When we sailed from San Francisco on the Snark I knew as much about sickness as the Admiral of the Swiss Navy knows about salt water.
And here, at the start, let me advise any one who meditates going to out-of-the-way tropic places.Go to a first-class druggist--the sort that have specialists on their salary list who know everything.
Talk the matter over with such an one.Note carefully all that he says.Have a list made of all that he recommends.Write out a cheque for the total cost, and tear it up.
I wish I had done the same.I should have been far wiser, I know now, if I had bought one of those ready-made, self-acting, fool-proof medicine chests such as are favoured by fourth-rate ship-masters.In such a chest each bottle has a number.On the inside of the lid is placed a simple table of directions: No.1, toothache; No.2, smallpox; No.3, stomachache; No.4, cholera; No.
5, rheumatism; and so on, through the list of human ills.And Imight have used it as did a certain venerable skipper, who, when No.
3 was empty, mixed a dose from No.1 and No.2, or, when No.7 was all gone, dosed his crew with 4 and 3 till 3 gave out, when he used 5 and 2.
So far, with the exception of corrosive sublimate (which was recommended as an antiseptic in surgical operations, and which Ihave not yet used for that purpose), my medicine-chest has been useless.It has been worse than useless, for it has occupied much space which I could have used to advantage.
With my surgical instruments it is different.While I have not yet had serious use for them, I do not regret the space they occupy.
The thought of them makes me feel good.They are so much life insurance, only, fairer than that last grim game, one is not supposed to die in order to win.Of course, I don't know how to use them, and what I don't know about surgery would set up a dozen quacks in prosperous practice.But needs must when the devil drives, and we of the Snark have no warning when the devil may take it into his head to drive, ay, even a thousand miles from land and twenty days from the nearest port.
I did not know anything about dentistry, but a friend fitted me out with forceps and similar weapons, and in Honolulu I picked up a book upon teeth.Also, in that sub-tropical city I managed to get hold of a skull, from which I extracted the teeth swiftly and painlessly.
Thus equipped, I was ready, though not exactly eager, to tackle any tooth that get in my way.It was in Nuku-hiva, in the Marquesas, that my first case presented itself in the shape of a little, old Chinese.The first thing I did was to got the buck fever, and Ileave it to any fair-minded person if buck fever, with its attendant heart-palpitations and arm-tremblings, is the right condition for a man to be in who is endeavouring to pose as an old hand at the business.I did not fool the aged Chinaman.He was as frightened as I and a bit more shaky.I almost forgot to be frightened in the fear that he would bolt.I swear, if he had tried to, that I would have tripped him up and sat on him until calmness and reason returned.
I wanted that tooth.Also, Martin wanted a snap-shot of me getting it.Likewise Charmian got her camera.Then the procession started.
We were stopping at what had been the club-house when Stevenson was in the Marquesas on the Casco.On the veranda, where he had passed so many pleasant hours, the light was not good--for snapshots, Imean.I led on into the garden, a chair in one hand, the other hand filled with forceps of various sorts, my knees knocking together disgracefully.The poor old Chinaman came second, and he was shaking, too.Charmian and Martin brought up the rear, armed with kodaks.We dived under the avocado trees, threaded our way through the cocoanut palms, and came on a spot that satisfied Martin's photographic eye.
I looked at the tooth, and then discovered that I could not remember anything about the teeth I had pulled from the skull five months previously.Did it have one prong? two prongs? or three prongs?
What was left of the part that showed appeared very crumbly, and Iknew that I should have take hold of the tooth deep down in the gum.
It was very necessary that I should know how many prongs that tooth had.Back to the house I went for the book on teeth.The poor old victim looked like photographs I had seen of fellow-countrymen of his, criminals, on their knees, waiting the stroke of the beheading sword.
"Don't let him get away," I cautioned to Martin."I want that tooth.""I sure won't," he replied with enthusiasm, from behind his camera.
"I want that photograph."
For the first time I felt sorry for the Chinaman.Though the book did not tell me anything about pulling teeth, it was all right, for on one page I found drawings of all the teeth, including their prongs and how they were set in the jaw.Then came the pursuit of the forceps.I had seven pairs, but was in doubt as to which pair Ishould use.I did not want any mistake.As I turned the hardware over with rattle and clang, the poor victim began to lose his grip and to turn a greenish yellow around the gills.He complained about the sun, but that was necessary for the photograph, and he had to stand it.I fitted the forceps around the tooth, and the patient shivered and began to wilt.
"Ready?" I called to Martin.
"All ready," he answered.
I gave a pull.Ye gods! The tooth, was loose! Out it came on the instant.I was jubilant as I held it aloft in the forceps.
"Put it back, please, oh, put it back," Martin pleaded."You were too quick for me."And the poor old Chinaman sat there while I put the tooth back and pulled over.Martin snapped the camera.The deed was done.
Elation? Pride? No hunter was ever prouder of his first pronged buck than I was of that tree-pronged tooth.I did it! I did it!
With my of own hands and a pair of forceps I did it, to say nothing of the forgotten memories of the dead man's skull.
