“Have you got any medicine, Sam?” Sandy asked. “I mean, something to kill his pain a little.”
Sam shrugged. “Best thing that we can do is give him some rest and try to get that swelling down. He’ll need a doctor’s care when we get to port.” He paused as the James Kennedy began to heel over in a long roll. Everybody reached for support, and Sam grinned and added, “If we get to port.”
“We will,” the mate butted in. “Captain just called down to say the wind’s going down.”
“Py yiminy,” said the big Swede, beaming, “Ay tank Ay live long enough for farm, after all.”
Sam smiled fondly at Gunnar. “You big galoot,” he said, good-humoredly. “You can’t stand to be ashore two days without getting landsick.” He turned his gaze back to Jerry James. “You know,” he said, “I think I’ve got just the thing to take down that swelling some and ease the pain, too.”
“What’s that?” Sandy asked.
“Well, seeing as how you must have swallowed a couple of bucketfuls of it yourself not long ago, I’ll tell you. It’s lake water!” He leaned out into the passageway and called, “Hey, one of you lads, get up above and fetch us a bucket of lake water, hear?” Then he grinned, plainly enjoying himself. “All you have to do is stand on deck until the first wave comes along!”
In another five minutes, Jerry James had been carefully lifted into a sitting position by Gunnar and his sprained right foot had been thrust into a bucket of cold Lake Erie water. Jerry had winced at his first contact with it, but he soon grew accustomed to it. In half an hour more, the swelling had gone down considerably and Jerry was able to turn in with his ankle swathed in strips of sheeting soaked with water.
“Keep dousing it with water every hour or so,” Sam had suggested to Sandy.
Then Sam and Gunnar had trudged back to the barren mess hall to join the rest of the crewmen who squatted glumly against the bulkheads, munching the hard biscuits and cold water passed out to them by a Cookie who seemed to have lost his usual cheerful spirits.