“Let me see—where did I leave off?” said Uncle Ben, as he again took his seat.
“You were just going away in the boat after the whale,” replied Flora.
“So I was. Well, we rowed close up to the whale, and sent one iron into him. Before we could strike him again, he turned upon us, and with one blow smashed our frail boat all to pieces.”
“Dear me!” exclaimed little Flora, with a shudder.
“Another boat from the ship picked us up. George was a good swimmer, but I saw that he was sinking this time, and I bore him up in my arms, till he was taken into the boat. I found that he was badly hurt, for his face was deadly pale, and he was so faint he could hardly speak. We had lost the whale; so we went back to the ship.
“I carried George in my arms to the deck, and then bore him to his bunk in the forecastle.
“That was a room to sleep in—wasn’t it?” asked Nellie.
“Yes, child, but it wasn’t any such place as your chamber. It was cold, dark, and damp. I laid the poor boy in his bunk, and tried to find out where he was hurt; but he was so weak he could tell me nothing.
“If he had been my own son, I could not have felt any worse. I could not help thinking of his poor mother, as I sat by the side of his bunk, watching over him. What would she have said if she could see her darling child, sick in that dirty, dark place? How she would have wept!
“I did not think poor George was very badly hurt; I did not want to think so, and I suppose this is the reason why I did not. The captain went down to see him, and then got some medicine for him.