dare say he was tired with his day's
work, and eminently comfortable at that moment; and the truth is, I did
not stop to consider his feelings, but told my story in a breath.

"Steward," said I, "there's a man lying bad with cramp, and I can't find
the doctor."

He turned upon me as pert as a sparrow, but with a black look that is
the prerogative of man; and taking his pipe out of his mouth--

"That's none of my business," said he. "I don't care."

I could have strangled the little ruffian where he sat. The thought of
his cabin civility and cabin tips filled me with indignation. I glanced
at O'Reilly; he was pale and quivering, and looked like assault and
battery, every inch of him. But we had a better card than violence.

"You will have to make it your business," said I, "for I am sent to you
by the officer on the bridge."

Blackwood was fairly tripped. He made no answer, but put out his pipe,
gave me one murderous look, and set off upon his errand strolling. From
that day forward, I should say, he improved to me in courtesy, as though
he had repented his evil speech and were anxious to leave a better
impression.

When we got on deck again, Jones was still beside the sick man; and two
or three late stragglers had gathered round and were offering
suggestions. One proposed to give the patient water, which was promptly
negatived. Another bade us hold him up; he himself prayed to be let lie;
but as it was at least as well to keep him off the streaming decks,
O'Reilly and I supported him between us. It was only by main force that
we did so, and neither an easy nor an agreeable duty; for he fought in
his paroxysms like a frightened child, and moaned miserably when he
resigned himself to our control.

"O let me lie!" he pleaded. "I'll no' get better anyway." And then with
a moan that went to my heart, "O why did I come upon this miserable
journey?"

I was reminded of the song which I had heard a little while before in
the close, tossing steerage: "O why left I my hame?"

Meantime Jones, relieved of his immediate charge, had gone off to the
galley, where we could see a light. There he found a belated cook
scouring pans by the radiance of two lanterns, and one of these he
sought to borrow. The scullion was backward. "Was it one of the crew?"
he asked. And when Jones, smitten with my theory, had assured him that
it was a fireman, he reluctantly left his scouring and came towards us
at an easy pace, with one of the l