that the collar-bone is broken, and I cannot say yet whether there is anything wrong with the spine.
“No!” he said the next minute, for the sufferer stretched out his hands as if to clutch and save himself, and he moved his legs.
There were plenty of willing hands ready to help, and a canvas stretcher was drawn beneath the sufferer so that he could be carried carefully down to one of the state cabins, which was immediately vacated for his use; and there for hours Doctor Kingsmead was calling into his service everything that a long training could suggest; but apparently in vain, for his patient lay quite insensible in the sultry cabin, apparently sinking slowly into the great ocean of eternity.
And all the time the huge steamer tore on over the oily sea through a great heat which rivalled that of the engine-room, and the captain and first and second mates held consultations twice over in connection with barometer and chart, by the light of the swinging lamp below.
The passengers supposed that those meetings concerned the injured boy, but the sailors, who had had experience, knew that there was something more behind, and that evening after the sun had gone downs looking coppery and orange where a peculiar haze dimmed the west, one of the sailors who had gathered round where old Bostock was seated hazarded a few words to his senior.
“Looks a strange deal like a storm,” he said.
“Ay, it does,” said the old sailor; “and as I was saying,” he continued, passing his hand across his eyes, “it do seem strange how these things come about. Here’s me more’n fifty, and about half wore out, and there’s this here young gent just beginning, as you may say, and cut down like that. You lads mayn’t believe it, but he kinder made me take to him from the first, and I’d a deal rayther it was me cut down than him.”
“Ah, poor lad!” said one of the men, and there was a low murmur.
“Look at that now,” continued the old sailor, passing his hand across his eyes again, and then holding it out and looking at it curiously; “wet as wet! He aren’t nothing to me, so I suppose I must be growing older and softer than I thought I was. Nothing to me at all but a passenger, and here am I, mates, crying like a great gal.”
“There aren’t naught to be ’shamed on, Bob Bostock,” said another middle-aged man. “I know what you feels, mate, for I’ve got boys o’ my own, and he’s somebody’s bairn. Got a father and mother waiting for him out in Brisbun. Ah! there’ll be some wet eyes yonder when they come to know.”
“Ay, there will,” came in chorus.
“ ’Taren’t that he’s such a good-looking lad, nor so big nor strong. I dunno what it was, but everyone took to him from the first day he come aboard. Never made himself too common nor free, but there he was, allus the gen’leman with you—what you may call nice.”
“Reg’lar true-born Englishman, I say,” said another.
“Nay, just aye like a young Scot,” said another.
“Hark at that!” said another, looking round defiantly; “it’s of Oirish descent he is. Isn’t his name Carey?”
“What!” cried another, angrily. “Carey—Carew. It’s a Welsh name inteet, and as old as the hills.”
“Never mind what he is—English or Scotch or Welsh.”
“Or Irish,” put in one of those who had spoken.
“Or Irish,” said old Bostock; “he’s as fine a lad as ever stepped, I say, and I’d take it kindly if one of you would take my watch to-night, for I want to hang about ready to do anything the doctor may want in the way o’ lifting or fetching water. It don’t seem nat’ral to stand by and see the stooard’s mate doing things for the lad as he’d, ask me to do if he could speak.”
“Ah! he mostly come to you, Bob Bostock, when he wanted a bit o’ fishing-line or anything o’ that kind.”
“He did,” said the old sailor, “and glad I allus was to help him. Maybe we are going to have a blow to-night, and if it comes so much the better. It’ll make it cooler for the poor lad, for it’s hot enough now. Yes, we’re in for a hurricane, my lads, as sure as we’re at sea.”
He had hardly spoken the words when the first mate gave an order, the boatswain’s whistle piped, and the men knew that their officers were of the same opinion as the old stagers among them. A storm was expected, and a bad one, in as bad a part of the world as could have been selected for the encounter.
But no uneasiness was felt, for the Chusan was a magnificent boat, with tackle of the finest description: all it would mean in such a boat so well commanded would be a tossing, with the decks drenched by the tumbling waves, for she was well commanded, the crew were in a capital state of discipline, as shown at once by the steady way in which they went to work fulfilling the orders received, battening down hatches, extra lashing loose spare spars, seeing to the fastenings of the boats, and taking precautions against the water getting down into engine-room or cabin, so that in a very short time everything was, as a sailor would say, made snug, and there was nothing more that the most cautious captain could have wished to see done to ensure the safety of the magnificent vessel in his charge.
The passengers, who were still discussing the accident which had befallen the boy, and who had paid no heed to the peculiar look of the sky, the sea still heaving and sinking gently in an oily calm, now began to notice the work going on, and the rumour soon spread among them that there was the possibility of a storm coming on.
The result was that first one and then another began to hunt the captain to question him, but only to obtain short polite answers, that officer being too busy to gossip after the fashion wished. They fared worse with the chief and second officers, who were quite short; and then one of the most enterprising news-seekers on board captured old Bostock, literally button-holing him with the question:
“Do you think we are going to have a storm?”
“Don’t think about it, sir. We shall have a buster before we’re half an hour older. Going to blow great guns, so hold your hair on, sir. Can’t stop; going to hear how young Master Cranford’s going on, sir.”
“Only a moment, my good friend,” said the gossip. “Do you think there will be any danger?”
“Well, yes, sir,” said the old sailor, with his eyes twinkling, but his face as hard as if it had been cut out of wood; “this here is rather a bad place to be caught in a storm. You see, sir, the water’s rather deep.”
The captain had not been one-half so busy before during the voyage, and his eyes were everywhere, seeing that there was nothing left loose; but he found time twice over to go below to where Doctor Kingsmead was seated by his patient’s cot watching anxiously for every change, the poor lad evidently suffering keenly from the furnace-like heat.
“How is he, Kingsmead?” asked the captain, anxiously.
“Bad as he can be,” was the stern reply.
“But can’t you—Bah! absurd! you know your business better than I can tell you. Poor lad! How can I face his father when we get into port? It will be heart-breaking work. It is heart-breaking work, doctor, for the young dog seemed to have a way of getting round your heart, and I couldn’t feel this accident more keenly if he were my own son.”
“Nor
