Lascar

he had not long survived his return said his wife for the doings at sea in nineteen twenty five had broken him he had told her no more than he told the public but had left a long manuscript of technical matters as he said written in english evidently in order to guard her from the peril of casual perusal During a walk through a narrow lane near the Gothenburg dock, a bundle of papers falling from an attic window had knocked him down.

Two Lascar sailors at once helped him to his feet, but before the ambulance could reach him, he was dead.

Physicians found no adequate cause of the end.

and laid it to her trouble and to weaken constitution.

One.

The Lascar fellow, whom Geghan, the up-country doctor, had tended so assiduously, was lanky and long but otherwise not remarkable.

He had come hurtling into Geghan's little compound one afternoon with bloodshot eyes and intermittent yells, and then had fallen conveniently down the sawpit at the side of the veranda.

Geghan got him out and pinched him carefully all over to see where he was hurt.

When he pinched his knee, the Lascar shrieked.

"Ah," said Geghan.

"Tumi eke? Is it very bad?" He pinched the knee again, and this time the Lascar summoned strength to spit at him.

"I don't like the look of him at all," said the doctor to his man, Mohammed Ali.

One.

The Lascar fellow, whom Geghan, the up-country doctor, had tended so assiduously, was lanky and long, but otherwise not remarkable.

He had come hurtling into Geghan's little compound one afternoon with bloodshot eyes and intermittent yells, and then had fallen conveniently down the sawpit at the side of the veranda.

Geghan got him out and pinched him carefully all over to see where he was hurt.

When he pinched his knee, the Lascar shrieked.

Ah, said Geghan, Tameke, is it very bad? He pinched the knee again, and this time the Lascar summoned strength to spit at him.

I don't like the look of him at all, said the doctor to his man, Mohammed Ali.

That spitting was a bad symptom.

The country had no other name yet, and it was a curious scene.

It was a fur trading ship built by Chinese carpenters for an English captain who with his Lascar crew often sailed under the Portuguese flag.

It was built on a wild, lonely shore, uninhabited by white people, and launched under the surprised eyes of Yankees just out from Boston, and of Nootka Sound chiefs with all their red-painted followers.

And it had on board, as it dashed into the water, a Sandwich Island chief who was fond of travel and wanted to see the world.

During a walk through a narrow lane near the Gothenburg Rock, a bundle of papers falling from an attic window had knocked him down.

Two Lascar sailors at once helped him to his feet, but before the ambulance could reach him, he was dead.

Physicians found no adequate cause in the end and laid it to heart trouble and a weakened constitution.

I now felt gnawing at my vitals that dark terror which will never leave me till I too am at rest, accidentally or otherwise.

One.

The Lascar fellow, whom Geghan, the up-country doctor, had tended so assiduously, was lanky and long but otherwise not remarkable.

He had come hurtling into Geghan's little compound one afternoon with bloodshot eyes and intermittent yells, and then had fallen conveniently down the sawpit at the side of the veranda.

Geghan got him out and pinched him carefully all over to see where he was hurt.

When he pinched his knee, the Lascar shrieked.

Ah, said Geghan.

Tumieke.

Is it very bad? He pinched the knee again, and this time the Lascar summoned strength to spit at him.

The surty-man grinned.

The winch began again, and the voices that called, 'Lower away! Stop her!' were as familiar as the friendly whiff from the Lascar's galley or the slap of bare feet along the deck.

But for the passage of a few impertinent years, I should have gone without hesitation to share their rice.

Serangs used to be very kind to little white children below the age of caste.

But it's absurd, I insisted.

The whole concern is out of date.

There's a notice on my deck forbidding smoking and the use of naked lights, and there's a Lascar messing about the hold-hatch outside my cabin with a candle in a lantern.

Meantime, our one-screw tub thumped gingerly towards Port Said.

So were many Chinese carpenters.

His crew were Lascars from the Asiatic coast.

Merez had a curious shipload with him.

They came to anchor in that same friendly cove in the sound where Captain Cook had found shelter ten years before.