“Does he not say what’s wrong with him?” asked the captain.
“No, sir; he don’t. He says it’s nothin’, and he’ll be all right if he’s only let alone. I did hear him once or twice muttering some-think about his wife and child; you know, sir, he’s got a young wife, and she had a baby about two months ’fore we came away, but I can’t think that’s got much to do with it, for I’ve got a wife myself, sir, and six children, two of ’em bein’ babies, and that don’t upset me, and Baker’s a much stronger man.”
“You are right, Mr Dicey, he is a much stronger man than you,” replied the captain, “and I doubt not that his strength will enable him to get over this without the aid of physic.”
“Very well, sir,” said Mr Dicey.
The second mate was a man whose countenance never showed any signs of emotion, no matter what he felt. He seldom laughed, or, if he did, his mouth remained almost motionless, and the sounds that came out were anything but cheerful. He had light grey eyes which always wore an expression of astonishment; but the expression was accidental; it indicated no feeling. He would have said, “Very well, sir,” if the captain had refused to give poor Baker food instead of physic.
“And hark’ee, Mr Dicey,” said the captain, “don’t let him be disturbed till he feels inclined to move.”
“Very well, sir,” replied the second mate, touching his cap as he turned away.
“So,” murmured the captain, as he gazed earnestly at the now distant shore, “I’m not the only one who carries a heavy heart to sea this day and leaves sorrowing hearts behind him.”
Note 1. This word is here spelled as pronounced. It is usually spelled Esquimaux.