Margaret managed to scramble in, helped by the boatmen. Then he collapsed in the bottom of the boat over Ed. He had had a moving time. He came-to quickly, with the taste of rum in his mouth and a feeling of intense cold. His teeth chattered; he was weak and sick. “Land and bring off Stukeley,” he said. “I can’t leave Stukeley.”
“We’ll be in the sloop in a minute,” said one of the men. “We’ll shift him there. He got a prod in the shoulder.”
“How is it, Ed?” said another voice. “You’re all right.”
“What’s wrong with Ed?” said one of the rowers.
“Got a bat with a stone, I guess. I can’t see no shot hole. Hold up, Ed. You ain’t dead yet.”
“I’m all right,” said Ed weakly. “That Margaret fellow fell all across me and knocked me down.”
“He pulled you quit of the mix,” said Tucket. “Don’t you forget it.”
“He did, hell,” said Ed.
Margaret rose up in the boat. “I can’t leave Stukeley,” he said. “Pull in, Captain Tucket, and bring him off.”
“You lie down, sir, and stay quiet,” said Captain Tucket. “We’ll be there directly.”