Life and limb
seemed to be not worth caring for; men fairly hurled themselves from the
steamer into the boats, quite careless as to whether they landed on
hands or feet, or anyhow. Fullerton exclaimed--
"Just to think that of all those splendid, plucky smacksmen, we haven't
got one yet! I've been using the glass, and can't see a face that I
know. How can we? We haven't funds, and we cannot send vessels out."
Miss Dearsley's education was being rapidly completed. Her strong, quick
intelligence was catching the significance of everything she saw. The
smack with the lost mainsail was drawing near, and the doctor was ready
to go, when a boat with four men came within safe distance of the
schooner's side.
"Can you give us any assistance, sir? Our mate's badly wounded--seems to
a' lost his senses like, and don't understand."
A deadly pale man was stretched limply on the top of a pile of
fish-boxes. Mrs. Walton said--
"Pray take us away--we cannot bear the sight."
And indeed Marion Dearsley was as pale as the poor blood-smeared
fisherman. Ferrier coolly waited and helped Tom and Fullerton to hoist
the senseless, mangled mortal on deck. The crew did all they could to
keep the boat steady, but after every care the miserable sufferer fell
at last with a sudden jerk across the schooner's rail. He was too weak
to moan.
"Don't take him below yet," said Ferrier. "Lennard, you help me. Why,
you've let his cap get stuck to his head, my man.
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