“This looks very much like an act of piracy, don’t you see,” remarked the incautious Tourniquet.
“So like, that there can be no difference,” replied the pirate; “and you look as if you had a great desire for a swing from the fore-yard arm, or a plunge under the bows, don’t you see. But you are too useful at present, so look to the wounded, Doctor Tourniquet, or I’ll have you hanged before you can suspect any thing about it.”
The doctor’s ruddy features grew pale with fear, and he made his way to his patients without loss of time.
“Master Porphyry, you had better go to your cabin,” said the captain, “and your shadow may go with you; but if I notice any treachery in either, you shall not have time to say a prayer.” The friends left the deck together without a reply.
“And now, boys, hey for Madagascar; and as this job’s done, you may set your hearts afloat as much as you like.” A cheer followed the announcement—the liquor was soon in requisition; and the pirates became so incapable of taking care of themselves, that if the defenders of the ship who were alive had not been disabled by their wounds, the Albatross might have been retaken the same evening.
The wounded men were lying where they had fallen when the doctor arrived amongst them. In a moment his fear for himself disappeared in his anxiety for the poor fellows who so much required his assistance.
“Here, Loop!” he cried as soon as he noticed the lad, unhurt, endeavouring to support his wounded relative. “Run into my cabin, and you will find on the table there a case of instruments, bring them here, look in at the cook room as you return, and ask Roly Poly to let me have a basin of warm water instantly, for I have immediate want for it, don’t you see.” The boy, with tears in his eyes, left old Hearty to the care of the surgeon, and hastened to obey his instructions.
“Well, old friend!” exclaimed he, taking the sailor by the hand, “where are you hurt? Ah, I perceive—ugly gash in the face—don’t you see—any thing else?”
“Arm cut to the bone, and shot through the body,” said the man faintly.
“Bad,” replied the doctor; “but cheer up. I’ve put worse things than that to rights, don’t you see. There, let me take off your jacket. Don’t exert yourself: I’ll do it. You’ve lost a good deal of blood, my friend, and feel a little sickish or so. Never mind that. Now let me move your shirt from the wound. Tut, tut,” he exclaimed, as the man seemed to shrink with pain when the linen was withdrawn from the lacerated flesh. “You must learn to bear pain, don’t you see. Wo’n’t hurt you more than I can help.” He then minutely examined his patient’s hurts. “Bad gun-shot wound that; but the bullet’s taken a more favourable direction than I expected, don’t you see. Ugly cut this in the arm; muscles cut through; arteries severed; requires much attention. Gash in the face don’t look well, but is in no way alarming. So, old friend, cheer up; you’re wounded severely, but not mortally, don’t you see.”