Читать книгу The Flying Bo'sun: A Mystery of the Sea - Arthur Mason - Страница 9

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In those days, twenty years ago, sailing schooners had few men before the mast, and every man was called upon to do a man's work. If one of the crew were sick, it usually caused a great deal of trouble both fore and aft. In bad and stormy weather it was not uncommon for the old and seasoned sailor to play sick, provided he could get away with it. The usual symptom was lame back, so that the appetite might not be questioned. When the ship would emerge into fine weather, marvel of marvels, the sailor would recover in a moment.

"Sick, is he?" said the Captain, and pointed to me, saying: "Go forward and see what the trouble is."

"I am sure," I replied, "that he will be on deck before long, sir."

"All I have in the medicine chest is pills, yes, damn it, pills," and he waved me forward.

In the forecastle Swanson was lying in his bunk with the blankets pulled up over his head, sound asleep, and beside him, lying on a bench, was all that remained of a breakfast piece of hardtack, and a large bone, with teethmarks in the gristle.

"Well," thought I, "if he is getting as close to the bone as this, he can't be very sick." I awoke him, saying: "What is the matter with you, Swanson? Why aren't you on deck? This is not your watch below."

He rolled over as if in great agony.

"Mr. Mate, I ban very sick man."

"Where are you sick?"

"I ban sick on this side," pointing to the right side.

"Stick out your tongue. Yes, indeed, you are a very sick man. Can't eat, I suppose." He answered me with a grunt as if in mortal pain.

I went aft and asked the Captain for a few pills. "Give me five."

"Hell, take ten. How is he?"

"I will have him on deck in a few hours, sir."

After Swanson had swallowed the last pill I said, "You are feeling much easier now, aren't you? Of course, this treatment will relieve you, but only temporarily. I am positive that you have a very bad case of appendicitis."

This seemed to please the Swede very much. "But," said I, "it is very unfortunate that we are running into another storm, the pitching and rolling of the ship will be bad for you."

He looked me fair in the eye, saying, "Why?"

"Well, it may be either death or an operation for you very soon."

"I tank de pain go down," pointing to his hip.

"Yes, Swanson, that is the most pronounced symptom of all," I said, pathetically. "You lie still while I go aft and see what kind of cutlery the Captain has."

"Captain," I asked, when I was once more on deck, "what kind of pills were those that you just gave me for Swanson?"

"Beecham's pills, and five is a very large dose. I have had them by me for years. As a boy I was introduced to them by the North Sea fishermen," he proceeded solemnly. "You know they advertise them on the sails of luggers, smacks and sloops, in fact, wherever you look in the North Sea, Irish Sea or English Channel you can always see Beecham's Pills go sailing by."

Towards evening the weather broke clear with the wind hauling towards the northeast and eastward, and the prospects looked good for better weather. About nine o'clock the cook came running aft, crying, "Mr. Mate, Swanson is very sick, and the crew think that he is going to die."

"What is the matter with him now?" said I, very coolly.

"He has terrible cramps. Russian-Finn John and Broken-Nosed Pete have all they can do to hold him in the bunk."

"You go to the galley, steward, and get a quart of warm water. You can give it to him while John and Pete hold him, and I have no doubt that in this case Riley will be glad to help. Is that he groaning?"

"Yes," said the Steward, trembling, "he is in terrible agony."

"Have you given him anything to eat for supper?"

"My God, yes, he has gorged himself on corned beef and cabbage."

"Well," thought I, "he has reason to roll and groan."

"Get that hot water," I continued aloud, "and be quick about it. If anything happens to him after this you will be to blame. The idea of feeding corned beef and cabbage to a man with a high fever!" The cook waited to hear no more. All I could see was the dirty apron flying for the galley.

The Captain, hearing us talking from the cabin, shouted out, "What is all that noise up there?"

"Nothing much, sir; she is now laying her course with the wind free." This was hoping to distract him with weather conditions from asking whom I dared to talk with on the poop deck. Discipline must be adhered to on windjammers. Mates and second mates give their orders in whispers, but never loud enough to awaken His Majesty the Captain. The mates are held in high esteem by the crew when they see the Captain conversing with them, but for one of the crew to come and carry on a conversation with an officer when he is aft in his sacred precinct, the poop deck, is considered a crime, and ranks almost next to mutiny. Evidently he thought that I was giving some orders to the crew, for he closed the porthole, and did not ask me the question.

On my way forward to see how the steward was getting along with his mission, and while abreast the forerigging, Old Charlie tapped me on the shoulder and pointed toward the forecastle saying: "Mr. Mate, Swanson is a very sick man. He thinks that you have given him poison, sir, and"—stepping close to me, "I feel that something is going to happen on this ship."

"What makes you think that?" said I.

Pulling his old hairy cap down around his ears, and settling down for a long yarn, he said: "In the winter of 1875 I was in a ship off the Cape of Good Hope. We lost three sailors overboard—"

"I am in a hurry, Charlie, you will be too long—"

"I have had queer dreams lately, sir," he interrupted.

"Tell me some other time," said I, "I must see the Swede."

Down in the forecastle Riley was comforting Swanson in the uncertain language of the sea, while the cook held his head, eyeing me, and saying very softly, "I don't think that it is the cabbage, sir."

"What is it then," said I, "I only gave two grains of quinine to reduce his fever. Stand back, there, so that I can get a look at him. How are you now, Swanson?" As I said this, the words of the advertisement occurred to me, "Beecham's Pills are worth a guinea, though they cost but eighteen pence."

There was no bluffing with the Swede. He was sick in good earnest now. "I think I ban poisoned, Mr. Mate."

"No, Swanson, you have not been poisoned. You must be operated on, and at once."

"Begob, sir," said Riley, with a wink at me, "and sure it is myself that knows how to carve. I will be after helping you, sir."

"Thank you, Riley, it is a dirty job, and I should much prefer that you would do it."

"Let me up," yelled the Swede.

"Hold him down, men," said I. "You know that he is out of his head from fever, and it would be dangerous for him to get up until after the operation." It now dawned upon Swanson that I was in earnest about the operation. For a one-eyed Irishman and his enemy to cut a hole in him was more than he could bear. With a wild plunge that hurled his captors to right and left, he jumped from his bunk, and raced for his life up the ladder that led to the deck.

Seven bells in the morning, and with a fine sailing breeze, we were leaving behind the sleet and storms for those who sail the northern latitudes.

"I saw Swanson on deck this morning," said the Captain.

"Yes, sir, he is better. I don't think that we shall have any more trouble from him in that direction."