When I came to myself I was in a bunk on board the Polyphemus, with a group of anxious faces round me.
There was a strong odour of iodoform in the cabin, and a lavish display of lint and bandages, for which I vainly tried to account. I felt at once for the despatches, and had the satisfaction of feeling their bulky outline against my skin.
"All right now?" cheerily asked the little Welsh doctor who had been busily engaged in bringing me to life again.
"Yes, thanks," I replied, trying to sit upright in the bunk, a movement which gave me excruciating pain, and was promptly prevented by the sick bay steward and the doctor.
"Come, come!" he said, with a smile, "none of your nonsense, now. You won't be able to move for a while yet."
Then I remembered the strange numbness of my right leg when I fell into the water.
"What has happened?" I asked. "What have I done—what——"
"Well, if you insist," he said, unwillingly, "you've broken your thigh. It's nothing much, just a simple fracture," he continued, quickly. "Soon be well again, and none the worse for it. Now, don't worry; you'll probably be able to walk as well as if nothing had happened."
I lay still and groaned. This, then, was to be the end of all my vain-glorious imaginings. I began to pity myself with an exceeding pity. Instead of dramatically delivering my despatches, I was to lie on a sick bed. I was deformed, disfigured—what would Bertha think when she saw me! In spite of the doctor's assurance, I felt sure that I should go through life with a limp. A graceful figure I should make!
The Captain of the Polyphemus here suddenly recalled my wandering mind.