Part 39 (1/2)

for the first trader t' pick it up. They'd the smallpox there, sir, accordin' t' rumour; but we wasn't afeard o' cotchin' it--thinkin' we'd not cotched it at Poor Luck Harbour--an' sailed right in t' do the tradin'. We had the last quintal aboard at noon o' the next day; an' we shook out the canvas an' laid a course t' the nor'ard, with a fair, light wind. We was well out from sh.o.r.e when the skipper an' me went down t' the forecastle t' have a cup o' tea with the cook; an' we was hard at it when Tommy Mib hung his head out of his bunk.

”'Skipper,' says he, in a sick sort o' whisper, 'I'm took.'

”'What's took you?' says the skipper.

”'Skipper,' says he, 'I--I'm--took.'

”'What's took you, you fool?' says the skipper.

”Poor Tommy fell back in his bunk. 'Skipper,' he whines, 'I've cotched it!'

”''Tis the smallpox, sir,' says I. 'I seed the spots.'

”'No such nonsense!' says the skipper. ''Tis the measles. That's what _he've_ got. Jagger an' me says so.'

”'But Jagger ain't here,' says I.

”'Never you mind about that,' says he. 'I knows what Jagger thinks.'

”When we put into Harbour Grand we knowed it wasn't no measles. When we dropped anchor there, sir, _we knowed what 'twas_. Believe _me_, sir, we _knowed_ what 'twas. The cook he up an' says he ain't afraid o' no smallpox, but he'll be sunk for a coward afore he'll go down the forecastle ladder agin. An' the second hand he says he likes a bunk in the forecastle when he can have one comfortable, but he've no objection t' the hold _at times_. 'Then, lads,' says the skipper, 'you'll not be meanin' t' look that way agin,' says he, with a snaky little glitter in his eye. 'An' if you do, you'll find a fist about the heft o' _that_,'

says he, shakin' his hand, 't' kiss you at the foot o' the ladder.'

After that the cook an' the second hand slep' in the hold, an' them an'

me had a snack o' grub at odd times in the cabin, where I had a hammock slung, though the place was wonderful crowded with goods. 'Twas the skipper that looked after Tommy Mib. 'Twas the skipper that sailed the s.h.i.+p, too,--drove her like he'd always done: all the time eatin' an'

sleepin' in the forecastle, where poor Tommy Mib lay sick o' the smallpox. But we o' the crew kep' our distance when the ol' man was on deck; an' they was no rush for'ard t' tend the jib an' stays'l when it was 'Hard a-lee!' in a beat t' win'ard--no rush at all. Believe _me_, sir, they was no rush for'ard--with Tommy Mib below.

”'Skipper Jim,' says I, one day, 'what _is_ you goin' t' do?'

”'Well, Docks,' says he, 'I'm thinkin' I'll go see Jagger.'

”So we beat up t' Wayfarer's Tickle--makin' port in the dusk. Skipper Jim went ash.o.r.e, but took nar a one of us with un. He was there a wonderful long time; an' when he come aboard, he orders the anchor up an' all sail made.

”'Where you goin'?' says I.

”'Tradin',' says he.

”'Is you?' says I.

”'Ay,' says he. 'Jagger says 'tis a wonderful season for fish.'”

Docks paused. ”Skipper Billy,” he said, breaking off the narrative and fixing the impa.s.sive skipper of the _Greased Lightning_ with an anxious eye, ”did they have the smallpox at Tops'l Cove? Come now; did they?”

”Ay, sir,” Skipper Billy replied; ”they had the smallpox at Tops'l Cove.”

”Dear man!” Docks repeated, ”they had the smallpox at Tops'l Cove! We was three days at Tops'l Cove, with folk aboard every day, tradin' fish.

An' Tommy Mib below! We touched Smith's Arm next, sir. Come now, speak fair; did they have it there?”

”They're not rid of it yet,” said Doctor Luke.

”Smith's Arm too!” Docks groaned.

”An' Harbour Rim,” the skipper added.