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Updated: June 12, 2025
"You scoundrels, you've been at the rum!" cried Mr Brymer, and he drew his pistol, but only gave a stagger, and caught about in the air to try and save himself from falling. "Help Frewen something give me something," he panted, and Mr Frewen came to him, feeling his way with his arms stretched out just as if he were playing at blindman's buff.
I looked anxiously at the doctor, silently asking him what was the matter; but he only gave me a short nod of the head, and once more directed his attention to Walters, who lay breathing slowly in a catchy, spasmodic fashion, and I was almost about to question Mr Frewen, but he once more bent over the prisoner patient, listening to his breathing.
He stood looking down at the patient with his brow knit, and I noticed a fidgety movement about one of his feet. "Oughtn't I to stop and nurse him?" I asked. "No; certainly not. He is better alone. This kind of case does not require attention only time. Come along," and he went to the door. "All right, Mr Frewen; I'll come directly," I said softly. "But I want to fasten the door," he whispered.
The big bell under the topgallant foc'sle sent out its deep, sonorous clang, and as the last note was struck, "Mr. Foster" went over on his back with a crash, and in another five seconds Frewen had turned him over on his face and was lashing his hands behind him.
Leaving the boat to the care of their native friends at eight o'clock, Frewen and his comrade laid down amidships and were soon fast asleep, for the day had been a tiring one, and they needed more rest to recover from the effects of the three days they had spent on the open sea. Soon after daylight they were awakened by the steersman, who pointed out a large, lofty-sparred vessel.
I heard Mr Frewen give a sudden start and his elbow jar against the partition, but he too was silent, save that I could hear his hurried breathing. Then some one spoke again "Can't you hear me there? I says, how are you getting on?" "Bob Hampton!" I cried excitedly. "Pst! Steady, my lad. Bob Hampton it is.
All was silent there, and though I listened for a few minutes, there did not seem to be any one stirring on deck, so I turned back to Mr Frewen, who was now standing by the cot, with his hands under the blanket, and offered him the knife. "I believe there are pistols inside, Dale," he whispered. "I'm sure of it," I said. "Open it quick. I'll stand on this side."
"Here," I said sharply, "why did you lay me on the floor?" "You fell," he said; "or rather you slipped down. There, drink a little of this water." "Is he all right again?" came out of the darkness in a sharp whisper. "Yes, coming round now," I heard Mr Frewen say. "Yes, I remember now," I cried quickly. "But Bob Hampton, did he get up safely?" "Yes, quite safely."
But as he spoke I noticed how he watched Captain Berriman, and seemed to take special heed of him as he whispered the above words evidently with pain. "Is it very bad, doctor?" he whispered now after Mr Frewen had been busy about his breast, and shoulder for a few minutes. "You can tell me, I can bear it." "Bad enough, but not so bad as it might have been if it had gone an inch lower.
I whispered, with a shudder; and as I looked down into the bottom of the boat, where all was perfectly black, I seemed to see the white face of the lad quite plainly, with his fixed eyes gazing straight at me, full of appeal, and as if asking forgiveness for the past. "No, not dead, Dale," said Mr Frewen in a low voice. "Be quiet. Don't talk about it.
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