“I fear he’s hit badly, sir,” he deplored, as he raised a limp figure from the bottom of the launch.
Both boys were beside the wounded man in an instant and quickly stripped him of his blood-soaked clothing. In the light of a bull’s-eye lantern, Phil examined the hole made by an insurgent bullet.
“Only a flesh wound,” he breathed, immensely relieved; “the bullet went through the fleshy part of the breast. He is stunned, the blow was so near his heart.”
“Some water, quick,” ordered Sydney, while Phil bandaged the wounded man with strips of his own shirt.
Water thrown on his face brought the man back to consciousness.
Phil left Sydney to make the wounded sailor comfortable, and followed by O’Neil, boarded the prize.
“This is not the minister’s boat; this one has a deck house, while his boat is flush decked,” he gasped in the greatest alarm. “What have we done?” Then he flashed his light over the cargo. “The boxes are the same, I can swear to that, and, as I supposed, all marks have been removed. These are unaddressed.”
The frightened crew, imagining, no doubt, they were in the hands of pirates, were speechless from terror. Juarez was not on board.
“What launch is this?” demanded Phil, in Spanish.
“La Fitte and Company’s, señor,” replied, cringingly, the native padron.