Chapter XXXI
The Major pays the only debt of consequence he ever did pay, and I find myself a man of property.
I hastened back to the Major, to examine his wound, and, with the assistance of Timothy, I stripped him sufficiently to ascertain that the ball had entered his hip, and probing the wound with my finger, it appeared that it had glanced off in the direction of the intestines; the suffusion of blood was very trifling, which alarmed me still more.
"Could you bear removal, Major, in the coach?"
"I cannot tell, but we must try; the sooner I am home the better, Japhet," replied he faintly.
With the assistance of Timothy, I put him into the hackney-coach, and we drove off, after I had taken off my hat and made my obeisance to Mr Osborn, an effort of politeness which I certainly should have neglected, had I not been reminded of it by my principal. We set off, and the Major bore his journey very well, making no complaint, but, on our arrival he fainted as we lifted him out. As soon as he was on the bed, I despatched Timothy for a surgeon. On his arrival he examined the wound, and shook his head. Taking me into the next room, he declared his opinion, that the ball had passed into the intestines, which were severed, and that there was no hope. I sat down and covered up my face—the tears rolled down and trickled through my fingers—it was the first heavy blow I had yet received. Without kindred or connections, I felt that I was about to lose one who was dear to me. To another, not in my situation, it might have only produced a temporary grief at the near loss of a friend; but to me, who was almost alone in the world, the loss was heavy in the extreme. Whom had I to fly to for solace?—there were Timothy and Fleta—one who performed the duty of a servant to me, and a child. I felt that they were not sufficient, and my heart was chilled.
The surgeon had, in the meantime, returned to the Major, and dressed the wound. The Major, who had recovered from his weakness, asked him his candid opinion. "We must hope for the best, sir," replied the surgeon.
"That is to say, there is no hope," replied the Major; "and I feel that you are right. How long do you think that I may live?"
"If the wound does not take a favourable turn, about forty-eight hours, sir," replied the surgeon; "but we must hope for a more fortunate issue."