As soon as Bob Roberts returned with the ammonia, and realised what was
wrong, he pulled out his pocket-knife, placed his foot on the reptile's
neck, as it still writhed feebly, and cut off its head.
He had hardly completed his task though, before he was summoned by the
doctor to assist him. Here, however, he was forestalled by Miss Linton,
who, ignoring the request to go, had in the most business-like way
helped to lower the fainting man upon the deck, and supported his head
while the stimulant was administered.
"Pray go away, Miss Linton," exclaimed Doctor Bolter then; "this is only
a task for a trained nurse."
"I am a trained nurse," said Rachel Linton, quietly; and drawing a
cushion from a chair, she placed it on the deck, lowered the injured
man's head upon it, and then, seeing the doctor's intention, held the
patient's arm while he freely used a lancet about the tiny marks made by
the serpent's teeth, and rubbed in the ammonia.
Captain Smithers meanwhile had not spoken, but stood watching Miss
Linton, with a strange look upon his countenance, shuddering, though,
once or twice, as he saw the ghastly face of the injured man, and his
fixed half-closed eyes.
"What can I do next, doctor?" said Miss Linton, in a quiet, eager voice.
"Nothing at present, my dear young lady," he said, looking at her
admiringly. "Why, what a brave-hearted girl you are!"
"Brave?" she said. "What, to do this for one who saved me perhaps from
death? But tell me, doctor, will he live?"
"I don't know; I hope so; it is impossible to say. It is such a rare
thing for a man to be bitten by one of these creatures. I never had
such a case before, and I ought to have known better; but I did not know
it was a dangerous species of snake."
He held the soldier's pulse as he spoke, and then frowned, and mixing
more ammonia and water, raised the poor fellow's head, and poured the
liquid between his half-clenched teeth.
"Try and swallow it, Gray, my good fellow."
The young man opened his eyes as if awakened from sleep, stared about
till they rested on Miss Linton, when they closed again, and he drank
the stimulant with difficulty.
"Stand back, please. Captain Smithers, keep every one away, and let us
have all the air we can."
Thus appealed to, the young officer motioned back those who pressed
forward, the news of the accident having spread through the ship, and
all who dared ascending to the quarter-deck.
"How provoking!" exclaimed Major Sandars. "One of my best men too,
doctor. Really, Bolter, I must put a stop to your natural history
researches."
"Confound it all, major!" cried the little doctor, angrily; "it was an
accident. That young dog caught the snake, and--no--no! it's all right,
Roberts. It was my fault; I ought to have foreseen what would happen."
Ensign Long had begun to congratulate himself on the fact that Bob
Roberts was about to have a good wigging, but found out that he was
wrong, and felt annoyed to see how important a part the lad played in
the proceedings to fight back the effects of the deadly poison.
"Take my coat off, Roberts," said the doctor. "Gently, boy, gently.
That's right. Now the ammonia; good. Raise his head a little. Poor
fellow, we mustn't let him slip through our fingers. That's it, Miss
Linton. Miss Sinclair, will you get a big fan, and give him all the air
you can?"
He was obeyed to the letter; while Captain Horton and the resident stood
near, ready to help in any way they could, for the news had caused the
deepest concern through out the ship.
"Yah!" cried Private Sim, with an ugly snarl; "there's yer nasty
favouritism. See how they're all a-cuddling and messing that there Gray
up, orficers and women and all. Might ha' died afore they'd ha' done
anything for me."
"Why, you caulking, miching lubber," growled old Dick, "you had ten
times as much trouble 'stowed on you as you deserved. Tell you what, my
lads," he continued, addressing a crowd of soldiers and sailors who had
been discussing the event forward, "it's this here sorter thing as makes
me saddersfied to be a common sailor. Yer orficers may row and bully
yer sometimes for not being smart enough; but I never knowed a orficer
yet as wasn't ready to run the same risks as the men; and when you're
down, Lor' bless my 'art, nothin's too good for you. 'Member the
skipper coming and bringing us horindges, Joe Tomson, when we had the
feckshus fever?"
"Ay, ay, mate," growled a big sun-tanned sailor.
"Right you are, mate," said a big sergeant. "It's just so with us.
I've knowed our officers run out under fire to bring in wounded men, and
get shot down theirselves. You remember Captain Smithers doing that,
out in China, Billy Mustard?"
"That I do," said a fair red-faced private, with a merry look in his
eyes. "He brought me in on his back. I'm waiting to see him down some
day, and carry him in."
"To be sure," growled old Dick. "Orficers is orficers, and there 'aint
one aboard this ship as wouldn't jump overboard to save any man, even if
it was such a grumbling warmint as old Sim here."
Private Sim snarled, and showed a set of yellow teeth, as he held out
the palm of his left hand to give it a severe punch with his right fist;
after which ebullition he seemed to feel much better, and went and
leaned over the side.
"I hope Private Gray will get better," said Billy Mustard, who was a
great favourite with the men from the fact that he was famous as a
fiddler, and could rattle off anything from "Money Musk" up to "The
Triumph;" and as to hornpipes, the somethingth said there wasn't a man
in the service who could touch him. Billy Mustard had won the hearts of
the sailors, too, during the voyage, from the way in which he sang "The
Death of Nelson," with many another naval ditty, to which the whole
forecastle could rattle out a hearty chorus. "I hope Private Gray will
get better," said Billy.
"Ah, we all hope that," said Sergeant Lund. "Not that Adam Gray's a
friend of mine. He's too much of a gentleman; and when he's going
through his drill, it always seems as if one was putting a young officer
through his facings. Not that I wish him any harm; but if he's a
gentleman he ought to have got his commission, and kept out of the
ranks."
"Well, sergeant," said Billy Mustard, "I don't see that it matters much
what a man is, so long as he's ready for dooty, and I will say as Gray
never sticks himself up, but does his dooty like a man."
"Yah! he'll turn out no good," snarled Private Sim, looking round.
"Well, for my part," said old Dick, "if I was to go in for being cunnle
of a regiment, I should like that there regiment to be all private
Simses, and then I'd have all the officers doctors."
"And a big hospital for barracks," said the sergeant, laughing. "And
rations of physic served out every day," cried Billy Mustard.
There was a hearty laugh at this; but it was checked directly, as the
men recalled that one of their number was lying in grievous peril; while
Private Sim glanced round, uttered a snarl like that of a hyena, then
turned back and gave his left hand another punch.
"Laugh at me, will yer?" he growled, "when I'm so jolly ill. Just let
me get hold o' that there fiddle o' yours, Master Billy Mustard, and
I'll smash it, see if I don't."
He seemed to feel better after this threat, and stood leaning over the
bulwarks, and spitting down into the sea, while one of the sailors went
aft to learn some tidings concerning Adam Gray.
Meanwhile, the centre of an anxious knot of observers, the young soldier
lay breathing very feebly in spite of the stimulants frequently
administered; and Bob Roberts, as he knelt close by on the deck, watched
with a strange feeling of heart-sickness coming over him. He could not
conceal from himself the fact that he had been the cause of all the
suffering; and full of self-reproach, he knelt there, considering
whether he should ever forget that scene, with the pale face of the fine
young fellow lying before him.
Gray seemed to be in no great pain, but to be suffering more from a
strange delirium caused by the working of the tiny drops of poison
injected in his veins. He muttered a few words occasionally, and
started convulsively from time to time; but when spoken to, he calmed
down, and lay, apparently, waiting for his end.
"Don't know; can't say," was all that could be got from the doctor, as
the hours crept on--hours when the heat of the sun was terrible; but no
one left the injured man's side.
The specimens in the buckets were forgotten, and died; the cause of the
misfortune grew dry and shrivelled, where it had twined and wriggled
itself, half a dozen yards away, the dangerous head being thrown
overboard by Bob Roberts, and swallowed by a fish before it had
descended many feet.
Both the resident and the captain had tried to persuade the ladies to
leave the sick man's side; but they had declined to go, and Doctor
Bolter had nodded approval.
"Thank you, my dears, thank you," he said. "It's very kind of you; and
I'm glad enough, I can tell you, to find that you've both got something
in you besides fine young ladyism."
"I wish we could do more," said Rachel Linton, quietly.
"So do I, my dear," said the little doctor; "and I wish I could do more,
but I have done all I can. Nature must do the rest."
The long, hot day passed on, and evening was approaching before the
doctor took anything more than a glass of wine and water and a biscuit;
and at last, when every one had judged by poor Gray's aspect that all
now was over, and Major Sandars came up and thanked him for his patient
endeavours to save the poor fellow's life, the doctor felt his patient's
pulse once more, raised the closed eyelids and gazed at the pupils, and
then rose up, dropped into a cane lounging chair, and began softly
rubbing his knees.
"Now, ladies," he said firmly, "go below and dine. I order it.
Sandars--Horton--if you have any good feeling left in you, you'll send
relays of Jacks and privates to rub my poor knees. I say," he said,
looking round with a smile, "that was a close shave, wasn't it?"
"Close shave?" said the major, as the ladies drew back, apparently hurt
at the doctor's levity; and poor Bob Roberts, kneeling at the injured
man's feet, lowered his head so that those near should not see the
unmanly tears gathering in his eyes, though he was somewhat comforted on
seeing that Ensign Long was almost as much moved.
"Yes," said the doctor; "you might have got all the nobs of the
profession, and I don't believe they could have done better."
"No," said Captain Horton rather coldly. "You have worked hard, Doctor
Bolter."
"Hard? I should think I have. I tell you what it is, sir, you would
not have felt more pleased than I do if you had been made an admiral."
"But the man is dying fast, Bolter," said Major Sandars.
"Dying, sir? why he has been dying fast all day."
"Then is not this rather unseemly before ladies?" said Captain Horton.
"Unseemly? Before ladies?" said the doctor in a puzzled way. "Why,
can't you see for yourselves? Ha, ha, ha!" he said, laughing softly.
"Don't you see the remedies have beaten the poison. There's a
delightful sleep he has dropped into."
"Sleep?" exclaimed Miss Linton.
"To be sure, my dear. Look what a lovely perspiration is coming out on
his forehead. There, come away, and let him sleep. He'll be nearly
well by to-morrow morning."
Bob Roberts leaped up from the deck, as if sent by a sling, made a dash
at Ensign Long, swung him round, indulged in a kind of war dance
indicative of triumph; then looked extremely ashamed of himself, and
dashed off into the gun-room to spread the news that the doctor had
saved Gray's life.
"That's not a bad sort of boy," said the doctor, looking after Bob; and
then, as Ensign Long raised his chin in the air, and looked very
dignified, "tell you what Sandars, if I were you I'd get Captain Horton
to make a swop. Let's give him Tom Long in exchange for the middy.
What do you say?"
Tom Long marched off, looking very much disgusted; and Sergeant Lund
having been summoned to bring a file to watch by the sick man, the much
relieved party went down to dinner.