His approach was announced by one of the scouts, upon which someone
suggested that we should let him enter, and then put him in the
stocks. But Long Ghost proposed better sport. What it was, we shall
presently see.
Very bland and amiable, Doctor Johnson advanced, and, resting his cane
on the stocks, glanced to right and left, as we lay before him.
"Well, my lads" - he began - "how do you find yourselves to-day?"
Looking very demure, the men made some rejoinder; and he went on.
"Those poor fellows I saw the other day - the sick, I mean - how are
they?" and he scrutinized the company. At last, he singled out one
who was assuming a most unearthly appearance, and remarked that he
looked as if he were extremely ill. "Yes," said the sailor dolefully,
"I'm afeard, doctor, I'll soon be losing the number of my mess!" (a
sea phrase, for departing this life) and he closed his eyes, and
moaned.
"What does he say?" said Johnson, turning round eagerly.
"Why," exclaimed Flash Jack, who volunteered as interpreter, "he
means he's going to croak" (die).
"Croak! and what does that mean, applied to a patient?"
"Oh! I understand," said he, when the word was explained; and he
stepped over the stocks, and felt the man's pulse.
