“You’re doing well, my friend,” he said to the fellow with the bandaged head, “and if ever any person had a close shave, it was you; your head must be as hard as iron. Well, George, how goes it? You’re a pretty color, certainly; why, your liver, man, is upside down. Did you take that medicine? Did he take that medicine, men?”

“Ay, ay, sir, he took it sure enough,” returned Morgan.

“Because, you see, since I am mutineers’ doctor, or prison doctor, as I prefer to call it,” says Doctor Livesey, in his pleasantest way, “I make it a point of honor not to lose a man for King George (God bless him!) and the gallows.”

The rogues looked at each other, but swallowed the home-thrust in silence.

“Dick don’t feel well, sir,” said one.

“Don’t he?” replied the doctor. “Well, step up here, Dick, and let me see your tongue. No, I should be surprised if he did; the man’s tongue is fit to frighten the French. Another fever.”