“We must carry you to the doctor, for we don’t want to let you die, though you have no business to be here,” observed Sandy, with a look of commiseration. He afterwards remarked to me, “I did the same thing myself, and I couldna say anything hard to the puir laddie.”
The boatswain at once carried the young stranger up on deck. The captain had begun to rate him well for coming on board without leave, but seeing that he was ill fit to bear it, he told me to summon the doctor, who was below.
I called Andrew, who returned with me to the deck.
“What’s your name?” asked the captain, while Andrew was feeling his pulse.
“Ewen Muckilligan,” was the answer.
As I heard the name, I looked more particularly than before at the young stowaway’s features, and recognised an old schoolfellow and chum of mine. Both his parents being dead, he had been left under charge of some relatives who cared very little for him.
“He only requires some food to bring him round, but the sooner he has it the better,” observed Andrew.
With the captain’s permission, I got him placed in my berth, where, after swallowing a basin of broth, he fell asleep. By frequent repetition of the same remedy, he was able, after a couple of days, to stand on his feet, when the captain administered a severe lecture, telling him that he must send him back by the first vessel we might fall in with. Ewen, however, begged so hard to remain, that the captain promised to consider the matter.
“I may as well make a virtue of necessity, for we are not at all likely to fall in with any homeward-bound craft,” he afterwards observed to Andrew.
Hearing this, I told Ewen that he might make his mind easy, that if he had determined to be a sailor he had now an opportunity of learning his profession, though he would gain his experience in a very rough school.