"God—I am shot!" was my only exclamation as I gasped for breath, and placed a hand upon the contused place, while all my thoughts fled home—my mother and sister—their voices, their faces—and my past life, in all its most trivial incidents flashed like a vision before me!
"Only a spent ball, Ellis," said Tom Telfer cheerfully. "You'll be all right in a minute—hold up, like a man."
"Here, my lad, take a pull at my canteen," said a marine of the Asia, who was hastening forward; "you'll find something in it better than sangaree."
He held the little wooden barrel to my lips, and a draught of brandy-and-water revived me.
"Now, I knew that would make you well, sergeant."
Some memories of his face and voice now came before me.
"Jack—Jack Joyce," said I, "don't you know me?"
"Not I, sergeant, but we meet so many on sea and land—in ship and garrison."
"I am Oliver Ellis, who was with you on board the Tartar tender."
"What! you—little Oliver, whom I helped to slip his moorings and run from the Tartar cutter, when we were off the Sandridge light!"