“‘Sir, I fear there is no chance of saving your leg, and the amputation must be above the knee.’
“He said the operation could not be performed until the morning, and went back to the hospital.
“I passed a night of excruciating pain. My groans were faint, because my body was exhausted with the three hours’ stumbling about in the woods. Daylight was ushered in by a roar of cannon so loud, so continuous, that I hardly conceived the wars of all the earth could produce such a wild and illimitable din. Every shot seemed to shake the house with increasing violence, and poor Donna Pollonia rushed in crying:
“‘They are firing the town!’
“‘No, no,’ said I; ‘don’t be frightened. Why should they fire the town? Don’t you perceive that the firing is becoming more distant?’”
So the poor lady became less distraught, and watched by him with sympathizing sorrow. But at length, finding the day advancing, his pains unabating, and no signs of any medical help coming, he tore a leaf from his pocket-book, and with a pencil wrote a note to the chief surgeon, Mr. Higgins, saying that, as he had been informed no time was to be lost in the amputation, he was naturally anxious that his case should be attended to. The messenger returned, saying that the surgeon could not possibly leave the hospital. He sent a second note, and a third, and towards ten o’clock a.m. the harrassed surgeon made his appearance.
“Captain Boothby,” said he, “I am extremely sorry that I could not possibly come here before, still more sorry that I only come now to tell you I cannot serve you. There is but one case of instruments. This I cannot bring from the hospital while crowds of wounded, both officers and men, are pressing for assistance.”
“I did but wish to take my turn,” said the Captain.
“I hope,” he added, “that towards evening the crowd will decrease, and that I shall be able to bring Mr. Gunning with me to consult upon your case.”
“Will you examine my wound, sir,” said Boothby, “and tell me honestly whether you apprehend any danger from the delay?”