“Was Mr Falconer himself hit?” asked Mrs Podgers, who had come up to hear the news.
“I cannot say, ma’am,” answered the first mate. “His boat must have been terribly mauled, and I am afraid that she must have been sunk, or that her crew must have been taken prisoners. I cannot otherwise account for his not following us.”
I had hold of Miss Kitty’s hand. I felt it tremble; she seemed to be gasping for breath.
“You should have gone back and looked for them,” said the captain, who had judgment enough to know that the third mate was one of the best officers in the ship.
“Oh! do, do so!” exclaimed Miss Kitty, scarcely aware of what she was saying. “It was cowardly and cruel to leave them behind.”
“Not far wrong,” growled the captain, who, if not brave himself, wished his subordinates to fight well—as has been the case with other leaders in higher positions.
The mates were returning to their boats when the shout was raised that the fourth boat was appearing. She came on slowly, as if with a crippled crew. Kitty leaned against the bulwarks for support.
“Send down slings; we have some wounded men here,” said a voice which I recognised as Dick’s.
“Let the others go first,” said another voice. “They are more hurt than I am.”
Miss Kitty sprang to the gangway and looked over. Three men were hoisted on board; one especially was terribly injured—it was Jonas Webb. The last who appeared was Mr Falconer.