Part 14

_Vice-President._ Yes, Major, the Duke was our best friend; it was he who first raised the pay of the surgeons, and thus made the situation more worthy to be filled by men of education. Sir James M’Grigor, and Sir William Franklin, have completed what the Duke began, and now, thanks to those gentlemen, our department is not only happily organized, and its rank sustained, but we can furnish in the field, men of genuine professional education; not tyros of the pestle, but scientifically bred surgeons, who can whip off your legs while you’d be saying “Jack Robison.”--A glass of wine, Major.

_Major._ With great pleasure.

_Dr. Adipose._ Mr. Vice, I’ll taste that wild duck--hau--it looks well--and squeeze a lemon on it:--but first we’ll take a glass of wine--hau.

_Capt. Beamish._ I’m not so long as the Major in the service, by twenty years, and even in _my_ time the military surgeons were in general inferior to what they are now, both in education and respectability.

_Mr. Ward._ The peninsular war required a vast deal of surgeons, and therefore, a number of young unqualified men, of necessity were sent out to Portugal; but since that, Sir, this very Chatham hospital has been established; and it bids fair to become a school for military surgeons.

_Dr. Kyle._ By-the-by, it would not be a bad thing to follow Buonaparte’s plan of educating medical men for the army. The Parliament might vote money for worse purposes than promoting the health and comfort of the soldiers in providing a military-medical school.--This I really believe. Then, in case of necessity, we should not be forced to receive indifferently educated surgeons into the service.--Chatham would be the very place for it. We have already a splendid anatomical museum, a good library, and an extensive hospital. All wanting now, is permission to receive young men as pupils or cadets, who would be supported by government until fit to join the army:--Something like the Artillery-school at Woolwich. Then the well-qualified officers of the department, who are now receiving half-pay for nothing, might have here something to do in lecturing as professors.

_President._ Hoot! if ya’d apply to parelament for sic a thing, ya’d ha’ Masther Joey Hume at wark wi’ his hammer an’ tongs:--he’d cry oot “sae muckle for lodging--sae muckle for poorridge--an’ sae muckle for pooltices,” till he’d run up a bill for the hoose that wad beat the _Docthor’s Bill_ clane oot an’ oot.

_Dr. Kyle._ But Sir James and Mr. Hume are both Aberdeen men, are they not? There might be something done that way.

_President._ Nae, that wad do naething; Sir James has a lang heed o’ his ain, an’ if it war to be done at a’, he’d nae consult the calculator aboot it.

_Dr. Adipose._ Very true, Mr. President, hau--I’ll thank you for another custard, au--just to finish this apple-pie.

_President._ First we’ll take a drap o’ wine, Docthor; ya’r takin’ reed, so there’s the decanter.

_Major Oldfield._ I really think the plan is good; for this reason:--when men expend a considerable sum on medical education, they look to a return; and the success of private practice is far more tempting than the army-surgeon’s; therefore professional education might be provided for them at a moderate expense, and as a security, they might be bound to remain a certain number of years in the army.

_Capt. Beamish._ I remember a joke which passed current at the expense of the young surgeons when I was at Lisbon:--a ship was hailed, in passing up the Tagus, to learn what she had on board, and the Master answered “_horses and hospital mates, for the use of the army_.”

_Vice President._ Very true: there were many such jokes played off upon them; and this was owing, in a great measure, to the want of such an establishment as this at Chatham. Then, a set of young raw Scotch or Irish pupils would come up to London, pass their examinations, and be ordered forthwith out to Portugal. Unacquainted with military etiquette and the usages of officers, it is not to be wondered that they were in general laughed at. I myself have seen one of the medical juniors--then a dispenser of medicines, but now Apothecary to the Forces--dressed in a _brown_ ill-made _surtout_ coat, blue trowsers ending at the calf of the leg, pepper-and-salt coloured worsted stockings, and shoes; the whole surmounted by a cocked hat, and straight black feather: in one hand he carried his sword, and in the other an umbrella!

[_A laugh from all the mess, particularly convulsive in Dr. Adipose._

_President._ It’s vary deeferent noo; look at us a’ here fra’ top to bottom--there’s nae irreg’larity in oor appearance--nae gaudy gewgaws aboot us, but neat an’ military to a degree: oor uniform is noo blue an’ reed ye see--then it was reed an’ black. Here, when a young man joins us, he learns not only his duty, but the mode o’ appearing like a proper meelitary surgeon, an’ joins a regiment ready made, as it were: it was far deeferent during the peninsular war. I can assure ya gentlemen, the present Airmy Meedical Board deserve the highest praise--an’ something more substantial too, for the establishment o’ this valuable _heed-quarters_, I may call it, o’ the Meedical Department; an’, wi’ yir leave, I’ll noo drink their health in a bumper; [_all rise_] I’ll gi’ ya, gentlemen, Sir James M’Grigor, an’ Sir William Franklin, the regenerators o’ the Meedical Department.

[_drunk with three times three._

_Assist. Staff Surg. Leech._ The only thing I see unpleasant in our situation, is that we are not promoted fast enough.

[_a laugh._

_President._ There is something in that: Misther Leech there, has been in the sarvice--hoo long noo, Leech?

_Assist. Surg. Leech._ About eight years on active service abroad, and nearly eight more on half-pay.

_President._ Ha! that’s a long time. I remember when I enthered the sarvice, an assistant-surgeon seldom remained withoot promotion for mere nor three years, and some got it in as many months. But this can hardly be helped noo, fra’ the encreased numbers. Hooever, it wad be an improvement in the Department, if the juniors were mere quickly promoted; and also a greater number o’ gude places for the seniors to look up to.

_Dr. Adipose._ Right, Mr. President, hau--take care of the seniors.--I’ll thank you for the nuts.

[_a laugh._

_Vice President._ There are not enough of high places certainly. The situation of Inspector of Hospitals, is all that the surgeon can fairly look to; and of these there are not many. Now what is that worth?--about 700_l._ a year. This, mind you, is the _utmost_ a man can look to, unless it be the directorship of the Department; and that is but _one_ place of worth--all this after twenty or thirty years of troublesome service:--there lies the disadvantages of the profession. If a surgeon be but commonly attentive, and fairly qualified, he will soon be worth more than twice seven hundred a year in civil practice: nay, an apothecary, who sticks up a blue bottle at the corner of a narrow lane in London, will soon make as good an income as the Inspector of Hospitals.

_President._ True enough: there ought to be at least half a doozen gude births, o’ a thoosand a year, by way o’ rewards for auld and meretorious meedical oofficers; an’ the young ones ought to run up a leettle faster. What d’ye think of the sinecures given to the Irish Medical Board:--the present Surgeon-general, an’ Physeecian-general, an’ several o’ the Inspecthors, enjoy their full pay an’ allooances, yet were never in the army at a.’ (_murmurs of disapprobation from all the Mess_) Yes, gentlemen, ’tis fac’ as deeth:--hey! I wish the Duke may just tak’ it into his head to examine it.

_Dr. Adipose._ Au--hau--that’s the man for cutting up the Doctors--hau--I’ll take the olives and that orange, Mr. Ward--hau--thank you.

_Dr. Kyle._ What our worthy President says is just. Those situations in Ireland were given to rich _civil_ practitioners--I believe by one of the Viceroys: now, really, if Viceroys choose to reward their medical friends with good incomes, they should not take the money out of the pockets of those officers who have been living like gipsies on the mountains--enduring every privation to watch over the lives of our gallant soldiers; or perhaps wasting their health and life in the pestilential air of tropical hospitals. There are but few good places in the Department, and surely they should not be given to wealthy practitioners, who do not belong to the army. Cheyne, Crampton, Peel--all worth at least two or three thousand a year each by their practice--take three of our best places from us; yet, until their present appointment, never had anything whatever to do with the army.

_Mr. Ward._ Yes; Crampton, I believe, was an hospital mate for five or six months; and, I remember, he did duty in the camp which was on the Curragh of Kildare.

_Dr. Kyle._ Vast service, indeed! (_a laugh._)

_Dr. Adipose._ Gentlemen, I’ll give you a toast--hau:--I’ll give you--Mr. Abernethy and the digestive organs.

[_A roar of laughter follows the corpulent gentleman’s toast._

_President._ Why--Adipose--what the deel maks you toast the digeestive organs?

_Dr. Adipose._ Because they are our best friends--hau--and the particular supporters of our worthy brother Abernethy.

(_applause._)

_Major Oldfield._ Gentlemen, I’m sorry my health requires me to leave you. There was a time when I could drink with the best of you: but I am seventy-six years of age, and that I hope will be my excuse for quitting so early this pleasant mess-table. Allow me, before I go, to say that it gives me the greatest satisfaction to see the hospital staff thus consolidated: many attempts were made, during the long time I served in the army, to establish a regular mess in this department, but all failed. I give you joy, therefore, gentlemen, on the attainment of the object now: and I trust you will not receive it as flattery when an old officer tells you, that for forty years in the service, he never had the honour of dining at a mess where there was more military regularity and more enlightened members. Permit me now, Mr. President, to drink “Prosperity to the Medical Officers of the Army--the soldiers’ best friends in the day of sorrow.”[17]

(_great applause._)

The Major now departed--several of the members of the mess, who were on duty, also retired to the hospital, and the remainder sat in pleasant conversation until eleven o’clock, when they partook of deviled turkey, specially prepared by Doctor Adipose; and having washed it down with a few glasses of claret, broke up for the night.

NIGHTS IN THE GUARD-HOUSE.

No. VI.

“That’s the worst of the army,” said Private Andrews to Sergeant Dobson, as he rose to open the guard-house door--“that’s the worst of it: we are scarcely well acquainted with the inhabitants of a town in which we are quartered, when the route comes, and off we go; perhaps never to see again people that we would wish to spend our lives with.”

“Very true,” replied the Sergeant; “I have often felt that, and so have you; but I think there is something about our leaving Ballycraggen which touches your feelings, Andrews, a little more than the leaving of any former quarters in which I have seen you.”

“Why, to tell you the truth, I do not like to quit that poor girl, Sergeant; she is a good, kind-hearted creature,” returned Private Andrews, lifting the latch for the purpose of seeing who it was that engaged the sentry in conversation.

The door was opened, and in a few moments an aged man appeared at the threshold, exclaiming “Soldiers, I am glad to see you--blessings upon you! It is a cold and a bleak night: I have yet four miles to go: will you give me a seat at your fire? I am a man of threescore and twelve years of age, and before now my shoulder has borne a brown bess in the service.”

“Come in, come in, my old fellow!” was the answer from every man of the guard. The stranger’s venerable appearance was a _carte blanche_: he was not only admitted to the guard-house, but the old oak chair was resigned to him by honest Sergeant Dobson--no small compliment, considering the comfort and importance which it always afforded to the Sergeant of the Guard.

The old man who was thus simultaneously honoured, was that sort of personage which a romantic poet would think his fortune made in getting a sight of; and in describing him would immortalize himself,--provided he were a true poet: the white beard would demand a dozen stanzas:--the Ossianic vapour of the morn curling in the breeze--the snow upon the skirts of a towering mountain--the surf whitening the base of the cloud-capped sea-rock--these, and a thousand other comparisons, would be called in to paint it. The bald and expanded forehead would be likened to the most polished work of ivory-turners; the eye add a new star to the heavens; and the figure of the man be handed down to sculptors as a model for the venerable grandeur of humanity!

Now, as I am writing plain prose, I will say without metaphor, that he was a tall man of seventy-two years of age, with a long and silky white beard; a good-natured countenance, and as sound and healthy to all appearances as Corporal O’Callaghan; who, in point of age, might have been almost his grandson, and who took up his position beside him at the fire, the moment the old man sat down.

“What the divil makes you wear your beard?” said the Corporal; “couldn’t you borrow a razor anywhere once a week?”

“I have worn my beard,” replied the stranger, “for these many, many years. It is an old friend, and tells me a history. It was never cut since the mutiny of the Nore.”

“What! are you a sailor?” demanded the Sergeant.

“No, young man, I belonged to the Royal Marines.”

“O, by the powers! he’s one o’ the red boys afther all,” exclaimed the Corporal: “give us your fist.--God! you’re very cowld: will you take a--” here O’Callaghan whispered something to the stranger, and then went to a recess in the guard-room, where there was a bottle--in short, nothing that could be done by the guard to show their respect for the old soldier, was neglected: the consequence was, that he became very communicative, and related not only the history of the mutiny of the Nore, but gave them a description of his own adventures subsequent to that affair. There is no use in making a secret of the matter--a bottle of potyeen whisky was dispatched, and the party enjoyed themselves by the fire in listening to the veteran’s stories with the greatest attention for a couple of hours: during which time the rain pattered, and the wind blew, unheeded by the group. He told them he had enlisted when a boy, and had served as a marine in several engagements. He was entrapped into the mutiny of the Nore; but the only part which he took in the proceedings, was writing out in a fair hand several papers for the mutineers--and this he declared he did for no other purpose than to indulge his own vanity, in displaying his fine writing, upon which he had highly valued himself. He was tried after the surrender of the mutineers, and transported for life to Van Diemen’s Land. Amongst the stories with which he amused the guard, the most interesting was the following, in which he himself was a principal actor.

THE BUSH-RANGERS.

“I had not been more than two or three weeks in Hobart Town, when I was assigned as a crown servant to a worthy gentleman--Mr. Allen--with whom I lived, until it pleased God to call him away from this life: I served him faithfully, and he treated me more like a relation than a slave. He failed in business as a merchant a year before his death, and I believe it preyed upon his mind. He left scarcely any property behind him, but what there was, he willed to me:--seventeen pounds was all that remained after the whole of his things were sold by auction, and his funeral expenses paid. This sum fell to me. I was very happy while Mr. Allen lived; but after that, I began to think of obtaining my liberty, in order to return home to this country, for there was nobody I cared about in the colony. I was applied to by a Mr. M’Carthy, to undertake the overseeing of his land; and I accepted the offer. I had my choice of places; for old Jack Worral--that’s my name--was well respected by every free settler in the country. Shortly after my going to Mr. M’Carthy’s, the Bush-rangers became very troublesome: there was a gang of them--about seven-and-twenty--out in the woods and wild country; and they used to come down of a night and plunder the settlers of everything--neither cattle nor corn, nor house, was secure from their depredations. Mr. M’Carthy had a fine schooner lying in the Derwent, loaded with goods; he feared that the Bush-rangers would plunder her; for his neighbour, a Mr. Carlisle, had been recently robbed by them, and he, himself, had seen some of them shooting kangaroos on the banks of the river. He therefore mentioned to me, that he would like to form a party to go in pursuit of them. I volunteered to be one; for although then near sixty years of age, I could manage the best of them. Several of the neighbours instantly joined:--there were Mr. Triffit, and Murphy, and Jemmot, and Brown, and Carlisle, and Tooms, and Hacking, and O’Berne, the master of our schooner, the Geordy, and three or four sailors. Every man had a fowling-piece or a musket--some had also pistols, and swords, and bayonets. We started on the track of the Bush-rangers, just an hour before sunrise, of a beautiful twilight-night, in the latter end of spring: our direction was towards the centre of a space, between two high hills, which was about three miles away, and where there was an open valley on the banks of a small river: we used to call it the fairy’s valley, on account of the little patches of green pasturage which every where appeared through the thick and matted brushwood?]--for you know it is said, that these are the spots where the _good people_[18] dance of a moonlight night.

“We travelled on after our guide, who was a native that lived in the service of Mr. Carlisle, and who had been ill-treated by the Bush-rangers but a few days before, when they were plundering his master’s house: there was no road or path, as you might see in other countries--our way was over hills, and over craggs, and through jungles of brushwood, so that we were an hour and a half before we got into the opening of the valley. The sun was up and mists disappearing; the place as silent as the grave--nothing to be heard but whatever noise ourselves made. Mr. M’Carthy now proposed that we should lie down, under cover of an overhanging rock, in a sort of green cave, thatched, as it were, with briers, bushes, and flowers, of every description: he said we had better halt and send out one or two as scouts: this we did; and the guide, with Mr. Murphy himself, after having taken a little refreshment by way of breakfast, climbed up the side of a steep hill, through the bushes, in order to get a complete view of all round from the top. While they were away we examined all our arms, and took our breakfast of cold meat and a small allowance of grog, dealt out by Mr. M’Carthy--for he kept charge of the spirits himself, lest any one should take too much. In about a quarter of an hour after Mr. Murphy and the guide went out, we heard a shot which rattled and echoed three or four times across the valley: this, as we afterwards learned, was fired by one of the Bush-rangers at a bird, and in the sight of the guide, who now came creeping down the hill with Mr. Murphy, making signs for silence. Our scouts informed us that the Bush-rangers were within shot, roasting mutton under a hill; but that to come upon them without being observed, it would require us to return and advance by an opening on the other side of them--a rising ground that was clear under-foot, but covered with immense trees. We immediately proceeded one by one to the rear, and in about ten minutes were in view of the smoke from the Bush-rangers’ fires; and by stooping so as to screen ourselves from the possible view of the robbers, we were enabled to get within about a hundred yards of them. Mr. M’Carthy ordered us to lie down, which we did. We could hear the fellows through the bushes, cursing, swearing, and laughing; some were cooking pieces of mutton, others lolling on the grass, smoking and drinking: and a pretty, interesting-looking native girl, sat playing with the long and bushy black ringlets of a stout and wicked-looking man seated by her: he had pistols in his belt--wore a fustian jacket, a kangaroo-skin cap and waistcoat, with leather gaiters, and dirty velveteen breeches. I saw him as plainly as I see any one here; and what do you think? the fellow had two watches in his fob! This turned out, as I learned afterwards, to be Michael Howe, the second in command of the robbers: at that time Whitehead was the leader--a tall, ill-looking villain as ever you saw: _he_ was also there, asleep on the grass.

“We were now directed by Mr. M’Carthy to cock our pieces, and on a wave of his hand to rise and show ourselves, but not to fire until the word was given; and also, that if the Bush-rangers attempted to fire, to drop down so as to avoid the shot, and, if not possible to advance at once upon them, we were each to take a position behind a tree, and from thence fire upon the robbers: this was the plan of attack. Mr. M’Carthy now rose up, and with his piece at the ‘_ready_,’ cried out to Whitehead to surrender: the Bushmen were up in a moment, and behind a tremendous trunk of a hollow tree, through a hole in which we could see them. Whitehead replied to the summons very coolly; ‘I tell you what, M’Carthy,’ said he, ‘you will never be easy until I settle you: I spared your life last Thursday night; and if you want not to lose it, go home about your business.’

“Mr. M’Carthy now waved his hand, when we all stood up, and came to the present. Whitehead got behind the tree.

“‘Put down your guns,’ said he, ‘and I’ll speak to you.’

“Mr. M’Carthy ordered us to comply; we took them from our shoulders, but still held them with our fingers on the triggers.

“‘Now,’ said Whitehead, ‘let me advise you to leave us alone; we are well armed, and can beat you; but we don’t want blood: let us alone, I say, and go back to your homes. A man of us will not be taken alive.’

“‘If you surrender quietly, Whitehead,’ replied Mr. M’Carthy, ‘I can assure you pardon from the Government: you see my party is strong, so don’t force me to fire.’

“Michael Howe then roared out, ‘Slap at the beggars!’--a volley was fired at us through the hole in the tree; and which we returned. On looking round at our party, after I had fired, I saw Carlisle, Murphy, Jemmot, Triffet, and O’Berne, lying on the ground, but none of them quite dead.

“Whitehead now cried out to us, with an oath, to surrender; but we reloaded fast, and kept up such a hedge-firing, that one of the fellows dared not show himself, to present his piece. I called out to our party to take aim at every shot, and only two to fire at a time. Some of the sailors now led away four of our wounded party; but Mr. Murphy could not be stirred, he was shot through the belly, and remained: Mr. Carlisle died on our way home; and O’Berne, who was shot in the face, expired in four days after. We were obliged to retreat, firing as we went; but the Bushmen had no wish to follow us. The fact is, Mr. M’Carthy ought to have opened on them at first, without giving them a moment’s consideration, and then should have run right in upon the fellows.

[“To be sure,” replied Sergeant Dobson; “they should not have given them a moment.”

“Oh, faith! that’s where they put their foot in it, completely,” rejoined Corporal O’Callaghan, as he offered the horn cup to the old man. “Wet your whistle,” said he, “before you go any farther.”

This was done in due form, and the venerable soldier renewed his story with encreased energy and pleasure:--]