Humours of Irish Life Part 47

"No," said the doctor, "I haven't and when you come to think of it, a sailor is more likely to be that, or a Swede, than any thing else. Can you speak it?"

"Not a word."

"Do you happen to have a dictionary, Norwegian or Swedish, in the house?"

"No."

"That's a pity. I'd have tried to work it up a little myself if you had."

"All I have," said the Colonel, "is a volume of Ibsen's plays."

"Give me that," said the Doctor, "and I'll do my best."

"It's only a translation."

"Never mind. I'll pick up something out of it that may be useful. I have two hours before me. Do you mind lending it to me?"

Dr. Whitty went home with a copy of a translation of "Rosmersholm,"

"Ghosts," and "An Enemy of Society."

At six o'clock the whole party of linguists a.s.sembled in the private sitting-room of the master of the workhouse. Dr. Whitty gave them a short address of an encouraging kind, pointing out that, in performing an act of charity they were making the best possible use of the education they had received. He then politely asked Mrs. Jackson if she would like to visit the foreigner first. She did not seem anxious to push herself forward. Her German, she confessed, was weak; and she hoped that if she was reserved until the last he might possibly recognise one of the other languages before her turn came. Everybody else, it turned out, felt very much as Mrs. Jackson did. In the end Dr. Whitty decided the order of precedence by drawing lots. The colonel, accepting loyally the decision of destiny, went first and returned with the news that the sailor showed no signs of being able to understand Russian. Lizzie Glynn went next, and was no more fortunate with her French.

"I'm not sure," she said, "did I speak it right. But, right or wrong, he didn't know a word I said to him."

Mr. Jackson arranged his notes carefully and was conducted by the doctor to the ward. He, too, returned without having made himself intelligible.

"I knew I should be no use," he said. "I expect modern Greek is quite different from the language I know."

Father Henaghan's Latin was a complete failure. He seemed irritated and reported very unfavourably of the intelligence of the patient.

"It's my belief," he said, "that the man's mind's gone. He must have got a crack on the head somehow, as well as breaking his leg, and had the sense knocked out of him. He looks to me like a man who'd understand well enough when you talked to him if he had his right mind."

This view of the sailor's condition made Mrs. Jackson nervous. She said she had no experience of lunatics, and disliked being brought into contact with them. She wanted to back out of her promise to ask the necessary question in German. In the end she consented to go, but only if her husband was allowed to accompany her. She was back again in five minutes, and said definitely that the man knew no German whatever.

"Now," said the colonel, "it's your turn, doctor. Go at him with your Norwegian."

"The fact is," said the doctor, "that, owing to the three plays you lent me being merely translations, I've only been able to get a hold of one Norwegian word. However, as it happens, it is an extremely useful word in this particular case. The Norwegian for a clergyman," he said, triumphantly, "is 'Pastor.' What's more, I've got a hold of the name of one of their clergy. If this man is a Norwegian, and has been in the habit of going to the theatre, I expect he'll know all about Pastor Manders."

"It's clever of you to have fished that out of the book I lent you,"

said the colonel. "But I don't quite see how it will help you to find out whether our friend with the broken leg is a Protestant or a Roman Catholic."

"It will help if it's worked properly, if it's worked the way I mean to work it, that is to say, if the man is a Norwegian, and I don't see what else he can be."

"He might be a Turk," said Father Henaghan.

"No he couldn't. I tried him with half a gla.s.s of whiskey this morn, and he simply lapped it up. If he had been a Turk the smell of it would have turned him sick. We may fairly a.s.sume that he is, as I say, a Norwegian, and if he is I'll get at him. I shall want you, Father Henaghan, and you, Mr. Jackson, to come with me."

"I've been twice already," said Mr. Jackson. "Do you really think it necessary for me----"

"I shan't ask you to speak another word of ancient Greek," said the doctor. "You needn't do anything except stand where I put you and look pleasant."

He took the priest and the rector, seizing each by the arm, and swept them with him along the corridor to the ward in which the injured sailor lay. He set them one on each side of the bed, and stood at the foot of it himself. The sailor stared first at the priest and next at the rector. Then he looked the doctor straight in the face and his left eyelid twitched slightly. Dr. Whitty felt almost certain that he winked; but there was clearly no reason why he should wink with any malicious intent, so he put the motion down to some nervous affection.

"Pastor," said the doctor, in a loud, clear tone, pointing to Father Henaghan.

The sailor looked vacantly at the priest.

"Pastor," said the doctor again, indicating Mr. Jackson, with his finger.

The sailor turned his face and looked at Mr. Jackson, but there was no sign of intelligence on his face.

"Take your choice," said the doctor; "you can have either one or the other. We don't want to influence you in the slightest, but you've got to profess a religion of some sort while you're here, and these clergymen represent the only two kinds we have. One or other of them you must choose, otherwise the unfortunate master of this workhouse will get into trouble for not registering you. Hang it all! I don't believe the fool knows a single word I'm saying to him."

Again, the man's eyelid, this time his right, eyelid, twitched.

"Don't do that," said the doctor; "it distracts your attention from what I'm saying. Listen to me now. Pastor Manders!" He pointed to the priest.

"Pastor Manders!" He indicated the rector.

Neither Father Henaghan nor Mr. Jackson had ever read "Ghosts," which was fortunate. If they had they might have resented the name which the doctor imposed on them. Apparently, the sailor did not know the play either. "Manders" seemed to mean no more to him than "Pastor" did.

"There's no use our standing here all evening," said Father Henaghan.

"You told me to look pleasant, and I have--I haven't looked so pleasant for a long time--but I don't see that any good is likely to come of it."

"Come on," said the doctor. "I've done my best, and I can do no more.

I'm inclined to think now that the man must be either a Laplander or an Esquimaux. He'd have understood me if he'd been a Dane, a Swede, a Norwegian, or even a Finn."

"I told you, as soon as ever I set eyes on him," said the priest, "that he was out of his mind. My own belief is, doctor, that if you give him some sort of a soothing draught, and get him back into his right senses, he'll turn out to be an Irishman. It's what he looks like."

Michael Geraghty, who had carted the injured sailor from the shipwreck, called on Dr. Whitty next day at breakfast-time.

"I hear," he said, "that you had half the town up yesterday trying could they get a word out of that fellow that's in the hospital with the broken leg."

"I had. We spoke to him in every language in Europe, and I'm bothered if I know what country he belongs to at all. There wasn't one of us he'd answer."

"Did you think of trying him with the Irish?"

"I did not. Where would be the good? If he could speak Irish he'd be sure to be able to speak English."

"Would you have any objection to my saying a few words to him, doctor?"

"Not the least in the world. If you've nothing particular to do, go up there and tell the master I sent you."

An hour later Michael Geraghty re-appeared at the doctor's door. He was grinning broadly and seemed pleased with himself.

"Well, Michael, did you make him speak?"

"I didn't like to say a word to you, doctor, till I made sure for fear of what I might be bringing some kind of trouble on the wrong man; but as soon as ever I seen that fellow put into my cart beyond at Carrigwee, I said to myself: 'You're mighty like poor Affy Hynes that's gone, only a bit older. I took another look at him as we were coming along the road, and, says I, 'If Affy Hynes is alive this minute you're him.

You'll recollect, doctor, that the poor fellow couldn't speak at the time, by reason of the cold that was on him and the broken leg and all the hardships he'd been through. Well, looking at him off and on, till I got to the workhouse I came to be pretty near certain that it was either Affy Hynes or a twin brother of his; and Mrs. Hynes, the mother, that's dead this ten years, never had but the one son."