_ CHAPTER FOUR. DOCTOR BOLTER RUBS HIS HANDS, AND CAPTAIN SMITHERS LOOKS GREEN
As soon as Bob Roberts returned with the ammonia, and realised what was wrong, he pulled out his pocket-knife, placed his foot on the reptile's neck, as it still writhed feebly, and cut off its head.
He had hardly completed his task though, before he was summoned by the doctor to assist him. Here, however, he was forestalled by Miss Linton, who, ignoring the request to go, had in the most business-like way helped to lower the fainting man upon the deck, and supported his head while the stimulant was administered.
"Pray go away, Miss Linton," exclaimed Doctor Bolter then; "this is only a task for a trained nurse."
"I am a trained nurse," said Rachel Linton, quietly; and drawing a cushion from a chair, she placed it on the deck, lowered the injured man's head upon it, and then, seeing the doctor's intention, held the patient's arm while he freely used a lancet about the tiny marks made by the serpent's teeth, and rubbed in the ammonia.
Captain Smithers meanwhile had not spoken, but stood watching Miss Linton, with a strange look upon his countenance, shuddering, though, once or twice, as he saw the ghastly face of the injured man, and his fixed half-closed eyes.
"What can I do next, doctor?" said Miss Linton, in a quiet, eager voice.
"Nothing at present, my dear young lady," he said, looking at her admiringly. "Why, what a brave-hearted girl you are!"
"Brave?" she said. "What, to do this for one who saved me perhaps from death? But tell me, doctor, will he live?"
"I don't know; I hope so; it is impossible to say. It is such a rare thing for a man to be bitten by one of these creatures. I never had such a case before, and I ought to have known better; but I did not know it was a dangerous species of snake."
He held the soldier's pulse as he spoke, and then frowned, and mixing more ammonia and water, raised the poor fellow's head, and poured the liquid between his half-clenched teeth.
"Try and swallow it, Gray, my good fellow."
The young man opened his eyes as if awakened from sleep, stared about till they rested on Miss Linton, when they closed again, and he drank the stimulant with difficulty.
"Stand back, please. Captain Smithers, keep every one away, and let us have all the air we can."
Thus appealed to, the young officer motioned back those who pressed forward, the news of the accident having spread through the ship, and all who dared ascending to the quarter-deck.
"How provoking!" exclaimed Major Sandars. "One of my best men too, doctor. Really, Bolter, I must put a stop to your natural history researches."
"Confound it all, major!" cried the little doctor, angrily; "it was an accident. That young dog caught the snake, and--no--no! it's all right, Roberts. It was my fault; I ought to have foreseen what would happen."
Ensign Long had begun to congratulate himself on the fact that Bob Roberts was about to have a good wigging, but found out that he was wrong, and felt annoyed to see how important a part the lad played in the proceedings to fight back the effects of the deadly poison.
"Take my coat off, Roberts," said the doctor. "Gently, boy, gently. That's right. Now the ammonia; good. Raise his head a little. Poor fellow, we mustn't let him slip through our fingers. That's it, Miss Linton. Miss Sinclair, will you get a big fan, and give him all the air you can?"
He was obeyed to the letter; while Captain Horton and the resident stood near, ready to help in any way they could, for the news had caused the deepest concern through out the ship.
"Yah!" cried Private Sim, with an ugly snarl; "there's yer nasty favouritism. See how they're all a-cuddling and messing that there Gray up, orficers and women and all. Might ha' died afore they'd ha' done anything for me."
"Why, you caulking, miching lubber," growled old Dick, "you had ten times as much trouble 'stowed on you as you deserved. Tell you what, my lads," he continued, addressing a crowd of soldiers and sailors who had been discussing the event forward, "it's this here sorter thing as makes me saddersfied to be a common sailor. Yer orficers may row and bully yer sometimes for not being smart enough; but I never knowed a orficer yet as wasn't ready to run the same risks as the men; and when you're down, Lor' bless my 'art, nothin's too good for you. 'Member the skipper coming and bringing us horindges, Joe Tomson, when we had the feckshus fever?"
"Ay, ay, mate," growled a big sun-tanned sailor.
"Right you are, mate," said a big sergeant. "It's just so with us. I've knowed our officers run out under fire to bring in wounded men, and get shot down theirselves. You remember Captain Smithers doing that, out in China, Billy Mustard?"
"That I do," said a fair red-faced private, with a merry look in his eyes. "He brought me in on his back. I'm waiting to see him down some day, and carry him in."
"To be sure," growled old Dick. "Orficers is orficers, and there 'aint one aboard this ship as wouldn't jump overboard to save any man, even if it was such a grumbling warmint as old Sim here."
Private Sim snarled, and showed a set of yellow teeth, as he held out the palm of his left hand to give it a severe punch with his right fist; after which ebullition he seemed to feel much better, and went and leaned over the side.
"I hope Private Gray will get better," said Billy Mustard, who was a great favourite with the men from the fact that he was famous as a fiddler, and could rattle off anything from "Money Musk" up to "The Triumph;" and as to hornpipes, the somethingth said there wasn't a man in the service who could touch him. Billy Mustard had won the hearts of the sailors, too, during the voyage, from the way in which he sang "The Death of Nelson," with many another naval ditty, to which the whole forecastle could rattle out a hearty chorus. "I hope Private Gray will get better," said Billy.
"Ah, we all hope that," said Sergeant Lund. "Not that Adam Gray's a friend of mine. He's too much of a gentleman; and when he's going through his drill, it always seems as if one was putting a young officer through his facings. Not that I wish him any harm; but if he's a gentleman he ought to have got his commission, and kept out of the ranks."
"Well, sergeant," said Billy Mustard, "I don't see that it matters much what a man is, so long as he's ready for dooty, and I will say as Gray never sticks himself up, but does his dooty like a man."
"Yah! he'll turn out no good," snarled Private Sim, looking round.
"Well, for my part," said old Dick, "if I was to go in for being cunnle of a regiment, I should like that there regiment to be all private Simses, and then I'd have all the officers doctors."
"And a big hospital for barracks," said the sergeant, laughing. "And rations of physic served out every day," cried Billy Mustard.
There was a hearty laugh at this; but it was checked directly, as the men recalled that one of their number was lying in grievous peril; while Private Sim glanced round, uttered a snarl like that of a hyena, then turned back and gave his left hand another punch.
"Laugh at me, will yer?" he growled, "when I'm so jolly ill. Just let me get hold o' that there fiddle o' yours, Master Billy Mustard, and I'll smash it, see if I don't."
He seemed to feel better after this threat, and stood leaning over the bulwarks, and spitting down into the sea, while one of the sailors went aft to learn some tidings concerning Adam Gray.
Meanwhile, the centre of an anxious knot of observers, the young soldier lay breathing very feebly in spite of the stimulants frequently administered; and Bob Roberts, as he knelt close by on the deck, watched with a strange feeling of heart-sickness coming over him. He could not conceal from himself the fact that he had been the cause of all the suffering; and full of self-reproach, he knelt there, considering whether he should ever forget that scene, with the pale face of the fine young fellow lying before him.
Gray seemed to be in no great pain, but to be suffering more from a strange delirium caused by the working of the tiny drops of poison injected in his veins. He muttered a few words occasionally, and started convulsively from time to time; but when spoken to, he calmed down, and lay, apparently, waiting for his end.
"Don't know; can't say," was all that could be got from the doctor, as the hours crept on--hours when the heat of the sun was terrible; but no one left the injured man's side.
The specimens in the buckets were forgotten, and died; the cause of the misfortune grew dry and shrivelled, where it had twined and wriggled itself, half a dozen yards away, the dangerous head being thrown overboard by Bob Roberts, and swallowed by a fish before it had descended many feet.
Both the resident and the captain had tried to persuade the ladies to leave the sick man's side; but they had declined to go, and Doctor Bolter had nodded approval.
"Thank you, my dears, thank you," he said. "It's very kind of you; and I'm glad enough, I can tell you, to find that you've both got something in you besides fine young ladyism."
"I wish we could do more," said Rachel Linton, quietly.
"So do I, my dear," said the little doctor; "and I wish I could do more, but I have done all I can. Nature must do the rest."
The long, hot day passed on, and evening was approaching before the doctor took anything more than a glass of wine and water and a biscuit; and at last, when every one had judged by poor Gray's aspect that all now was over, and Major Sandars came up and thanked him for his patient endeavours to save the poor fellow's life, the doctor felt his patient's pulse once more, raised the closed eyelids and gazed at the pupils, and then rose up, dropped into a cane lounging chair, and began softly rubbing his knees.
"Now, ladies," he said firmly, "go below and dine. I order it. Sandars--Horton--if you have any good feeling left in you, you'll send relays of Jacks and privates to rub my poor knees. I say," he said, looking round with a smile, "that was a close shave, wasn't it?"
"Close shave?" said the major, as the ladies drew back, apparently hurt at the doctor's levity; and poor Bob Roberts, kneeling at the injured man's feet, lowered his head so that those near should not see the unmanly tears gathering in his eyes, though he was somewhat comforted on seeing that Ensign Long was almost as much moved.
"Yes," said the doctor; "you might have got all the nobs of the profession, and I don't believe they could have done better."
"No," said Captain Horton rather coldly. "You have worked hard, Doctor Bolter."
"Hard? I should think I have. I tell you what it is, sir, you would not have felt more pleased than I do if you had been made an admiral."
"But the man is dying fast, Bolter," said Major Sandars.
"Dying, sir? why he has been dying fast all day."
"Then is not this rather unseemly before ladies?" said Captain Horton.
"Unseemly? Before ladies?" said the doctor in a puzzled way. "Why, can't you see for yourselves? Ha, ha, ha!" he said, laughing softly. "Don't you see the remedies have beaten the poison. There's a delightful sleep he has dropped into."
"Sleep?" exclaimed Miss Linton.
"To be sure, my dear. Look what a lovely perspiration is coming out on his forehead. There, come away, and let him sleep. He'll be nearly well by to-morrow morning."
Bob Roberts leaped up from the deck, as if sent by a sling, made a dash at Ensign Long, swung him round, indulged in a kind of war dance indicative of triumph; then looked extremely ashamed of himself, and dashed off into the gun-room to spread the news that the doctor had saved Gray's life.
"That's not a bad sort of boy," said the doctor, looking after Bob; and then, as Ensign Long raised his chin in the air, and looked very dignified, "tell you what Sandars, if I were you I'd get Captain Horton to make a swop. Let's give him Tom Long in exchange for the middy. What do you say?"
Tom Long marched off, looking very much disgusted; and Sergeant Lund having been summoned to bring a file to watch by the sick man, the much relieved party went down to dinner. _