Edward Drake knelt down beside his brother, and to his dismay saw that Lindsay was seriously wounded. The doctor came and the two injured men were carefully carried to the sick bay.
The Esmeralda was completely fitted up, and even contained a small operating theatre to which Lindsay Drake was taken—unconscious and groaning.
The doctor made a summary examination of both the patients and his face was very grave when he came out.
“Mr. Gaunt is not badly injured; a splinter struck him on the head, and perhaps there is some concussion of the brain, but there is no danger,” he announced.
“But my brother?” Edward Drake asked hoarsely.
“I can do nothing, except to ease the pain,” was the reluctant answer.
“He will die?”
“Yes. Vital organs are injured, and it will be useless to operate.”
“I must go to him,” Drake said very quietly, but his face was white and drawn. The doctor led the way, and then left the brothers alone. Lindsay Drake opened his eyes and looked listlessly at his brother.
“I am done for, Edward,” he whispered.