"SWEET SIGHT FOR ME THOU TWAIN TO SIT EYES ON."
"Tom! Tom!" Harry had groped his way to Tom's head, had lifted it on
his arm, and felt the warm blood welling from a deep cut on the
forehead, "Tom, can you not understand?" he said; but Tom made no
reply. He was breathing heavily and quite unconscious.
Dr. Holtum had given the Lunda boys many a useful lesson in ambulance
surgery, and no one had benefited more from his teaching than Harry
Mitchell. With care, and as much precision as was possible without the
aid of sight, he bound Tom's head in bandages formed from the
handkerchiefs provided, and had the satisfaction of finding that the
wound was staunched and the pulse beating a little stronger before many
minutes had passed.
He could not, of course, ascertain what other injuries had been
inflicted, but he moved Tom's arms and legs gently, and felt satisfied
that _their_ bones had escaped.
The time seemed very long to Harry down there, and to the others
waiting above. At last Yaspard could keep silence no longer, so
leaning over, he shouted, "Is he--any better? Can't you sing out
something to us, Harry?"
"I have been able to do a little, and I think Tom is reviving," was the
cheering news Harry sang out in reply.
Tom really was coming round, and the first sign he made was a groan,
and then a murmured "Time to get up, did you say?"
"Oh, Tom," Harry cried, bending close to the wounded head on his arm,
and shedding some tears that were not an unmanly sign of gladness at
hearing Tom's voice once more; "Tom, old chap, I'm as sorry as can be
for giving you the rough side of my tongue many a time."
"Eh, what?" faltered Tom. "Is that Harry speaking? Are you there,
mother? What's up? I don't quite know; my head feels queer--oh dear!"
He had tried to raise himself as he spoke, and had been checked by
agonising pain, which caused him to relapse into insensibility.
"How awful this is! I wish they'd make haste up there," thought Harry.
And then he turned, as the Manse boys had always been taught to turn in
trials, to Him who is near at all times, a present help in time of
trouble.
When Tom revived again, the first thing he heard was Harry Mitchell's
voice faltering forth prayers to God for His unfortunate comrade; and I
think that the childish antagonism which had so long existed between
those two died out just then. But now a great flare of light fell on
them, and the noise and talk overhead told that relief was coming.
"What does it all mean, Harry?" Tom asked feebly.
"You fell down here, and Yaspard is coming with a light and things to
help you out. Cheer up, Tom; we'll have you out and all right before
long."
Yaspard descended with an admirable torch in his hand, and the articles
Harry required strapped around him.
Great was our hero's joy to find Tom so much restored; and when they
had bathed his face, and made him drink some water, he was able to
speak collectedly. "I am hurt about the left shoulder," he said, when
they began to examine him, "and my head feels dreadful."
"There is a nasty cut on the brow," said Harry, "and a slight one
behind the ear. I won't move the clumsy bandage, though, till we get
him up, when it can be made more ship-shape. Now, Tom, you must let us
put you in the potatoe-bag and haul you out of this."
They were very deft and tender in their handling, and Tom bit his lips
to refrain from groaning over his acute pain; but for all that the job
was a tedious and trying one, and when he was lashed into the sack Tom
fainted again.
"I must go up with him," said Harry; "those duffers might do some harm."
He tested the rope, and, assured that it would bear a good weight, he
put an arm round Tom, and then, catching the rope with his other hand,
gave the signal.
Fortunately they had not to be raised very far, and it was accomplished
without any misadventure beyond the "skinning" of Harry's hand, which
he could not guard without leaving Tom's poor head unprotected.
As soon as Yaspard too was got out of that horrible hole, all haste was
made to reach the open air; and in the same manner Tom was lifted from
the upper vault and laid upon the sward.
When he came to himself, he was stretched on the grass with Bill's knee
for a pillow and Harry's skilful hands ministering to him; and in that
moment Tom must have been clearly conscious of all that had taken
place, for he murmured with great fervency, "Thank God for the blessed
light of day."
Just then a shower of spray came driving over the Stack, and, dashing
itself against their faces, called the attention of all to the storm
now raging on the sea.
All around Swarta Stack the waves were leaping, white and furious.
There could be no leaving the island that day, and no chance of any
rescue, even if anybody knew of their position--a very unlikely thing.
"Where can we find shelter for Tom?" was the first thing said, and it
was Harry who spoke.
"We must see to our boat," said Yaspard.
They hurriedly piled a few stones together, and laid their jackets on
these to make a shelter and couch for Tom; then leaving Harry to look
after the patient, the others ran off to secure the _Osprey_.
Fortunately she was a light little boat, and they were able to run her
up the beach a bit, where she was safe from being knocked about by the
waves. The few remains of ferdimet were removed, with other articles
which were required for camping out; and as our adventurers returned to
the scene of the catastrophe they asked one another what was to be done
if the storm lasted longer than one day.
"We can't starve, with birds about and rabbits as well as sheep on the
isle," said Yaspard; "but the storm that could do us no harm may be
serious enough for poor Tom. There isn't even a morsel of tea
left--only a few piltacks and a slice of cheese."
"There's a couple of eggs and Miss Congreve's box of chocolates left,"
Bill said. "We'll keep them for Tom; but the sea may run off before
night."
Yaspard shook his head. "Not likely. I know the weather-signs. This
means to last."
"Just so! Bad boy, bad boy!" screamed Thor from a crag close by. He
had remained by the _Osprey_ while the lads were exploring, and would
have remained there still; but when she was beached and the "outward
and visible signs" of a meal carried away, Thor thought he had better
go too, and see what was going to happen next.
"Ah, Thor, my rascal!" Yaspard exclaimed; "I must have had a
presentiment of what would happen when I took you with us. Now"
(turning to his companions), "I trust he will go when he is bid, in
which case we may be helped sooner than we can help ourselves. I
wouldn't," he added hastily, "dream of calling for help if it were not
for Tom."
Harry looked up anxiously when his companions arrived. "This is a bad
job," he said very seriously; "I fear Tom is more hurt than he allows,
and he is getting light-headed, too."
"I'll send Thor now--if he'll go," said Yaspard, and Harry's face lit
up.
"I had forgotten Thor. Yes, send him if you can."
But Thor was in a sulky and suspicious mood, and would not let his
master catch him. There were no alluring morsels left to bribe him
with; for the eggs must be kept for Tom, and a chocolate ball Thor
despised as well as cheese.
"We must wait till we have to kill a sheep," Gibbie Harrison remarked,
after all efforts to catch the raven had failed; "he will come for a
bit of red raw flesh, the ugly brute!"
"You needn't call Thor an ugly brute for eating what you kill,"
retorted Yaspard, "unless you call yourself another of the same."
They all laughed then, and the laugh did them good. It even helped to
strengthen Tom, who showed a great amount of pluck and endurance during
that trying time. He reproached himself for having brought so much
trouble on them all, and tried to bear his pain heroically; but in
spite of his own efforts, and the thoughtful attention of his comrades,
Tom's state grew rapidly worse, and before evening he was very fevered.
By that time even Yaspard considered the situation most critical for
all, and was ready to adopt any and every suggestion that might offer
the smallest alleviation of their condition.
The whole party had strongly objected to using the vault as a shelter,
but, as the day waned and the storm increased, they decided upon
retreating there, seeing that Swarta Stack offered no better refuge.
Anxiety had banished hunger, and no one felt in a mood that evening for
slaughter. An egg was whipped up with some sugar still left, and
poured down Tom's throat, and later a cup of cocoa was made for him
from the contents of Amy's box of comfits. The rest of the lads lay
down to sleep supperless--and, for the matter of that, dinnerless also,
not having tasted food since early breakfast, except half a cold
piltack and a morsel of cheese.
Yaspard and Harry resolved to watch by Tom, whose sleep was fitful and
feverish. They had not been able to remove him to the vault, of
course, but had built a wall of stones and turf to protect him from the
weather; and while the other lads slept quietly enough in the wreckers'
den, these two kept guard over their disabled comrade on the exposed
ground.
"If the storm does not lin[1] by sunrise," said Yaspard, "we must try
and move him to the beach, and get him under shelter of the boat; we
can turn her up, you know, and make a cosy place for him. It is so
windy and disagreeable here."
Alas! they had not dreamt that the tempest might "turn" the _Osprey_ as
easily as they could. At the moment when Yaspard spoke, his bonnie
boat was lying among the great rough stones, with a rent in her side
that no mere caulking could cure. A fierce gust had caught her and
tossed her over as if she were a toy left there for that purpose.
This was discovered when a very sedate procession of boys came down to
the beach, carrying Tom on a stretcher made (as Dr. Holtum had shown
how) out of their jackets spread between two spars--the spars being
passed through the sleeves, and so kept in position.
When the _Osprey's_ condition was ascertained Yaspard said, "I suppose
there is nothing left but to try for Thor again."
But Thor was nowhere to be seen then, and though search was made, he
could not be discovered. The truth was that Thor, hungry and
uncomfortable, had been hovering over Swarta Stack at daybreak in a
very discontented state, had recognised some familiar landmarks in a
northerly direction, and had decamped for Boden straightway.
[1] Abate.