Jerry put his right arm behind him, his left hanging limply, and getting hold of the rudder-yoke he laid the cutter alongside the yacht. He and Wrenmarsh got up to the deck, a davit was turned out-board as a crane and the boxes hoisted, and then the boat slung up.
Faint and savage with pain, Jerry still fought with himself to keep up, and to fulfill his duties as commander. He remembered that his order for the Merle to lie to where she was had been disregarded; and though he was inwardly glad that the yacht had been brought to meet the cutter, he felt that discipline was discipline, and he was in no mood to let any infringement of orders go unnoted. He called Gonzague.
"What's the meaning of this?" he demanded fiercely. "Didn't I give orders to keep the yacht hove to till I came out?"
"Yes, sair," Gonzague answered contritely, stroking his stiff white mustache with nervous fingers, "bot I heer de shotin' ashore, an'"—
"That made no difference. I'm ashamed that an old seaman like you should disobey orders simply because he heard a row ashore. Go forward. I shall mark you in the log."
The old man took himself off without a word. However much he was likely to feel the sting of this reproof, he was not the man to fail to respect the mate for it, and of this Tab might be assured when he had the calmness to think things over.
Jerry gave the helmsman the course for Naples, and the Merle swung off on her return. Then he started to go below, but now that the need of immediate action was over he suddenly turned sick and dizzy. He put out his uninjured arm with a quick clutch at Mr. Wrenmarsh.
"Give me—your arm," he said weakly. "I'm—I'm hit, you know, and things go round."
"Hit!" echoed the collector. "Where? Is it serious?"