"Cappen, make no bobbery"
"Where's my revolver?" The captain was hunting distractedly through the bed.
"He go, too" The whisper took on a despairing tone. "Cappen, s'pose you gotee match?"
"Yes"
"Makee one light"
Captain Sheldon found the box and struck a match. The tiny illumination filled the narrow cabin. As the flame brightened, Wang rolled over on the floor, disclosing one hand held against his left breast, a hand holding a bloody wad of tunic against a hidden wound. A sop of blood on the floor marked the spot where he had been lying.
The match burned out. Again came the painful whisper.
"Maybe can do now. Bym'by, no can do"
"My God, Wang! You're wounded! How can we get out? I'll carry you"
"No, sir, Cappen. I savvy way. You feelee here, Cappen"