On deck, the men were gathered around Burns.  There were ominous faces among them, and mutterings of hatred and revenge; for Burns had been popular—­the best-liked man among them all.  Jones, wrought to the highest pitch, had even shed a few shamefaced tears, and was obliterating the humiliating memory by an extra brusqueness of manner.

We carried the injured man aft, and with such implements as I had I cleaned and dressed the wound.  It needed sewing, and it seemed best to do it before he regained consciousness.  Jones and Adams went below to the forecastle, therefore, and brought up my amputating set, which contained, besides its knives, some curved needles and surgical silk, still in good condition.

I opened the case, and before the knives, the long surgeon’s knives which were in use before the scalpel superseded them, they fell back, muttering and amazed.

I did not know that Elsa Lee also was watching until, having requested Jones, who had been a sailmaker, to thread the needles, his trembling hands refused their duty.  I looked up, searching the group for a competent assistant, and saw the girl.  She had dressed, and the light from the lantern beside me on the deck threw into relief her white figure among the dark ones.  She came forward as my eyes fell on her.

“Let me try,” she said; and, kneeling by the lantern, in a moment she held out the threaded needle.  Her hand was quite steady.  She made an able assistant, wiping clean the oozing edges of the wound so that I could see to clip the bleeding vessels, and working deftly with the silk and needles to keep me supplied.  My old case yielded also a roll or so of bandage.  By the time Burns was attempting an incoordinate movement or two, the operation was over and the instruments put out of sight.

His condition was good.  The men carried him to the tent, where Jones sat beside him, and the other men stood outside, uneasy and watchful, looking in.

The operating-case, with its knives, came in for its share of scrutiny, and I felt that an explanation was due the men.  To tell the truth, I had forgotten all about the case.  Perhaps I swaggered just a bit as I went over to wash my hands.  It was my first opportunity, and I was young, and the Girl was there.

“I see you looking at my case, boys,” I said.  “Perhaps I’m a little late explaining, but I guess after what you’ve seen you’ll understand.  The case belonged to my grandfather, who was a surgeon.  He was in the war.  That case was at Gettysburg.”

“And because of your grandfather you brought it on shipboard!” Clarke said nastily.

“No.  I’m a cub doctor myself.  I’d been sick, and I needed the sea and a rest.”

They were not so impressed as I had expected—­or perhaps they had known all along.  Sailors are a secretive lot.

“I’m thinking we’ll all be getting a rest soon,” a voice said.  “What are you going to do with them knives?”