"Make a torch?"
"Yes; and we shall want the bag and rope to make a sort of hammock for Tom. Now send me below. But first—your handkerchiefs, boys."
He stuffed the collection of grimy "wipes" (as the lads styled their pocket-handkerchiefs) in his pocket, and was carefully lowered into the dismal cavern where poor Tom lay.
[1] Sea-caves.
CHAPTER XXX.
"SWEET SIGHT FOR ME THOU TWAIN TO SIT EYES ON."
"Tom! Tom!" Harry had groped his way to Tom's head, had lifted it on his arm, and felt the warm blood welling from a deep cut on the forehead, "Tom, can you not understand?" he said; but Tom made no reply. He was breathing heavily and quite unconscious.
Dr. Holtum had given the Lunda boys many a useful lesson in ambulance surgery, and no one had benefited more from his teaching than Harry Mitchell. With care, and as much precision as was possible without the aid of sight, he bound Tom's head in bandages formed from the handkerchiefs provided, and had the satisfaction of finding that the wound was staunched and the pulse beating a little stronger before many minutes had passed.
He could not, of course, ascertain what other injuries had been inflicted, but he moved Tom's arms and legs gently, and felt satisfied that their bones had escaped.