Australian Tales - Setis

cured by teetotalism, or any other sort of moral suasion, as you call it
— take my word for it. He is as incurable as a decayed tooth.”
“I am of a different opinion, captain,” I replied. “There is something
honest and good-natured in that poor fellow's face, now I look at him
calmly. I do not think he is so incorrigible as you imagine; and I believe
a few kind words would influence him, as I have known them to
influence scores of persons in his state.”
“Why don't you speak to him, then?” asked the captain.
“Your question has suggested itself to my mind several times, captain,”
I replied; “and I intend to speak to him the first favourable opportunity.”
* * * * *
One afternoon, Louis was sitting on the spars amid-ships, mending his
clothes; it being his “watch below;” so I sat down beside him, and
commenced a conversation on some subject, foreign to the one which I
intended to introduce. He replied to me in imperfect English (he was a
Swede), but in a respectful tone, which contrasted strongly with the wild
expression of his emaciated face. He evidently felt that I had a kind
motive in speaking to him, and in a short time he voluntarily gave me a
few shreds of his history, which were horribly interesting.
He had been educated for a chemist and druggist, but was wild, and
had run away to sea. He had passed through many dangers, peculiar to a
sea life, and had fallen into many disasters, owing to his fondness for
strong drink. On one occasion, he told me he woke up from the effects of
a debauch, and found himself in a ship bound for America; he had no
recollection how he got on board, but afterwards learned that he had been
smuggled on board, as a substitute for one of the crew, who had
deserted — but whose name he was obliged to take, as it stood on the
ship's articles. He said he had had delirium tremens, or horrors, several
times; and the last time he was in Sydney, as the vessel lay alongside a
wharf in Darling Harbour, “de teevil came on board, and roused him out
of his bunk, and chased him on shore.” He then went and lay down
beside a lime kiln in the vicinity of the wharf, when “de teevil came
again, and roused him out of that, and chased him up into George Street,”
where the constables caught him, as he was running and shouting
murder, and put him in the watch-house. “But I vos not drunk then, sir,”
he said, “I vos mad, that vos it. Oh! it vos terrible, terrible! My head vos
full of red-hot vorms; my blood was burning with blue fire and
brimstone; my heart vos boiling and bubbling like de pitch pot. I could
not sleep, I could not eat, I could not be quiet; I could only howl, and
shout, and vont to cut my throat; but I had got no razor, nor no knife, dat
vos a good job. Oh, my Got! vot I did suffer, I never can tell. I vould vish
to be in de Fijian oven; or I vould vish de alligators to eat me up