"
Nothing that the Middle Ages ever devised could equal that suffering
seaman's unavoidable tortures during the next few days. He should have
been on a soft couch; he was on a malodorous plank. He should have been
still; he was only kept from rolling over and over by pads of old
netting stuffed under him on each side. Luxury was denied him; and the
necessities of life were scarce indeed.
Poor Frank! his sternly-tender surgeon did not desert him, and he was at
last sent away in his own smack. He lived to be an attendant in a
certain institution which I shall not yet name.
After much sleepless labour, which grew more and more intense as the
stragglers found their way up, Ferrier summarized his work and his
failures. He had treated frostbite--one case necessitating amputation;
he had cases of sea-ulcers; cracks in the hand. Stop! The outsider may
ask why a cracked hand should need to be treated by a skilled surgeon.
Well, it happens that the fishermen's cracked hands have gaps across the
inside bends of the fingers which reach the bone. The man goes to sleep
with hands clenched; as soon as he can open them the skin and flesh
part, and then you see bone and tendon laid bare for salt, or grit, or
any other irritant to act upon. I have seen good fellows drawing their
breath with sharp, whistling sounds of pain, as they worked at the net
with those gaping sores on their gnarled paws. One such crack would send
me demented, I know; but our men bear it all with rude philosophy.
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