"Well, it don't look like real life--that's all I can
say," returned Wicks.
"It's the way it was, though," argued Carthew.
"So it is; and what the better are we for that, if it
don't look so?" cried the captain, sounding unwonted
depths of art criticism. "Here! try and see if you can
tie this bandage; I'm bleeding like a pig."
As Carthew sought to adjust the handkerchief, his
patient seemed sunk in a deep muse, his eye veiled, his
mouth partly open. The job was yet scarce done when he
sprang to his feet.
"I have it," he broke out, and ran on deck. "Here,
boys!" he cried, "we didn't come here on the 11th; we
came in here on the evening of the 6th, and lay here
ever since becalmed. As soon as you've done with these
chests," he added, "you can turn to and roll out beef
and water-breakers; it'll look more shipshape--like as
if we were getting ready for the boat voyage."
And he was back again in a moment, cooking the new log.
Goddedaal's was then carefully destroyed, and a hunt
began for the ship's papers. Of all the agonies of
that breathless morning this was perhaps the most
poignant.
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