I was carried into the cabin, and after a short delay conveyed in a carriage to the Infirmary or hospital.
When the carriage reached the gateway of the Infirmary, the bell was rung by the coachman, and the porter made his appearance.

He was a tall, hard-featured, sulky-looking man, about fifty years of age, called Thomas; and having held that office a number of years, he assumed as many airs, and pretended to as much surgical skill, as the professors.
"What's the matter now ?" inquired the porter, with a discontented growl.
"An accident," replied the coachman.

"This boy has broken his leg.

He is a sailor, belonging to an American ship." "Ah, ha! An American, is he ?" added Thomas, with a diabolical sneer.

"A Yankee Doodle! Never mind; we'll take care of him." I was lifted from the carriage and carried by the ship's armorer, very gently, into one of the rooms, the grim-looking porter leading the way.
I was placed in an arm chair, and, as the surgeon whose duty it was to attend to accidents on that day was not immediately forthcoming, the porter undertook to examine the fracture.