"Yorky," great of heart, is quite unused to the melting mood. He admits
that he felt pretty bad mentally. But whatever his feelings towards his
sodden mate lying there with watery blood oozing from wounds on his
head, exhibiting the marks of the necessarily rough-and-ready means
that had been taken for his rescue, they had to be suppressed. Wet,
dizzy, and sadly battered, with little more apparent reason for the
possession of the breath of life than his companion, he set sail,
slipped the anchor, and steered for the nearest port. Some distance
on the way, to use "Yorky's" own and sufficient words--"The dead
man came to life!" Both had to submit to the restraint of hospital
treatment for many weeks ere physical repairs were complete.
How is it that a one-armed man, slight in physique, whose brains have
been addled by blows with billets of firewood, whose side is raw and
bleeding, and who has a broken rib hampering his movements, is able to
achieve feats that would be surprising if performed by a whole and
stalwart individual? "Yorky" has always been a wonder, and his life a
series of adventures and arduous tasks, which seem to prove that the
loss of a limb has been compensated for by hardihood and resourcefulness
worth a great deal more.
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