Part 68 (1/2)

CHAPTER FORTY ONE.

AMONGST THE WOUNDED.

Weary as our walk down to the mouth of the Gap had been, that back seemed far worse, and we reached the fire by the counting-house, which still burned brightly, being fed with more wood, to find my father anxiously awaiting our news.

”Gone!” he said. ”Yes, but they may return. Two--no we cannot spare two men, one must go and keep watch to warn us of their return.”

”I'll go, Captain Duncan,” said Bigley, limping up. ”I can't walk about much, but I can sit down there on the top rocks and watch.”

”Very good, my lad,” said my father, ”but take your pistols and fire twice rapidly if boats come in again.”

As Bigley squeezed my hand and started off, my father exclaimed:

”Now I must have a messenger to go to Ripplemouth for Doctor Chowne.

What man is not wounded?”

There was a murmur among the group a.s.sembled about the fire, a grim blood-smeared powder-blackened set of beings, several of whom had had their hair scorched away by the explosion. There was not a man who was not ready to go, but there was not one who was not wounded.

”I hardly know whom to send,” said my father. ”Sep, can you get over there?”

”I'll try, father,” I replied from where I was sitting down on a piece of rock; but I spoke so faintly that my father came to my side, and caught my cold damp hand, and laid his upon my wet forehead.

”Madness!” he muttered. ”Look here, my lads,” he cried, ”a couple of the women must be found at once.”

”Ahoy! Duncan, ahoy!”

It was a distant hail from high up on the track.

”Heaven be praised!” cried my father, and then he shouted, ”Chowne, ahoy!”

There was an answering hail, and in five minutes more Doctor Chowne came scrambling down the side of the ravine upon his pony, with Bob hanging on to its tail.

”My dear boy!” exclaimed the doctor, grasping my father's hand. ”We heard the guns, and could make out the lights of a big vessel off here.

I was afraid that something was wrong, and going up the hill yonder I could see the glow in the sky. That decided me, and we came over together. Anybody hurt?”

”Well, yes, a little,” said my father grimly.

As he spoke the first grey dawn of morning was beginning to show in the valley and mingle strangely with the glow of the big fire and of the sickly flickering gleam above the burned-out cottages.

It was a doleful sight upon which the doctor gazed round as he stripped off his coat. My father, blackened, scorched, and blood-stained, was standing with the foreman, six men were sitting or half reclining on the ground, and four more lay on their backs as if insensible.

It was a ghastly answer to the question, ”Is anybody hurt?” for there was no one without a serious wound.

”Ah! I see,” said the doctor grimly. ”Well, is anybody killed?”

”Heaven forbid!” cried my father.

”Amen,” said the doctor. ”Here, Bob, bandages, scissors. Fine lesson in surgery for you. Now, captain, you first.”