The Beothuk Expedition by Derek Yetman Page A

woman brought another cup of the hot, bitter drink and by early afternoon I thought that he’d improved half as much again. When I made ready to return to the shallop he was sleeping peacefully with a hint of colour to his cheek.
    The rain and wind had diminished over the course of the morning, which was an unwelcome change. Any improvement in the weather would mean our departure from Bonavista before Froggat was restored to health and duty. I hastened to the boat and was greeted by the sight of Grimes and Rundle seated on the stagehead in the drizzle. Their clothes were wet through and they were plainly miserable, and in passing I noticed some discoloration around the eye of the petty officer. On board I was saluted by Bolger and Frost, who were mending a sail beneath the canopy. Greening and Jenkins were splicing a rope nearby. Excepting the two men in the rain, everything seemed in order and the crew well occupied. I was tempted to ask the obvious question but I kept my silence, as was often the wisest course in these matters, and judged that the ill discipline of our new sailors might now be a thing of the past.
    â€œAnd how be the lad up yonder, sir?” Bolger asked as he laid his sewing aside.
    â€œImproving by the hour, I’m pleased to say.”
    â€œAye, and good news it is, sir,” the gunner said. “I minds him from the old Northumberland , right enough. A proper young spark, he were.” He took up his long-stemmed pipe and used the sail needle to stuff a piece of tobacco leaf into the bowl.
    â€œThe scurvy is it, Mister Squibb?” Frost asked. I nodded and he shook his head knowingly. “I were on the Audacious when it killed every second man and I were nearly one of ’em. All the old wounds I had come back on me like the day I fetched ’em. There was cuts from ten years afore that opened up and bled, fresh as could be. I even had a musket ball, what were given me by a French marine, work its way out o’ me lower back.”
    The boatswain shook his grizzled head while the younger sailors listened closely. “A terrible affliction is what it is, sir. Many’s the man been put over the side in less than a week. Yer Mister Froggat is a strong one to last this long.”
    â€œAye, that he be,” Bolger put in. “And he deserves a damned sight more than to be left to die in this stink of fish.” Here the gunner was beginning to tread soft ground. While he and Frost were accustomed to speaking plainly in my company, I wasn’t about to make the ordinary seamen privy to such frank sentiments.
    â€œThat is not for us to decide, Mister Bolger,” I said with a firmness that did not go unnoticed.
    â€œRight ye are, sir,” he mumbled. “I were only speaking in personal terms, like.”
    â€œFeel free to speak your mind when you are alone, Mister Bolger,” I said. “Which is to say, never while you are on a boat.”
    My words were directed as much to the hands as they were to the gunner. I glanced at Greening and Jenkins as they pretended to concentrate on their work, and only then did the peculiar nature of Bolger’s comment strike home. He could not have known what had passed between Lieutenant Cartwright and myself regarding the midshipman. Was he merely guessing or had something occurred in my absence?
    â€œI must ask, Mister Bolger,” I said, “why you should think that Mister Froggat would be left behind.”
    I could tell from the shift of his eyes that something had indeed happened while I was away. It was also plain, after my rebuke, that he was reluctant to speak of it openly.
    â€œPerhaps we might have a hand of whist in the cabin,” I said, “while Mister Frost summons those wretches out of the rain.”
    We ducked into the stern berth and sat facing each other in the cramped space. “Now then, what is this?” I demanded. “Has Lieutenant Cartwright been