When my turn came I leapt with all the buoyancy of youth on to the lowermost crag, grasping an overhanging tuft of reeds and grass to gain the next step; but the reeds were as sharp as a razor, and before I realized it the palm of my hand was cut to the bone, and the blood poured in a stream down my arm and over my doublet. The sudden pain and the loss of blood caused me to slip to the foot of the cliff, and for a time everything became blank and my head swam. Someone forced my head betwixt my knees, so that in a short space of time I felt better. "You would do well to return to the boat," said Captain Poynings in a tone that meant no refusal. "Can you manage to find the path, or shall I send a man with you?" I replied that I was well enough to go, and reluctantly I turned back. Drake laid a hand on my shoulder. "Never heed, Aubrey," said he sympathetically. "’Tis better to return with a gashed hand like yours. But I’ll tell you all when we come back." Slowly I went till I reached the edge of the wood. Then I lingered, watching the party make the ascent, which they did speedily and without further mishap. Then I heard their footsteps die away as they plunged through the thick underwood, and I was alone. The path, by reason of the numbers that had but recently passed, was now well-defined, and I had no difficulty in finding it. Dommett, the boatkeeper, received me without signs of surprise, and on telling him of my misadventure, he merely ejaculated a loud "Well done", which was a favourite expression of his, no matter what caused him to make it, insomuch that on board he was dubbed by his messmates "Well done Dommett". However, he bathed my hand in seawater, although the salt did make it smart mightily, and, tying it with a strip of wet linen, he told me to keep quiet, so as not unduly to excite my head, which was by now throbbing like to burst. Throughout the forenoon Dommett smoked a short black pipe incessantly, though he kept his eyes shifting, looking frequently for signals from the _Gannet_ and the island, both towards the path and along the shore. There was no sign or sound till about one hour after noon, when we both heard a faint noise like a musket being fired afar off. We listened alertly, but no other sound was heard. "’Tis one of the men who has fallen over his piece, perchance," remarked the sailor as he refilled his pipe, ramming the weed down with his little finger. Hardly had he made the flint and steel to work when there was another noise, like the distant crashing of brushwood. The sound came nearer, so we both stood up, the boat-keeper thrusting an oar into the water so as to keep the longboat off shore. Nearer came the sound, till at length a man appeared, torn and bleeding, and spent with running. It was one of the _Gannet’s_ men--the bos’n’s mate,--and, throwing himself into the boat, he lay like a log.