“Assuredly, señor,” answered the surgeon. “We beat her off, with great loss, and, taking advantage of the fact that you had dismasted us with that last venomous broadside that you poured into us just as we ran alongside you, your people made good their escape. But I doubt very much whether they will ever reach a port; indeed it is most probable that they have all gone to the bottom by this time, for the schooner was terribly cut up, and appeared to be making a great deal of water when she hauled off and made sail.”
“They will get in all right, señor,” said I. “I have very little fear of that. If they managed to get from under your guns without being sunk, they will somehow contrive to keep the schooner afloat until they reach a port. And now perhaps you can tell me how it is that I happen to be here. Does your captain take care of his wounded prisoners and nurse them back to health, as a rule?”
“By no means, señor,” answered Fonseca with a grin. “His usual practice, after a fight, is to fling the wounded and dead alike to the sharks, while the unwounded are afforded the option of joining us or—walking the plank. Why he has made an exception in your case, señor, is more than I can tell; it is a mystery which I will not attempt to fathom. Nor should I care to hazard a guess as to whether his action bodes you good or evil; all I know is that he happened to be standing by when, after the retreat of your schooner, our people were clearing the decks of the dead and wounded, and that when you were about to be thrown overboard he suddenly interposed and ordered you to be taken below and placed in his own cot, my instructions being to attend to your hurts at once, before attending to even the most seriously injured of our own people.”
“Um! that is rather queer behaviour, isn’t it?” I commented. And, as Fonseca nodded, I continued: “And pray, when did this happen?”
“About five hours ago, immediately after the fight,” was the answer. “I have been attending to our own wounded during the interval, and have only just finished with them. I am afraid I shall lose a good many of them. Your men fought like fiends, and struck some very shrewd blows; indeed there was a moment when I began to think that Captain Ricardo had made a serious mistake in determining to run down and lay you aboard. For a minute or two it looked very much as though our people were about to give way before you, and indeed I believe they would have done so but for the fact that your men grew discouraged and gave way when you fell. But this will not do at all; here am I talking to you when it is of the utmost importance that you should be kept perfectly quiet. Now, not another word, if you please, but allow me to dress your wounds afresh.”
And so saying he softly opened the cabin door and said something in a low voice to someone who was apparently waiting outside. Then, closing the door again, he returned to the side of my cot and began, with very gentle fingers and a light touch, to remove the bandages that were wrapped about my breast and shoulder.
“This,” he said, “is your most serious injury—a pike wound; when did you get it?”
“I have really not the slightest idea when or how I got it,” I answered. Then I stopped suddenly, for, as I spoke, I suddenly remembered that when I sprang aboard the brig, at the head of the boarders, I was conscious for a moment of having received a violent blow on the chest, the memory of which, however, had instantly vanished in the excitement of the fierce struggle that promptly ensued. “Yes,” said I, “that must have been it.” And I related the occurrence just as it had happened.
Just then a low tap came on the cabin door, and in response to Fonseca’s bidding a young mulatto lad entered, bearing a large basin of warm water, towels, bandages, lint, and other matters.
“Good! Now stand you there, François, and hold the basin while I foment the wound,” ordered Fonseca, who forthwith proceeded to bathe and patch me up in the most careful and skilful manner.