"If you doubt me,
only ask Sir Sydney Smith; he'll talk to you about Acre for thirty-six
hours on a stretch, without taking breath; his cockswain at last got
so tired of it, that he nick-named him 'Long Acre.'"
The poor doctor did not come off scot free; the next day, he
discovered that the deck leaked over his cabin, and the water ran into
his bed. He began, with a hammer and some nails, to fasten up a piece
of painted canvas, by way of shelter. The captain heard the noise of
the hammer, and finding it was the doctor, desired him to desist. The
doctor replied, that he was only endeavouring to stop some leaks over
his bed: the captain said they should not be stopped; for that a bed
of leeks was a very good bed for a Welshman.
"There, Doctor; now we are quits: that's for your Dog Star. I suppose
you think nobody can make a pun or a pill, in the ship, but yourself?"
"If my pills were no better than your puns," muttered the doctor, "we
should all be in a bad way."
The captain then directed the carpenter not to allow any nails to the
doctor, or the use of any of his tools; he even told the poor surgeon
that he did not know how to make a pill, and that "he was as useless
as the Navy Board." He accused him of ignorance in other parts of his
profession; and, ordering all the sick men on deck, rope-ended them to
increase their circulation, and put a little life into them.
Many a poor sick creature have I seen receive a most unmerciful
beating.
Pages:
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328