"I am surely in a bad fix," he reflected. "Wounded--in an open
boat--without an oar, or a bite to eat or drink."
He had read enough of the perils of the sea to comprehend the terrible
possibilities of his situation, and at first his blood chilled and his
courage sank. Resolute as he was by nature, there was a deadly
difference between the loneliness of his present condition and the
solitude of his native mountains.
In the woods he was at home; he knew where to go to find people
there--but here! In his weakened condition tears started to his eyes.
But he soon dashed them away, and, rising, set about dressing his wound.
He removed his jacket and shirt, and bathed the wound with ocean water,
as he knew that salt was good to allay possible inflammation. The
bullet had grazed his side just under the shoulder, making a painful
though not a dangerous injury.
"Lucky it didn't lodge," he thought, as he tore up his handkerchief and
bound up the place by passing the bandage over his opposite shoulder.
A good deal of blood had flowed both down his arm and side. This
accounted for his present weakness.
After resuming his clothes, he sat down to consider the situation.
There was a light breeze from the northeast, with a straggling fleece
of clouds, expanding like a fan towards the zenith. Ralph knew that
the appearance indicated more wind, but he determined not to borrow
trouble from the future.
A slow, majestic heaving of the ocean, on which the yawl gently rose
and fell was counter crossed by the shorter ripples stirred up by the
light wind then blowing.
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