Captain Canot by Brantz Mayer

The San Pablo might have been considered entitled to a "clean bill of health" by the time she reached the equator. The dead left space, food, and water for the living, and very little restraint was imposed on the squalid remnant. None were shackled after the outbreak of the fatal plague, so that in a short time the survivors began to fatten for the market to which they were hastening. But such was not the fate of our captain. The fever and delirium had long left him, yet a dysenteric tendency, -- the result of a former malady, -- suddenly supervened, and the worthy gentleman rapidly declined. His nerves gave way so thoroughly, that from fanciful weakness he lapsed into helpless hypochondria. One of his pet ideas was that a copious dose of calomel would ensure his restoration to perfect health. Unfortunately, however, during the prevalence of the plague, our medicine chest had one day been accidentally left exposed, and our mercury was abstracted.

Still there was no use to attempt calming him with the assurance that his _nostrum_ could not be had. The more we argued the impossibility of supplying him, the more was he urgent and imperative for the sanative mineral.