“Oh, doctor! doctor!” came feebly, from out of the darkness.
I turned away, to get a lighted lantern and speak to the two men on duty with me.
“It’s that bad soup they had to-day,” I growled; “I knew it wasn’t fit.”
“Shall I fetch the doctor?” said Fraser.
“Not yet,” I said. “He wouldn’t like to be roused out for nothing. I’ll go in and see.”
We warders were so strong, in the belief of our own power, that I thought nothing of going in there with my lantern amongst that crowd of half savage, half human beasts; and as the door was unlocked, I left my two fellow warders on guard and went right in, between the two rows of hammocks, towards where the moaning arose.
“Here, what’s the matter,” I said. “Who is it?”
I have a vivid recollection of the dim scene, as I asked that question. The darkness all around, save where the faint light of my lantern shone, showing the rows of hammocks hanging from the beams of the deck above, the fierce countenances gleaming out for a moment and the light flashing from their eyes, where all was silent—a peculiar hushed silence, I remember now, as a hoarse, rasping voice came from a few feet away from me.
“Oh! Mr. Rowan, sir, it’s me—Seventy, sir—Bird, sir—I’m dying, sir—poison, sir.”
“Here, let’s look at you,” I said. “Don’t make that row, man.”