Another, and what might have proved a far more serious matter, occurred. Tom Ringold was steering, when a sea striking the rudder with tremendous force knocked him over the wheel, carrying away several of the brass spokes as it flew round, and sent him against the bulwarks. For a moment everyone thought he was killed, but he picked himself up, and although he could not use his arm for two or three days, at the end of that time he was able to do his duty as well as ever.
That storm soon came to an end, but the old hands told us that we might look out for others, and so the captain seemed to think, for although he was anxious to get round Cape Horn we were always under snug canvas at night, and during the day a bright look-out was kept, lest one of those sudden squalls called Pamperos might come off the land and whip the masts out of the ship, or lay her on her beam-ends, as frequently happens when the hands are not ready to shorten sail. We, however, got to the southward of the Falkland Islands without accident.
My poor friend and messmate Esdale severely felt the cold which we now began to experience. He came on deck to attend to his duty, but a hacking cough and increasing weakness made him very unfit for it. The doctor at last insisted on his remaining below, although Esdale declared that he would rather be on deck and try to do his best.
“But I insist on your remaining in your bunk until we round Cape Horn and reach a warmer latitude,” said Dr Cockle. “I will see the captain, and tell him plainly that he will be answerable for your death, should he insist on your doing duty any longer.”
Esdale still pleaded, but the doctor was peremptory.
“It is his only chance,” he said to me; “I cannot promise that he will live. He will, however, certainly die if he is exposed to this biting wind and constant rain. I intend to tell the captain, but you, Trawl, go and stay with him whenever you can; it will cheer him up, poor fellow, to have someone to talk to, and that dull Horner cannot speak two words of sense.”
Before the doctor had time to do as he proposed, Captain Hawkins, missing Esdale from the deck, ordered me to tell him to come up.
This I determined not to do, for it was blowing hard at the time from the south-west and the wind would have chilled him through in a minute. I, however, went below, and after remaining a little time, I returned, and said—
“Esdale is very ill, sir, and is not fit to come on deck.”
“How do you know that, youngster?” asked the captain, in an angry tone.