Came morning, but not the lady.
And the foc'sle was in sad need of her ministrations. Quite half the
crew needed salves and bandages for their bruises and cuts, and there
was, besides, a more serious case demanding attention.
When the starboard watch was called at four o'clock, we heard a low,
insistent moaning in the port foc'sle. The man who called us said that
the little squarehead--the lad Swope had manhandled--had again fallen
afoul the masters. The hurts Swope had inflicted prevented the boy
moving about as quickly as Mister Fitzgibbon desired, so the bucko had
laid him out and walked upon him during the mid-watch. When he was
through, the lad had crawled on his hands and knees into the foc'sle,
and collapsed.
By eight o'clock in the morning, when the starboard watch went below
again, we found the poor chap daft, and babbling, and on fire with
fever. The mate gave up his efforts to arouse him, and admitted to
Lynch that "the damn little stock fish is a bit off color. Needs a
dose o' black draught."
After breakfast, Newman and I stepped into the port foc'sle. The
squareheads of our watch were already there, sitting gloomily about, or
clumsily attempting to make the injured youth more comfortable.
He looked bad, no mistake. Newman shook his head, gravely, as we
turned away.
"It is a task for her," he said to me. "She has the healing gift. The
boy is badly hurt."
A growled curse took my answer from me. It came from one of the
squareheads, from Lindquist, a sober, bearded, middle-aged man, the one
man among them who could manage a few words of English conversation.
"Koom vrom mine town," he said, indicating the tossing form in the bunk.
His blue eyes had a worried, puzzled expression, and his voice bespoke
puzzled wrath. It was evident his slow moving peasant's mind was
grappling with the bloody fact of a hell-ship. It was something new in
his experience. He was trying to fathom it. Why were he and his mates
thumped, when they willingly did their work? What for? "Nils iss goot
boy," he said to us. "So hard he vork, _ja_." Then he bent over the
bunk and resumed the application of his old folk remedy, the placing of
wetted woolen socks upon Nils' forehead.
Before the foc'sle door, we found our mob of stiffs, nursing their
hurts, and watching the cabin. For, as all the world of ships knew,
this was the time of day the lady came forward on her errand of mercy.
They were a sorry-looking mob, as sore of heart as of body.
It was not so much medical attention the stiffs wanted, I think, as
sympathy. Bruises and lacerations, so long as they didn't keep a man
off his feet, were lightly regarded in that tough crowd. But the
lady's sweet, sane being was a light in the pall of brutality that hung
over the ship. She was something more than woman, or doctor, to those
men; in her they saw the upper world they had lost, the fineness of
life they had never attained. They had all felt the heartening
influence of her presence at the muster; they craved for it now as
thirsty men crave for water. They were men in hell, and through the
lady they had a vision of heaven.
Two bells went, and then three, and the lady did not come. At last
Wong, the Chinese steward, came forward.
"All slick man go aft," says he. "Lady flix um."
"Is she not coming forward?" asked Newman.
"No can do. Slick man lay aft."
"What have you there?" I demanded, for he bore a glass filled with
liquid.
"Dosey. Mlissa Mate, him say give slick man inside," and he pointed
into the foc'sle.
Newman ripped out an oath. "Give it here. A bonesetter, not a dose of
physic is needed in there."
He reached out his hand, and Wong obediently surrendered the glass. He
surrendered something else. I was standing by Newman's side, and, saw
the piece of paper that passed into his hand with the tumbler.
Newman's face remained as impassive as the Chinaman's own. He sniffed
of the draught, made a wry face and tossed it, glass and all, over the
side into the sea. Then he turned on his heel and went into the
foc'sle. Wong went aft, followed by most of the watch.
I went after Newman. He was sitting on the edge of his bunk, musing,
and the note was open upon his knee. He handed it to me to read.
It was just a strip of wrapping paper, hastily scribbled over in
pencil. But the handwriting was dainty and feminine. It was from the
lady, plainly enough, even though no name was signed.
"_We have quarreled, and he has forbidden me to leave the cabin, or go
forward this voyage. He is drinking, he is desperate--oh, Roy, be
careful, he is capable of anything. I know him now. Do not come aft
with the sick._"
I looked at Newman inquiringly. But he said nothing to supplement the
note. He took it from me, lighted a match, and burned it up. I
guessed he was disappointed, that he had counted upon the lady coming
forward.
"And did the little dear write? And what did she say," drawled an
unpleasant voice behind us.
I swung about with a start, and saw Boston and Blackie lying in their
bunks, one above the other. Boston had spoken, but they were both
eyeing Newman.
The dangerous light came into Newman's face. "Mind your own business!"
he said, shortly.
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, broken by Boston, with a
wheedling note in his voice.
"Aw, say, Big 'Un, don't get horstile. We didn't mean to horn in. We
just want to be friends; we feel hurt, Blackie an' me, at the way
you're giving us the go by. We're all on the dodge together, ain't we?
And we got a rich lay, I tell you! Blackie and me has it all figured
out, but we need you to lead, Big 'Un. What d'ye want to pal with that
cub for, when two old friends like Blackie an' me are ready and willing
to work for you? We got a rich lay, I tell you!"
"Damn your thieving schemes," said Newman.
"Aw, now, bring the cub in, if you like," persisted Boston. "He's a
game 'un."
Blackie, the hot-headed, spoke up, resentfully. He lifted his battered
face on his elbow, and lisped through the gap Lynch's fist had made in
his teeth. "Number seven hundred and three wasn't so finicky about his
pals the time he jumped the dead line, and ditched the Big House!"
Newman crossed the foc'sle with one catlike bound. He got Blackie by
the throat and yanked him from the bunk. Then he shook him, and threw
him into the farther corner.
"There will be no scheme set on foot from this foc'sle, save the one I
father," he told the pair in his cool, level voice. "I gave you your
answer last night. Now, if you two come between me and my goal, in
this ship, as God lives, I'll kill you!"
With that, he swung about and stepped into the port foc'sle.
"Come on, Shreve," he said to me, over his shoulder. "Lend a hand.
You and I must attend to this boy."
Presently I was standing by Nils' bunk, together with the squareheads,
marveling at the gentleness with which Newman's huge hands handled the
sufferer. It was an exhibition of practiced skill. The feeling was
strong on me that moment that Newman had gained this skill in no
foc'sle, but in a cabin, where as master he had doctored his own sick.
But, after all, he was no surgeon, and there was little he could do for
the lad. Newman undressed him--the squareheads had not been able to
accomplish this feat, because of the pain their rough handling
caused--and bared the poor broken body to view. The squareheads cursed
deeply and bitterly at the sight of the shocking bruises on the white
flesh. Nils was delirious, staring up at us with brilliant, unseeing
eyes, and babbling in his own lingo.
"He say, mudder, mudder," commented Lindquist in a choked voice. "I
know his mudder."
Newman explored the hurts with his finger, and his gentle touch brought
gasps of agony. His face grew very grave. Then he ripped up a
blanket, and with my assistance, skillfully bandaged Nils about the
body.
When he was through, he looked Lindquist in the eyes, and shook his
head.
"So?" said Lindquist. His eyes, so stupid and dull a while before,
were blazing now. Aye, it was evident his law-abiding mind had arrived
at a lawless decision; his lowering face boded no good for the brute
who had maltreated his young friend. "Gott, if he die!" he said. It
was a full-mouthed promise to avenge, that sentence.
As we left, I became aware that Boston and Blackie had followed Newman
and me, and had witnessed the scene. Said Boston to his mate, in a low
voice that I just caught,
"If the kid croaks we'll have the squareheads with us."