"And when the haul is over there is no bath, no change of clothes, no warmth for the men. They plunge into their reeking dog-hole of a cabin, and in their sodden clothes sleep until the next call sends them on deck with their clothes steaming. "But you see, sir," he continued, "we are beginning to send mission ships and hospital ships among the fleets, and the men do not have--when they break or fracture a limb, or in other ways injure themselves--to be tossed from ship to ship until, perhaps after three or four days, they come to a place where they can be attended to." "And are you improving these conditions in every way?" asked Ian. "Yes, indeed, very rapidly." "I should like to go with you." "No. You would soon be wretched. You could not bear to see the smacksmen at their work. It makes me shiver to think of it. Two days ago I attended to a man who had shattered three fingers and divided a tendon, and who was working out his time in pain that would have been unbearable to me or to you. Our hospital ships, when we have builded plenty of them, will alter such things. But, sir, if you do not want to die of heartache, keep out of the Deep-Sea Fishing Fleet. No weakling could stand it--he could not live a month in it." Ian, however, could not be discouraged. He remained anxious to see the fleet fisheries at close quarters, and when a boat, urged by four strong rowers, came that afternoon for the surgeon, Ian pleaded to accompany him. "I can help you, Doctor," he said. "I know a little about surgery." So Ian prevailed, and in a few minutes was with the surgeon on his way to the injured man. They found him lying in a lump on the deck, under his head a coil of ropes. The skipper stood at his side, making no pretense to hide his grief. "It's Adam Bork, Doctor," he said, "the best sailor in the fleet, _my old mate_. Doctor, do something for him." The Doctor looked at the man, then at the skipper. "There is not a hope," he answered. "He is dying now." The man heard and understood, he looked at the skipper and the skipper bent to his face. Something was asked, something was promised, and the two men, with one long farewell look, parted forever. The Doctor soon found other patients, and he told Ian to watch by the dying sailor and to give him spoonsful of cold water as long as he could take them. "Is that all that can be done?" inquired Ian. "I will ask him," and he said, "Adam, you are in mortal pain--the pains of death--shall I give you something to ease them?" "What can you give me?" "Laudanum." "No. I won't go to God drunk." "You are right, Bork. Good-bye."