For the next four days putting it as a drowning man striving for his life like a true-hearted fellow it was like great foaming waves coming to wash over me, but the shore still in sight, and me trying hard to reach it.
And it was a grim, hard fight: a dozen times I could have given up, folded my arms, and said goodbye to the dear old watching face safe on shore; but a look at that always cheered me, and I fought on again and again, till at last the sea seemed to go down, and, in utter weariness, I turned on my back to float restfully with the tide bearing me shorewards, till I touched the sands, crept up them, and fell down worn out, to sleep in the warm sun safe!
Thats a curious way of putting it, you may say, but it seems natural to me to mix it up with the things of seagoing life, and the manner in which Ive seen so many fight hard for their lives. It was just like striving in the midst of a storm to me, and when at last I did fall into a deep sleep, I felt surprised like to find myself lying in my own bed, with Polly watching by me; and when I stretched out my hand, and took hers, she let loose what she had kept hidden from me before, and, falling on her knees by my bedside, she sobbed for very joy.
As much beef-tea and brandy as you can get him to take, the doctor says, that afternoon; and it wasnt long before I got from slops to solids, and then was sent, as I told you, into the country to get strong, while the doctor got no end of praise for the cure he had made.
I never said a word though, even to Polly, for he did his best; but I dont think any medicine would have cured me then.
I was saying a little while back that I pulled my wife regularly out of the hands of death, and of course that was when we were both quite young; though, for the matter of that, I dont feel much different, and cant well see the change. That was in one of the Cape steamers, when I first took to stoking. They were little ramshackle sort of boats in those days, and how it was more werent lost puzzles me. It was more due to the weather than the make or finding of the ships, I can tell you, that they used to steer their way safe to port; and yet the passengers, poor things, knowing no better, used to take passage, ay, and make a voyage too, from which they never got back.
Well, I was working on board a steamer as they used to call the Equator , heavy laden and with about twenty passengers on board. We started down Channel and away with all well, till we got right down off the west coast of Africa, when there came one of the heaviest storms I was ever in. Even for a well-found steamer, such as they can build to-day, it would have been a hard fight; but with our poor shaky wooden tub, it was a hopeless case from the first.
Our skipper made a brave fight of it, though, and tried hard to make for one of the ports; but, bless you! what can a man do when, after ten days knocking about,
feel that I was helpless; and getting the poor girl more into shelter, I took a bit of tobacco in a sort of stolid way, and sat down with a cork life-buoy over my arm, one which I had cut loose from where it had hung forgotten behind the wheel.
But I never used it, for the storm went down fast, and the steamer floated still, waterlogged, for three days, when we were picked up by a passing vessel, half-starved, but hoping. And during that time my companion had told me that she was the attendant of one of the lady passengers on board; and at last, when we parted at the Cape, she kissed my hand, and called me her hero, who had saved her life poor grimey me, you know!
We warnt long, though, before we met again, for somehow wed settled that wed write; and a twelvemonth after, Mary was back in England, and my wife. Thats why I said I took her like out of the hands of death, though in a selfish sort of way, being far, you know, from perfect. But what I say, speaking as Edward Brown, stoker, is this: Make a good fight of it, no matter how black things may look, and leave the rest to Him.
He nodded gravely at me, placed his bandaged hand in the sling I had contrived, and went away without another word.
Chapter Three. My Patient the Well-Sinker
It is a mercy you were not killed, I said.
Youre right, doctor, he replied, smiling. Two inches to the left, and the iron rim of the bucket would have broken my skull instead of my shoulder, eh? and then my boy could have carried on the business.
You take it very philosophically, I said.
To be sure, doctor. Why not? A man must die some time; and he may just as well die at work, as a miserable creature in bed. I expects to die by my business, straightforward and honourable. The pitcher that goes oftenest to the well is sure to be broken at last, he added, with a laugh. Im a pitcher always going to the well, and shall be broken at last.
Ive been a well-sinker ever since I was quite a lad; my father was a well-sinker afore me, and he got sent to sleep with the foul air at the bottom of a well, and never got waked again; and I, being the eldest of six, and only fourteen, had to set at it to keep the family, while fathers master, being a kind-hearted sort of man, took me on, and gave me as good wages as he could, for my father had been a sort of favourite of his, from being a first-class, steady workman. My grandfather was a well-sinker too, and he got buried alive, he did, poor old chap, through a fall of earth; while his father my great-grandfather, you know was knocked on the head by the sinkers bucket; for the rope broke when they were drawing it up full of earth, and it fell on the old gentleman, and ended him. I aint got killed yet, I aint; but my turnll come some day, I suppose, for its in our profession, you know. But then you must have water; and ours is a very valuable trade so what is to be will be, and whats the good of fretting? It dont do to be always fidgeting about danger in your way through life, but what we have to do is to go straight ahead, and do our duty, and trust to Providence for the rest.