‘They’ve a hundred new conthrivances,’ said Mr. Colhayne, ‘for doing that simple thing ye see there. They’ve pumps, and screws, and hydraulic devilments as much complicated as a watch that’s always getting out of order and going wrong; but with that ye’ll see what good ‘twill do him; he’ll he as lively as a lark in ten minutes.’
The prophecy was destined to a perfect fulfilment, for poor Santron, who lay motionless and unconscious up to that moment, suddenly gave signs of life by moving his features, and jerking his limbs to this side and that. The doctor’s self-satisfaction took the very proudest form. He expatiated on the grandeur of medical science, the wonderful advancement it was making, and the astonishing progress the curative art had made even within his own time. I must own that I should have lent a more implicit credence to this paean if I had not waited for the removal of the cupping-vessel, which, instead of blood, contained merely the charred ashes of the burnt tow, while the scalp beneath it presented a blackened, seared aspect, like burnt leather. Such was literally the effect of the operation; but as from that period the patient began steadily to improve, I must leave to more scientific inquirers the task of explaining through what agency, and on what principles.
Santron’s condition, although no longer dangerous, presented little hope of speedy recovery. His faculties were clouded and obscured, and the mere effort at recognition seemed to occasion him great subsequent disturbance. Colhayne, who, whatever may have been his scientific deficiencies, was good-nature and kindness itself, saw nothing for him but removal to Haslar, and we now only waited for the ship’s arrival at the Nore to obtain the order for his transmission.
If the Athol was a scene of the wildest confusion and uproar when we tripped our anchor, we had not been six hours at sea when all was a picture of order and propriety. The decks were cleared of every one not actually engaged in the ship’s working, or specially permitted to remain; ropes were coiled, boats hauled up, sails trimmed, hatches down, sentinels paced the deck in appointed places, and all was discipline and regularity. From the decorous silence that prevailed, none could have supposed so many hundred living beings were aboard, still less, that they were the same disorderly mob who sailed from the Mersey a few short hours before. From the surprise which all this caused me I was speedily aroused by an order more immediately interesting, being summoned on the poop-deck to attend the general muster. Up they came from holes and hatchways, a vast host, no longer brawling and insubordinate, but quiet, submissive, and civil. Such as were wounded had been placed under the doctor’s care, and all those now present were orderly and servicelike. With a very few exceptions they were all sailors, a few having already served in a king’s ship. The first lieutenant, who first inspected us, was a grim, greyheaded man past the prime of life, with features hardened by disappointment and long service, but who still retained an expression of kindliness and good-nature. His duty he despatched with all the speed of long habit—read the name, looked at the bearer of it, asked a few routine questions, and then cried ‘Stand by,’ even ere the answers were finished. When he came to me he said—
‘Abraham Hackett. Is that your name, lad?’
‘No, sir. I ‘m called Maurice Tiernay.’
‘Tiernay, Tiernay,’ said he a couple of times over. ‘No such name here.’
‘Where’s Tiernay’s name, Cottle?’ asked he of a subordinate behind him.
The fellow looked down the list—then at me—then at the list again—and then back to me, puzzled excessively by the difficulty, but not seeing how to explain it.
‘Perhaps I can set the matter right, sir,’ said I. ‘I came aboard along with a wounded countryman of mine—the young Frenchman who is now in the sick bay.’