“But,” said another, “if ever we does get back to Britain’s shore, won’t we let ourselves spread, Bill, eh?”
“That will we, Jim, and not a little bit either. Ye can bet your ’at on that. And I say, Jim, wot cher think? I——”
He never finished his sentence, for a piercing shriek from Johnnie, who was next to him, drew attention to the poor lad. His rope had slackened, and he swung with his feet almost touching the water.
Bill Carry seized him just in time, and shouted for help from above.
Both he and the poor fat boy were almost immediately drawn up.
The blood was flowing like a fountain from Johnnie’s leg, which a shark had snapped off close above the knee.
Sister Leona came up, and with Antonio’s assistance quickly applied a tourniquet, and the bleeding was partially stopped.
Johnnie had fainted, and during the time he lay thus insensible, Sister Leona dressed the stump as neatly as a surgeon could have done.
It was not until after the unfortunate lad had been placed in a cot beneath the awning that he recovered semi-consciousness.
But wild, hot fever set in that night, and all throughout the long dark hours he raved and talked of home, of his sister, his mother, and grannie.