"Pan, I must examine your wound."
The boy curled up more tightly.
"It is of no use, Strake," continued Syd, firmly, and unconsciously
imitating Doctor Liss with a stupid patient on the south coast; "it is
my duty to examine your boy's wound. He may bleed to death if it is not
done. Two or three of you must hold him."
A yell burst from Pan at this announcement, and Syd and Roylance
exchanged glances.
The patient was evidently quite sensible.
"Smith, hold his legs," said Syd; "Strake, you and Rogers each take an
arm. I will be as tender as I can."
"Hadn't we better let him die in peace, sir?" groaned the boatswain.
"No; not till everything has been done to try and save him."
"Oh!" yelled Pan.
"Now then, as softly as you can. Once I see where he is injured, I
shall be able to know what to do."
"Very well, sir," said the boatswain, piteously. "There, my poor boy, I
won't hurt you much," and he took Pan's arm.
A shriek made him let go and jump away to begin wiping his brow.
"Again: quick, and let's get it done, Strake," whispered Syd. "Ready?
Now then, all together."
"Oh!" yelled Pan, but the men held on, and Syd was about to tear open
the boy's shirt, when Rogers exclaimed--
"Sleeve's all wet here, sir," and he pointed to the fleshy part of the
boy's arm.
"Oh lor'!" groaned Strake.
"Ah, let me see," cried Syd, eagerly; and he took out and opened his
knife.
Pan's eyes were wide open now, and he stared in a horrified manner at
the blade.
"No, no, no," he yelled. "I won't have it off; I won't have it off."
"Hold the wrist tight," said Syd.
Rogers obeyed, and with the boy shrieking horribly, the point of the
knife was inserted and his sleeve ripped right up to the shoulder.
"Hah!" exclaimed Syd, closing his knife, as he caught sight of the wound
in the thick of the arm. "It has not bled much. Hold the light here
more closely."
"No, no," yelled Pan. "I won't have it off."
"The bone is all right," said Syd, continuing his examination; "but the
bullet must be there. Look: here it is!"
In fact there it was, lying in the sleeve, having passed clean through,
and of course making a second wound.
"There, that will not hurt," said Syd, coolly. "Now let's see about his
chest."
"No," yelled Pan, bursting into a fit of blubbering; "there arn't
nothing there. T'other one missed me."
The boatswain drew himself up and seemed to be taking a tremendously
long breath.
"I'm very glad, Pan," said Syd. "Now, come, be a man. I'm just going
to put a little pellet of rag over those two holes, and bind them up
tightly. I won't hurt you much."
"No, no, no," howled Pan; "you'll take it off. I won't have it cut
off."
"I tell you I'm going to bandage your arm up, and you'll have it in a
sling."
"No, no," yelled Pan.
"And on'y winged him arter all," cried the boatswain in his familiar
gruff tones.
"Will you be quiet, boy?" cried Sydney, almost angrily now.
"Sit up, you swab," roared the boatswain; and Pan started into a sitting
position on the instant. "You, Rogers, go up to the stores and get me
three foot o' rope, thickest you can find.--Look ye here, Panny-mar," he
continued, rolling up his sleeve and holding out his enormous fist close
to the boy's nose, "see that?"
"Yes, father."
"You turned yerself into a stowaway and comed ashore without leave;
you've been turning yerself into a bear and a monkey, and living in the
holes o' the rocks by day, and coming out and stealing the prog by
night."
"I was so hungry, father," whispered Pan, who forgot his wound.
"Yah! hungry indeed! And then you've been giving your father the
worsest quarter of a hour he ever had in his life, and making his heart
bust with haggerny. You shammed dead at first, then you made believe as
you was hurt, when there was nothing the matter with yer but a little
bit of a hole through one arm."
"Oh!" moaned Pan, turning his eyes upon his white arm, where a bead of
blood was visible.
"And then you kicked out as if all your upper rigging was shattered with
chain-shot, and every kick went right through me. So now, look here:
your young captain's going to bandage that there bit o' nothing up, and
if you give so much as one squeak, you'll have my fist fust and the
rope's-end arter till you dance such a hornpipe as never was afore."
"Oh!" moaned Pan.
"Ah!"
There was silence for a moment, and then all present burst into a roar
of laughter, so great was the relief that the boy was not very bad.
"Ah, you may laugh, my lads," said the boatswain, looking round; "but I
do declare I'd sooner have a leg off with a shot than go through all
that again. Thought I'd shot him."
"So you did, father," cried Pan, with a vicious look.
"Yah! Hold your tongue! Call that shot? No more than having a
sail-needle slip and go through yer."
"But it hurts like red-hot poker."
"Good job too. Nothing to what you made me feel as I see yer lying
there.--Lying! Yes, that's the word, for yer did lie, yer shamming
young swab."
Pan began to cry silently, as Syd busied himself bandaging his hurt.
"And now he's a piping his eye like a great gal on Shoreport Hard.
Panny-mar, I'm proud o' you, I am; but I feel that bad, Mr Belton, sir,
that I'd take it kindly if you'd order me a tot o' rum."
"Take him up and give him one, Mr Roylance," said Sydney, quickly; and
while he went on bandaging the arm which Rogers held for him, Roylance
and the boatswain went up to the chests and kegs which formed the
stores, and filled a little tin.
"Thankye, sir," said Strake, holding out one of his great gnarled hands
for the tin, but drawing it back, for it trembled so that he could not
take the rum; but he turned sharply round, laid his arm against the
rock, and laid his face upon it, to stand so for some minutes before he
turned back, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand.
"Bit watery, sir, that's all," he said, with a smile. "Don't tell Mr
Belton, sir, what you see. Most men got their soft bit somewhere. I
dunno, though. I've knowed Master Syd from a babby, and I wouldn't mind
if you told he; but pray don't say a word before Mr Mike Terry.
Thankye, sir.--Hah! That's good rum, as I well knows. Here's success
to yer, sir, and may you never know what it is to be a father." With
which doubtful wish the boatswain drained the tin and smacked his lips.
"Well, sir, since you are so kind, I--No, put it away, my lad. No more
to-night."
The rum was replaced, and they rejoined the group near the lower gun,
just as the finishing touches were being given to Pan's wound by means
of a handkerchief being tied loosely about his neck to act as a sling.
"Got that bit o' rope, lad?" said the boatswain, and then, "Thankye," as
it was handed to him. "Beg pardon, sir, ought this here boy to have his
fust dose to-night or to-morrer morning?"
"Not till I prescribe it, Strake," said Syd, smiling, and the old man
coiled up the piece of rope and put it in his pocket, very much to Pan's
relief.