“Mr Grenvile to see you, sir,” said the surgeon, ushering me in.
“Ah, Mr Grenvile, come in; I am glad to see you,” said the poor fellow, extending his hand to me. “Make room for yourself on that sofa locker there; never mind my clothes, pitch them down anywhere, I shall never want them again.”
“Oh, I don’t know, sir!” said I, affecting to misunderstand him, as I took the garments one by one and hung them upon hooks screwed to the bulkhead. “This coat, for instance,” said I, holding it up, “will clean very well, I should think, but the waistcoat and trousers—well, I’m afraid you will need new ones, for these seem to be past repairing.”
“You misunderstand me, Grenvile,” he said. “But never mind, we’ll not talk about that just now; I have other and more important matters that I wish to speak about. And first of all, as to our losses, I fear they have been very heavy, have they not?”
“No, sir,” said I. “On the contrary, they are very light indeed, compared with those of the enemy. We have lost only five killed and eleven wounded, your case being the most serious of the latter, and Hamilton tells me that he hopes to have all hands of you up and as hearty as ever within the month.”
“Does he—does he really say that? God be thanked for that good news!” exclaimed the poor fellow with more energy than I could have expected from a man presenting such a ghastly appearance as he did. For his cheeks were sunken, and white as chalk, and his lips were quite blue. “The fact is, Grenvile,” he continued, “that I don’t want to die yet, if I can help it; not that I am not prepared to die, if it be God’s will to take me, for, thanks be to Him, I am ready to go at any moment, if the call should come, as all men should be, especially soldiers and sailors, who are peculiarly liable to receive their summons at a moment’s notice. No, it is not that, but I should like to live a little longer, if it might be so, for—for many reasons, the chief of which is that I have a wife at home—whose—whose heart—”
The dear fellow was getting a little excited, I saw, and that, of course, would be bad for him, so I cut in:
“Never fear, sir,” I exclaimed cheerily. “You will ride this squall out all right, I’ve not a doubt of it. You must not judge by your present feelings, you know. Just now you are exhausted with loss of blood and the pain of your wound, but I intend to carry on and get you ashore and in hospital within the next three days, please God, and once you are out of this close cabin, and in a nice airy ward, with proper nurses to look after you, you will begin to pull round in a way that will astonish you. You are in no danger, sir; Hamilton told me so, and I should think he ought to know.” It was useless to lie unless it were done boldly, and I inwardly prayed that my pious fraud might be forgiven.
“Well, well, I hope so,” the poor fellow gasped. “At all events I will try to hold on until we arrive, and then perhaps I may get my step. If I got that—”
“Get your step, sir?” I cut in again. “Of course you will get it! I only wish I were half as certain of getting the ten thousand a year that my uncle has promised to leave me when he dies. Get your step? Why, sir, it is as good as in your pocket already.”