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So did the master and purser and Mr McGilpin, the assistant-surgeon; the latter saying that he had no stomach for consorting with "the meeletary," they being "a maist feckless set o' loons."
"I would rather not speak of it, doctor, if you'll excuse me." "Oh, I see, skylarking, eh? Well, well, you must go to bed at once, or you'll be in a high fever before sundown. Corporal Macan!" "Yis, sor." "Take this young gentleman to the sick bay and put him into a clean cot with plenty of blankets round him. By the way, too, corporal, ask Dr McGilpin to let you have a stiff glass of hot grog."
"Sure, sor, it's ownly a thrifle," he urged, when told by Mr Stormcock to go below to Mr McGilpin, who was busy in the after-cabin, attending to those of the wounded that the Chinese gunners, who aimed remarkably well, had not put altogether beyond the reach of surgical aid. "I wudn't throuble the docthor wid it; an' faix, I want to pay thim Chaynee images fur smashin' me crockery!
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