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The Harbor Master by Theodore Goodridge Roberts
page 82 of 220 (37%)
deck with the big medicine-chest in his arms. He was received by a growl
of admiration from the little group of wounded. The men on the cliff
looked down in silence, those who had taken part in the recent panic
deeply impressed by the skipper's action. The brandy had already been
lowered to the deck, and the bottles were uncorked. The skipper placed
the chest on the upper side of the hatch, and saw to the fair
distribution of the liquor. He passed it around with a generous hand;
but the doses administered to Nick Leary and the man with the broken leg
were the most liberal. He attended to Nick's cheek first, drawing the
lips of the wound together with strips of adhesive plaster from the
medicine-chest, and then padding and bandaging it securely with gauze
and linen.

"That bes fine, skipper. Sure, it feels better now nor it did afore it
was cut," mumbled Nick, gazing at the other with dog-homage in his eyes.

By this time, Bill Lynch, of the broken leg, was oblivious to the world,
thanks to the depth and strength of his potations. The skipper cut away
a section of the leg of his heavy woollen trousers, prodded and pried at
the injured limb with his strong fingers until the fracture was found,
put a couple of strong splints in place, and bandaged them so that they
were not likely to drop off, to say the least. He then made a sling of a
blanket and sent his drunken patient swaying and twirling aloft in it to
the top of the cliff. The other injured persons went ashore in the same
way, one by one, like bales of sail-cloth. At last only the skipper and
the dead woman were left on the wreck. The skipper stood with a scowl on
his dark face and considered her. He drew the blanket sling toward him,
and stood toward the poor clay.

"I'll send her up to ye for dacent burial," he shouted.
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