Then the will of him flamed up again, and he
directed the blacks to lay the stretcher beside him on the floor. Hughie
Drummond, whom he had last seen in health, was an emaciated skeleton. His
closed eyes were deep-sunken. The shrivelled lips had fallen away from
the teeth, and the cheek-bones seemed bursting through the skin. Sheldon
sent a house-boy for his thermometer and glanced questioningly at the
captain.
"Black-water fever," the captain said. "He's been like this for six
days, unconscious. And we've got dysentery on board. What's the matter
with you?"
"I'm burying four a day," Sheldon answered, as he bent over from the
steamer-chair and inserted the thermometer under his partner's tongue.
Captain Oleson swore blasphemously, and sent a house-boy to bring whisky
and soda. Sheldon glanced at the thermometer.
"One hundred and seven," he said. "Poor Hughie."
Captain Oleson offered him some whisky.
"Couldn't think of it--perforation, you know," Sheldon said.
He sent for a boss-boy and ordered a grave to be dug, also some of the
packing-cases to be knocked together into a coffin. The blacks did not
get coffins. They were buried as they died, being carted on a sheet of
galvanized iron, in their nakedness, from the hospital to the hole in the
ground.
Pages:
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36