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Syd Belton: The Boy who would not go to Sea, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 31 |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. "Ha' mussy on us! Here, Mr Belton, sir, quick," cried the boatswain, hoarsely. "You said I warn't to bring pistols. Wish him as 'vented 'em had been drowned first. Look ye here, sir; is no one going to bring a light? Mr Belton, sir; Master Syd; pray make haste. I've made you another job." All this in a wild, excited manner, as, trembling now with horror, Sydney knelt down by a dark-looking object on the rocks, lying quite motionless, and for a few moments he could not collect himself sufficiently to render any aid. "Ha' mussy on us!" groaned the boatswain. Then with an angry burst, "I want to know how he got here." "Stowed hisself away in the boat," said one of the men, "when we corned away, but I thought he'd gone back again to the ship." "Brought him down. My own boy," groaned the boatswain. "Ah, here's the light." "Quick! Stand round so as to shelter the candle," cried Syd, who was now recovering himself and trying to act in a calm, business-like manner; and directly after he was kneeling there in the centre of that ring of anxious faces, and proceeding by the light of the candle, which the boatswain held down, to examine the boy, who lay curled up in a heap. To all appearances he was dead, so still did he lie; but the moment Syd took hold of one hand to feel the injured boy's pulse, there was a sudden spasmodic jerk and a loud yell which went echoing up the valley. "Hah!" ejaculated Syd, for he knew it was a good sign. "Hold still, Pan," he continued, gently; "let me see where you are hurt." "Let him be, sir. I've killed um, I know I have!" Syd tried to find where the boy was wounded, but at every touch Pan shrieked out as if in agony, and kicked out his legs and drew himself up again as if trying to make himself into a ball. "It's all over with the poor lad, sir," groaned Strake. "Better let him die in peace, and I gives myself up, sir. Nothin' but misfortun' here." "Try and bear it, Pan," said Syd, gently. "I must see where you are hurt before I can do you any good." But the boy shrieked out wildly every time he was touched, and after many essays, Syd felt ready to give up in despair. "Ha' mussy on us!" groaned the boatswain. "Where's he got it, sir?" "I'm afraid it is somewhere in the body, Strake," replied Syd, softly; "but I don't like to give him pain.--Is the hurt in your chest, Pan?" The boy shrieked again, as a hand was slid into his bosom. "I'm afraid it is there, Barney; I ought to examine him and stop the bleeding." "Yes, sir; course you ought; but I don't like to see you hurt the boy." "No, it is very terrible, but I'll be as gentle as I can. Come, Pan, lad, be a man, and let me see where you are hurt." Syd touched him again, but there was another yell and kick, not before the boy pressed his chin down in his chest, and cried out more wildly than ever. "Is his spine injured?" cried Roylance. "Can't be," replied Syd, "or he could not kick out like he does." "And for the same reason his legs must be all right," said Roylance. "Spine of his back and his legs," said Strake; "well, that's something to be thankful for." "The bullet must have lodged in his chest," said Syd, "and I dare say perhaps has injured him fatally. No blood visible; he must be bleeding inside." There was a pause after a couple more attempts to inspect the injury. Then, after a little thought, Syd said, firmly-- "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. _ |
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