looked as if he were extremely ill. "Yes," said the sailor dolefully,
"I'm afeard, doctor, I'll soon be losing the number of my mess!" (a
sea phrase, for departing this life) and he closed his eyes, and
moaned.

"What does he say?" said Johnson, turning round eagerly.

"Why," exclaimed Flash Jack, who volunteered as interpreter, "he
means he's going to croak" (die).

"Croak! and what does that mean, applied to a patient?"

"Oh! I understand," said he, when the word was explained; and he
stepped over the stocks, and felt the man's pulse.

"What's his name?" he asked, turning this time to old Navy Bob.

"We calls him Jingling Joe," replied that worthy.

"Well then, men, you must take good care of poor Joseph; and I will
send him a powder, which must be taken according to the directions.
Some of you know how to read, I presume?"

"That ere young cove does," replied Bob, pointing toward the place
where I lay, as if he were directing attention to a sail at sea.

After examining the rest--some of whom were really invalids, but
convalescent, and others only pretending to be labouring under divers
maladies, Johnson turned round, and addressed the party.