He is helped up, and proceeds at once to lend assistance.
Conal had been a favourite with all the men, and now they work in relays, the one relay relieving the other every five minutes, chafing and rubbing hands, arms, legs, and chest with spirits.
Duncan can do nothing.
He seems stupefied with grief.
After nearly half an hour of hard rubbing and kneading, to the skipper's intense joy the flesh of the arms begins to get softer. Presently a blue knot appears on one, and he knows there is a slight flicker of life reviving in the apparently lifeless body.
The lamp may flicker with a dying glare, and Talbot knows this well, so he refrains from communicating his hopes to disconsolate Duncan.
But he endeavours now to restore respiration, by slowly and repeatedly pressing the arms against the chest, and alternately raising them above the head.
The rubbing goes on.
Soon the eyelids quiver!
There seems to be a struggle, for the poor boy's face turns red--nay, almost blue. Then there is a deep convulsive sigh.