“Ay, begorra,” answered the Irishman; “Dirk’s done for, I expect; and there’s others of us that’ll want plenty of watchin’ if we’re ever to see the other side of the Line again.”
“Is that so?” ejaculated I. “Then for Heaven’s sake send somebody to relieve me, that I may go for’ard and see what is to be done in the way of stitching and bandaging.”
“Ay!” exclaimed O’Gorman, “bad cess to me for forgittin’ it; that was what I came aft to ye for.”
And therewith he hurried away forward again, and in a few minutes a man came aft and took over the wheel. I hurried below, and found Miss Onslow engaged upon some needlework. She looked up with a bright smile of welcome as I entered, but immediately sprang to her feet, exclaiming:
“Charlie! what has happened? You are as white as a ghost! Have you received information of any fresh villainy?”
“No, dear, no,” I interrupted. “Something very serious has certainly happened, but this time it concerns us only very indirectly. The men have been quarrelling and fighting among themselves in the forecastle, and one or two of them are rather seriously hurt. May I enter your cabin for a moment, sweetheart? There is a medicine-chest there, with, probably, a supply of surgical bandages and so on. I will take the whole affair for’ard, as until I have seen precisely what is the matter it will be impossible for me to know what I shall require.”
“Then, Charlie, are you going to dress the injuries of those wretched men?” she asked.
“Yes, dear,” I answered; “you need not be uneasy, however; they will not hurt me. They will be quiet enough for some time after this, I expect; and possibly the occurrence may have the effect of causing them to determine on adopting some less inhuman method than murder to get rid of us.”
“God grant it—if it should come to the worst,” answered the dear girl. “But, Charlie, I was not afraid on your behalf, dear; they will scarcely lay hands on you while you are engaged in alleviating their sufferings. I was about to ask whether you think I could be of any use; whether I should go with you.”
“Certainly not!” answered I, in accents of sternness that were, however, levelled at the brutes forward, not at the sweet woman who was so ready to forget all that she had endured at the hands of these ruffians, and to undertake, she knew not what, in her willingness to forgive and help them. “No,” I continued, “you will remain here, darling; this is your end of the ship, and you can do no better than stick to it. Whatever may be necessary to be done forward, I can and will do.”