A Rash Experiment Page #4

"A Rash Experiment" by W. W. Jacobs is a short story that explores themes of curiosity, human folly, and the unpredictability of experimentation. The narrative follows a character who embarks on an ill-considered scientific endeavor, leading to humorous and unexpected consequences. Jacobs' trademark wit and keen observation of human nature are evident as the story unfolds, showcasing the complexities of ambition and the lessons learned from taking reckless risks. Through clever dialogue and engaging storytelling, Jacobs captivates readers with his blend of comedy and cautionary tale.

• Fiction

								


“So your wife said, but she wished me particularly to see the case,”
said Dr. Thompson. “It’s also my duty as the medical officer of the
port.”

“You’ve done it, George, you’ve done it,” moaned the panic-stricken
skipper reproachfully.

“Well, anybody can make a mistake,”, whispered the mate back; “an’ he
can’t touch us, as it ain’t small-pox. Let him come, and we’ll lay it
on to the cook. Say he made a mistake.”

“That’s the ticket,” said the skipper, and turned to assist the doctor
to the deck as the mate hurried below to persuade the indignant boy to
strip and go bed.

In the midst of a breathless silence the doctor examined the patient;
then, to the surprise of all, he turned to the crew and examined them
one after the other.

“How long has this boy been ill?” he demanded.

“About four days,” said the puzzled skipper.

“You see what comes of trying to hush this kind of thing up,” said the
doctor sternly. “You keep the patient down here instead of having him
taken away and the ship disinfected, and now all these other poor
fellows have got it.”

“What?” screamed the skipper, as the crew broke into profane
expressions of astonishment and self-pity. “Got what?”

“Why, the small-pox,” said the doctor. “Got it in its worst form too.
Suppressed. There’s not one of them got a mark on him. It’s all
inside.”

“Well, I’m damned,” said the skipper, as the crew groaned despairingly.

“What else did you expect?” inquired the doctor wrathfully. “Well, they
can’t be moved now; they must all go to bed, and you and the mate must
nurse them.”

“And s’pose we catch it?” said the mate feelingly.

“You must take your chance,” said the doctor; then he relented a
little. “I’ll try and send a couple of nurses down this afternoon,” he
added. “In the mean time you must do what you can for them.”

“Very good, sir,” said the skipper brokenly.

“All you can do at present,” said the doctor as he slowly mounted the
steps, “is to sponge them all over with cold water. Do it every
half-hour till the rash comes out.”

“Very good,” said the skipper again. “But you’ll hurry up with the
nurses, sir!”

He stood in a state of bewilderment until the doctor was out of sight,
and then, with a heavy sigh, took his coat off and set to work.

He and the mate, after warning off the men who had come down to work,
spent all the morning in sponging their crew, waiting with an
impatience born of fatigue for the rash to come out. This impatience
was shared by the crew, the state of mind of the cook after the fifth
sponging calling for severe rebuke on the part of the skipper.

“I wish the nurses ’ud come, George,” he said, as they sat on the deck
panting after their exertions; “this is a pretty mess if you like.”

“Seems like a judgment,” said the mate wearily.

“Hulloa, there,” came a voice from the quay.

Both men turned and looked up at the speaker.

“Hulloa,” said the skipper dully.

“What’s all this about small-pox?” demanded the newcomer abruptly.

The skipper waved his hand languidly towards the fo’c’sle.

“Five of ’em down with it,” he said quietly. “Are you another doctor,
sir?”

Without troubling to reply their visitor jumped on board and went
nimbly below, followed by the other two.

“Stand out of the light,” he said brusquely. “Now, my lads, let’s have
a look at you.”

He examined them in a state of bewilderment, grunting strangely as the
washed-out men submitted to his scrutiny.

“They’ve had the best of cold sponging,” said the skipper, not without
a little pride.

“Best of what?” demanded the other.

The skipper told him, drawing back indignantly as the doctor suddenly
sat down and burst into a hoarse roar of laughter. The unfeeling noise
grated harshly on the sensitive ears of the sick men, and Joe Burrows,
raising himself in his bunk, made a feeble attempt to hit him.

“You’ve been sold,” said the doctor, wiping his eyes.

“I don’t take your meaning,” said the skipper, with dignity.

“Somebody’s been having a joke with you,” said the doctor. “Get up, you
fools, you’ve got about as much small-pox as I have.”

“Do you mean to tell me——” began the skipper.

“Somebody’s been having a joke with you, I tell you,” repeated the
doctor, as the men, with sundry oaths, half of relief, half of dudgeon,
got out of bed and began groping for their clothes. “Who is it, do you
think?”

The skipper shook his head, and the mate, following his lead, in duty
bound, shook his; but a little while after, as they sat by the wheel
smoking and waiting for the men to return to work the cargo out, they
were more confidential. The skipper removed his pipe from his mouth,
and, having eyed the mate for some time in silence, jerked his thumb in
the direction of the railway station. The mate, with a woe-begone nod,
assented.
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