“An’ we was sort o’ wonderin’, wasn’t we, Skipper Tom,” another put in, “how much this doctor would be askin’ t’ go over an’ cure un?”
“Well, ay,” the skipper admitted, taking off his sou’wester to scratch his head, “we did kind o’ have that idea.”
“’Tis a wild night,” said I: in my heart doubting—and that with shame—that the doctor would venture out upon the open sea in a gale of wind.
“’Tis not very civil,” said the skipper frankly. “I’m free t’ say,” in a drawl, “that ’tis—well—rather—dirty.”
“An’ he isn’t got used t’ sailin’ yet. But——”
“No?” in mild wonder. “Isn’t he, now? Well, we got a stout little skiff. Once she gets past the Thirty Devils, she’ll maybe make Wreck Cove, all right—if she’s handled proper. Oh, she’ll maybe make it if——”
“Davy!” my sister called from above. “Do you take the men through t’ the kitchen. I’ll rouse the doctor an’ send the maids down t’ make tea.”
“Well, now, thank you kindly, miss,” Skipper Tom called up to the landing. “That’s wonderful kind.”
It was a familiar story—told while the sleepy maids put the kettle on the fire and the fury of the gale increased. ’Twas the schooner Lucky Fisherman, thirty tons, Tom Lisson master, hailing from Burnt Harbour of the Newfoundland Green Bay, and fishing the Labrador at Wreck Cove, with a tidy catch in the hold and four traps in the water. There had been a fine run o’ fish o’ late; an’ Bill Sparks, the splitter—with a brood of ten children to grow fat or go hungry on the venture—labouring without sleep and by the light of a flaring torch, had stabbed his right hand with a fish bone. The old, old story—now so sadly threadbare to me—of ignorance and uncleanliness! The hand was swollen to a wonderful size and grown wonderful angry—the man gone mad of pain—the crew contemplating forcible amputation with an axe. Wonderful sad the mail-boat doctor wasn’t nowhere near! Wonderful sad if Bill Sparks must lose his hand! Bill Sparks was a wonderful clever hand with the splittin’-knife—able t’ split a wonderful sight o’ fish a minute. Wonderful sad if Bill Sparks’s family was to be throwed on the gov’ment all along o’ Bill losin’ his right hand! Wonderful sad if poor Bill Sparks———
The doctor entered at that moment. “Who is asking for me?” he demanded, sharply.