We took our handkerchiefs and strips from the linings of our coats and set to work instantly, meanwhile laying the officer down on a patch of soft dirt close to the wall. We had just finished binding up the wound, when the sufferer stirred.
"Help!" he murmured. "Oh, my poor head!"
"You are safe, sir," I said. "The Chinamen have fled."
"Is that true? Thank God! They wanted to kill me for the few pounds I have in my pocket."
"Are you wounded otherwise than in the head?" asked Dan.
"I—yes—one of them hit me in the leg, the left one,—it pains a good deal. Oh, my head!" And the officer fell back once more.
I proceeded to make him as comfortable as possible, while Dan scurried around for some water. In the meantime the houses and shops in the neighborhood remained closed, having been shut up at the first signs of an encounter. In Hong Kong, if anything goes wrong, the native inhabitants always pretend to know nothing about it.
When the officer felt strong enough to talk connectedly he told us that he was Clare Todd, belonging to the cruiser Olympia, of Commodore Dewey's squadron.
