Читать книгу American Captain - Эдисон Маршалл - Страница 12

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I lay on the sunny deck where my mates had gently spread me. Others of our company, the most knowing and experienced in the task, went to work on George Greenough. First they rolled him, with hanging-out tongue, over a barrel, and the men cheered at the amount of sea water he was ridden of. Then, while one of his nostrils was pressed shut, air was shot into the other through the stem of a bellows. He could take only a little at first because of the congestion in his lungs, but thus began a wonderful process, no less than causing artificial breathing in the apparent dead. Alternately pressing the air out of him and giving him more, his rough-and-ready doctors were at last rewarded by a faint gasp rising of itself from his pale lips. By their keeping at it, he was soon thrown into a paroxysm of violent coughing and retching; and then the welkin rang with the boys’ shouts, for they knew that he was saved.

With George coughing and spewing, but able at last to swallow a tot of rum, my good fishing for him had proven the greatest triumph of my days. In my pride in it, I had almost forgotten my own hurt. Presently a stab of pain, as from a knife blade stuck deep into my calf, made me remember it well enough. Then my spirits took a great fall, for at last I confronted the scurvy fact that George Greenough would return to duty long before I did. He would be clambering to the tops and taking his turn to hand reef and steer while I sat flatbottomed on the deck, my leg broom-stiff before me, splicing rope or—an even duller shipboard task—shredding oakum.

George was carried to the fo’c’sle to have his harrowed spirit balmed with sleep. Captain Phillips, Mate Hedric, and three or four would-be doctors among the crew gathered around me to look at my helpless leg. The master himself undertook its examination. No doubt he tried to be gentle, but his main forte was being thorough, and I must bite my tongue to keep from howling.

“ ’Tis done, and I fear ’twas far from pleasant,” he told me at last, in his old-fashioned speech.

“Nay, sir, it wasn’t.”

“I’d ’ve given ye a gill of grog, to dull your sensibilities, but ’twas needful that ye feel and indicate pain, to disclose to me your condition.”

“What is it, sir, if you’ll kindly tell me?”

“The shinbone, called the tibia, is surely broke. I can’t be sure of the smaller legbone, known as the fibula, but I think ’tis whole. Moreover, I believe the break to be clean and not compound, which should expedite its healing.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Cap’n.”

“Mate Hedric, what would you recommend to be done?”

“Why, if ’twas mine, I’d rather have Owens here put his hand at setting it, than leave it to some Sicilian sawbones, always singing and wine-bibbling, or a Frenchman either.”

Ezra Owens had joined our company soon after we had lost Tom Childers off Finisterre, and except for ’Giny Jim, he was the only man aboard not a New England Yankee. About forty, somewhat windy, and a Philadelphian besides, he would fit the part of ship’s lawyer; instead he aspired to physic. However, I had never seen him perform any medical feats beyond giving pills for a binding, sumac to stop a flux, removing slivers, and curing gurry sores.

“I reckon we’d best not have any journeyman doctors setting the bosun’s bones,” the captain replied. “And since we can’t get him to an American leech, the next best would be a British, who when he means ‘leg,’ can say ‘leg,’ and not ‘jamby.’ ”

“I’m of the same mind, Cap’n.”

“Then why not run him down to Malta, where there’s an English naval hospital, and doctors most as good as we’d find in Boston? The bone was broke helping a shipmate beyond call o’ duty, and if my charterers revile me for doing what I deem fit, to hell and damnation with ’em.”

It was not lightly or on small occasion that Captain Phillips cursed. It seemed to me that those Boston merchants must look about the rooms they were sitting in, wondering what had shaked the walls.

Captain Phillips turned to me and spoke in his usual manner.

“We’ll land you there, then lade our cargo of Marsala wine to fetch to Copenhagen. By the time we get back here—say nine weeks—your leg will be fit to stand on, though not as good as new. We’ll pick you up as we come by for duty aft the mast.”

The last three words were spoken by him so calmly, and heard by me so fervently, that my head reeled. Perhaps his tongue had slipped, when he had meant to say, “’fore the mast.”

“Sir, I’m not sure I understood you,” I replied as steadfastly as I could, while the men gaped.

“ ’Tis no wonder, since I’d given you no hint of it before. In truth, I’d meant to wait till Mr. Tyler went his way. But some good news to raise your spirits while we’re away will surely help the healing, so I’ll tell you now. In short, Mr. Tyler’s returning to Salem as soon as I can spare him, to be master of Mr. Derby’s two-masted sloop a-building in his yard, and I mean to appoint you to his berth as second mate.”

There was only one thing I had breath to say. Happily it was the best and proper thing.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Ye should know that I’m sole owner of the vessel, having bought Eli Morton’s share when we last came up home, so my choice is final. But ye’ve a hard duty ahead of ye, to equal Mr. Tyler, and I’ll expect you to come to it, and so will all hands.”

“Sir, may I speak free?”

“Every man has the right to speak free on this ship until he speaks unfit for a man, for we sail ’neath the flag of freedom.”

“It’s that difference between us and foreign ships that makes me ask this favor.” I had sat up, my broken leg stiff in front of me, but it was not its throbbing pain that wet my face with sweat. “You know how British officers look down on men ’fore the mast. I’m not used to it, and it would go hard with me. So if you could see your way to brevet me second mate before you leave me in Malta, I’d be better treated by all who deal with me.”

“Now that’s to be thought of, and if ’tis a little irregular, since when have Americans bowed down to regulations? By God I’ll do it.”

I had been weakened more than I knew by my ordeal underwater, for now my chest heaved and I must bow my face in my hands. For a little space I feared I had shamed myself before all hands, but it was not so.

Until I could master myself again, they looked away, talking to one another of other matters.