“What! you don’t mean to say you think I am going to die!” exclaimed Tom in an agitated voice.
“I tell you honestly, Tom, that you seem as bad as the two poor fellows who died last week,” said Humphry.
“Oh, you are croaking,” groaned Tom, though his voice faltered as he spoke.
After talking for some time longer without being able to move him, Humphry was compelled to go forward to attend to some of the other men.
In the first hammock he came to lay Ned Hadow, one of the oldest, and apparently one of the most ruffianly of the crew. He seemed, however, to be grateful to Humphry for his kindness; and he acknowledged that if it had not been for him, he should have been fathoms down in the deep before then.
“I hope, however, that you are getting better now,” said Humphry.
“Thanks to you, sir, I think I am,” answered Ned. “I don’t want to die, though I cannot say I have much to live for, nor has any one else aboard this ship, except to be abused and knocked about without any chance of gaining any good by the cruise.”
“Perhaps we may do better by and by,” observed Humphry.
“I have no hopes of that while such men as the captain and his mates have charge of the ship. Take my advice, Mr Gurton, if you have a chance, get out of her as fast as you can. You will thank me for warning you—it is the only way I have to show that I am grateful to you for your kindness.”
Hadow’s remarks made no deep impression upon Humphry, but he could not help occasionally recollecting them.