When I fell, he turned round and drew Cookee's fire on
himself. "Doctor, you have not prescribed for me yet."--"No, Caboose,
I have not; what is wrong?"--"Wrong, sir! why, I have lost my leg, and
the captain's clerk says I am not in the return!--Look here, sir, had
doctor Kelson not coopered me, where should I have been?--Why, doctor,
had I been looked after, amputation might have been unnecessary; a
_fish_ might have done, whereas I have had to be _spliced_." He was
here cut short by the voice of his mate, who had gone forward to slay
a pig for the gunroom mess. "Oh, Lad, oh!--Massa Caboose!--Dem dam
Yankee! De Purser killed, massa!--Dem shoot him troo de head!--Oh,
Oh, Lad!" Captain Deadeye had come on deck. "You, Johncrow, what _is_
wrong with you?"--"Why, de Purser killed, captain, dat all."--"Purser
killed?--Doctor, is Saveall hurt?" Treenail could stand it no longer.
"No, sir, no; it is one of the gunroom pigs that we shipped at
Halifax, three cruises ago; I am sure I don't know how he survived
one, but the seamen took a fancy to him, and nicknamed him the Purser.
You know, sir, they make pets of any thing, and every thing, at a
pinch!"
Here Johncrow drew the carcass from the hog-pen, and sure enough a
shot had cut the poor Purser's head nearly off. Blackee looked at him
with a most whimsical expression; they say no one can fathom a negro's
affection for a pig.
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