“Aw, women alive,” cried I, sinking back on the hay. “Haw, haw!”
The Interpreters.
From “The Adventures of Dr. Whitty.”
By George A. Birmingham.
At the end of January, after three weeks of violently stormy weather, the American barque, “Kentucky,” went ashore at Carrigwee, the headland which guards the northern end of Ballintra. She struck first on some rocks a mile from the shore, drifted over them and among them, and was washed up, frightfully shattered, on the mainland. The captain and the crew were saved, and made their way into the town of Ballintra. They were dispatched thence to Liverpool, all of them, except one sailor, a forecastle hand, whose right leg had been broken by a falling spar. This man was brought into Ballintra in a cart by Michael Geraghty, and taken to the workhouse hospital. He arrived in a state of complete collapse, and Dr. Whitty was sent for at once.
The sailor turned out to be a man of great strength and vigour. He recovered from the effects of the long exposure rapidly, had his leg set, and was made as comfortable as the combined efforts of the whole workhouse hospital staff could make him. Then it was noticed that he did not speak a word to anyone, and was apparently unable to understand a word that was said to him. The master of the workhouse, after a consultation with the matron and the nurse, came to the conclusion that he must be a foreigner. Dr. Whitty was sent for again and the fact reported to him.
“I was thinking,” said the master, “that you might be able to speak to him, doctor, so as he’d be able to understand what you said.”