“‘We’ll be liftin’ anchor an’ gettin’ t’ sea, then,’ says I; for it made me shiver t’ hear the skipper talk that way.
“‘Docks, b‘y,’ says he, ‘we’ll be liftin’ anchor when we gets all the fish they is. Jagger,’ says he, ‘wants fish, an’ I’m the boy t’ get un. When the last one’s weighed an’ stowed, we’ll lift anchor an’ out; but not afore.’
“We was three days out from Poor Luck Harbour, tradin’ Kiddle Tickle, when Tommy Mib, the first hand, took a suddent chill. ‘Tommy, b‘y,’ says the cook, ‘you cotched cold stowin’ the jib in the squall day afore yesterday. I’ll be givin’ you a dose o’ pain-killer an’ pepper.’ So the cook give Tommy a wonderful dose o’ pain-killer an’ pepper an’ put un t’ bed. But ’twas not long afore Tommy had a pain in the back an’ a burnin’ headache. ‘Tommy, b‘y,’ says the cook, ‘you’ll be gettin’ the inflammation, I’m thinkin’. I’ll have t’ put a plaster o’ mustard an’ red pepper on your chest.’ So the cook put a wonderful large plaster o’ mustard an’ red pepper on poor Tommy’s chest, an’ told un t’ lie quiet. Then Tommy got wonderful sick—believe me, sir, wonderful sick! An’ the cook could do no more, good cook though he was.
“‘Tommy,’ says he, ‘you got something I don’t know nothin’ about.’
“’Twas about that time that we up with the anchor an’ run t’ Hollow Cove, where we heard they was a grand cotch o’ fish, all dry an’ waitin’ 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 shore 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!’