I took the wounded man’s pulse. It was intermittent. The body’s extremities were already growing cold, and I saw that death was approaching without any possibility of my holding it in check. After dressing the poor man’s wound, I redid the linen bandages around his head, and I turned to Captain Nemo.
“How did he get this wound?” I asked him.
“That’s not important,” the captain replied evasively. “The Nautilus suffered a collision that cracked one of the engine levers, and it struck this man. My chief officer was standing beside him. This man leaped forward to intercept the blow. A brother lays down his life for his brother, a friend for his friend, what could be simpler? That’s the law for everyone on board the Nautilus. But what’s your diagnosis of his condition?”
I hesitated to speak my mind.
“You may talk freely,” the captain told me. “This man doesn’t understand French.”
I took a last look at the wounded man, then I replied:
“This man will be dead in two hours.”
“Nothing can save him?”
“Nothing.”
Captain Nemo clenched his fists, and tears slid from his eyes, which I had thought incapable of weeping.