“What does Mr Linton say?” asked Duff. “We should not take long about it, I think, and she would be something to show for our night’s work.”
“Tell Mr Linton how things stand, Jennings, and ask him what he wishes us to do,” said Tompion to the coxswain of the gig.
“Poor Mr Linton can say nothing, sir,” returned Jennings, in a sorrowful tone. “I’m afraid he’ll never speak again.”
An exclamation of grief escaped from all who heard the words.
“What! is he dead?” inquired Tompion, in a voice which showed that he participated in the feeling of the crews, although he might very probably benefit by the vacancy thus created; yet, I will venture to say, the thought of this did not enter his head.
“No, sir, not dead, I hope,” said the coxswain. “I have bound up his wound as well as I can, and stopped the bleeding; but he’s in a dead faint, and I don’t know if he’ll come to again.”
“Well, Duff, I should like to act as Mr Linton would have done, and I’m sure he would have attacked the mistico without giving two thoughts about it,” observed Tompion; “but then, again, for his sake, we ought to get back to the ship as fast as we can, to obtain surgical assistance for him.”
“I know how you feel, Tompion,” exclaimed Jemmy Duff—“but I have it: our two boats can easily tackle the rascally mistico, and let the gig pull back to the brig as fast as she can, with Mr Linton and Timmins here, who is badly hurt, and let them tell Saltwell of our whereabouts, and we shall fall in with her before the morning with a prize in tow, I hope.”
“Capital!” exclaimed Tompion, who was, for a wonder, not above taking advice from a junior, when it happened to be good, and coincided with his own opinion. “What say you, my lads—do you think you’ve got strength enough in your arms to punish some of those rascals for Mr Linton’s too like death, and the trick they played us?”
“All right, sir, never fear. We can give it them yet,” exclaimed both crews, with one voice; and seldom will British seamen be found to make any other answer.