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.

This suggestion was answered by a yell of protest from the men on the
cliff.

"If ye be afeard o' her, ye white-livered swile, what d'ye want me to do
wid her?"

"T'row her overboard! Heave her into the sea!" "Aye, t'row her
overboard. She bes the devil hisself! T'ree good lads bes kilt dead by
her already. T'row her overboard!"

"There bain't a man amongst ye wid the heart o' a white-coat," returned
the skipper. "Afeared o' a poor drownded wench, be ye?"

This taunt was received in sullen silence. The skipper stood firm on the
listed deck, his feet set well apart and his shoulders squared, and
leered up at them. Then, stooping forward quickly, he plucked the
pendants from those bloodless ears, and set the body rolling into the
starboard scuppers and overboard to the frothing surf and slobbering
rocks. From the cliff a cry as of mingled relief and dismay rang down to
him. He moved forward and swarmed the foremast to the cross-trees. There
he paused for a few moments to glance across. He saw that Bill Brennen,
Nick Leary, his brother Cormick and several of the men whom he had
rescued from the flooded cabin had cl