The last days of our crossing were not as peaceful as
the mild climate and calm ocean had led us to hope. We were
not disturbed by the dangers of the deep, but by the presence
of a malignant fever that developed as we approached the West
Indies. Between the overcrowded decks the heat was unbearable;
the thermometer stayed at 36'C. Two sailors, several
passengers and, strangely, two blacks from the Guinean coast
and a mulatto child were attacked by an illness that
threatened to turn into an epidemic. The symptoms were not as
serious in all the sick; but some of them, even among the most
robust, became delirious on the second day and lost all body
strength. With that indifference which on passenger ships
affects everything that is not to do with the ship's movements
and speed, the captain did not for a moment think of applying
the simplest remedies. He did not fumigate. A phlegmatic and
ignorant Galician surgeon prescribed bleedings, attributing
the fever to what he called the heat and corruption of blood.
There was not an ounce of quinine on board and we, on
boarding, had forgotten to bring a supply, more concerned for
our instruments than for our health as we had not predicted
that a Spanish ship would be without this Peruvian bark
febrifuge. |