” he used to say. “Arter all my practice, to think o’ me not being able to heave a rope on board a derrylick without chucking myself arter it. There, don’t you worrit about me, sir. Give me a hextry fig o’ tobacco, and a stick or a rope’s-end to stir up that young swab o’ mine, and I shall grow fresh bark over all my grazings, and the broken ribs ’ll soon get set. How are you getting on with the boat?”
“Not at all, Strake,” replied Syd. “We can’t pump her out because there’s a big leak in her somewhere, and I don’t like to break her up in case we think of a way of floating her so as to get away from here.”
“What? Who wants to get away from here, sir? Orders was to occupy this here rock, and of course you hold it till the skipper comes back and takes us off.”
“Yes; but in case our provisions fail?”
“Tchah! ketch more fish, sir. There’s plenty, aren’t there?”
“Yes; as much as we can use.”