The great
scholar's mind was almost paralyzed by the phenomena before him. Could
it be possible that, in wealthy, Christian England there ever was a
time when no man knew or cared about this saddening condition of
affairs? The light failed soon, and the boats durst not hang about after
the fleet began to sail; but, until the last minute, one long, slow,
drizzle of misery seemed to fall like a dreary litany on the surgeon's
nerves. The smashed fingers alone were painful to see, but there were
other accidents much worse. Every man in the fleet had been compelled to
fight desperately for life, and you cannot go through such a battle
without risks. There were no malingerers; the bald, brutal facts of
crushed bones, or flayed scalp, or broken leg, or poisoned hand were
there in evidence, and the men used no extra words after they had
modestly described the time and circumstances under which they met with
their trouble. Ferrier worked as long as he could, and then joined the
others at tea--that most pleasant of all meetings on the sombre North
Sea. The young man was glum in face, and he could not shake off his
abstraction. At last he burst out, in answer to Fullerton, "I feel like
a criminal. I haven't seen fifty per cent of the men who came, and I've
sent back at least half a dozen who have no more right to be working
than they have to be in penal servitude. It is ghastly, and yet what can
we do? I have no mawkish sentiment, but I could have cried over one
fellow.
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