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calm that prevailed was just the thing for the work of the _Sunbeam_.

Well aware of this, Manx Bradley and other like-minded skippers, kept
close to the mission ship, whose great blue flag was waving welcome to
all. Boats were soon pulling towards her, their crews being influenced
by a great variety of motives; and many men who, but for her presence,
would have been gambling or drinking, or oppressed with having nothing
to do, or whistling for a breeze, found an agreeable place of meeting on
her deck.

On this occasion a considerable number of men who had received slight
injuries from accidents came on board, so that Fred had to devote much
of his time to the medical part of his work, while Fink, his mate,
superintended the distribution of what may be styled worsted-works and
literature.

"Hallo, Jim Freeman!" said Fred, looking round from the medicine shelves
before which he stood searching for some drug; "you're the very man I
want to see. Want to tempt you away from Skipper Lockley, an' ship with
me in the _Sunbeam_."

"I'm not worth much for anybody just now," said Freeman, holding up his
right hand, which was bound in a bloody handkerchief. "See, I've got
what'll make me useless for weeks to come, I fear."

"Never fear, Jim," said Fred, examining the injured member, which was
severely bruised and lacerated. "How got ye that?"

"Carelessness, Fred. The old story--clapped my hand on the gunwale o'
the boat when we were alongside the carrier."

"I'd change with 'ee, Jim, if I could," growled Joe Stubley, one of the
group of invalids who filled the cabin at the time.

There was a general laugh, as much at Joe's lugubrious visage as at his
melancholy tone.

"Why, what's wrong with _you_, Stubs?" asked Fred.

"DT," remarked the skipper of the _Cormorant_, who could hardly speak
because of a bad cold, and who thus curtly referred to the drunkard's
complaint of _delirium tremens_.

"Nothin' o' the sort!" growled Joe. "I've not seed a _coper_ for a week
or two. Brandy's more in your way, Groggy Fox, than in mine. No, it's
mulligrumps o' some sort that's the matter wi' me."

"Indeed," said Fred, as he continued to dress the bruised hand. "What
does it feel like, Stubs?"

"Feel like?" exclaimed the unhappy man, in a tone that told of anguish,
"it feels like red-hot thunder rumblin' about inside o' me. Just as if
a great conger eel was wallopin' about an' a-dinin' off my witals."

"Horrible