This speech referred to one of the most desperate, hand-to-hand struggles, in which the two flag-officers had ever been engaged; and, as it afforded them the means of exhibiting their personal gallantry, when quite young men, both usually looked back upon the exploit with great self-complacency; Sir Gervaise, in particular, his friend having often declared since, that they ought to have been laid on the shelf for life, as a punishment for risking their men in so mad an enterprise, though it did prove to be brilliantly successful.
"That was an affair in which one might engage at twenty-two, Magrath," observed Bluewater; "but which he ought to hesitate about thinking of even, after thirty."
"I'd do it again, this blessed day, if you would give us a chance!" exclaimed Sir Gervaise, striking the back of one hand into the palm of the other, with a sudden energy, that showed how much he was excited by the mere recollection of the scene.
"That w'ud ye!—that w'ud ye!" said Magrath, growing more and more Scotch, as he warmed in the discourse; "ye'd board a mackerel-hoy, rather than not have an engagement. Ye'r a varra capital vice-admiral of the red, Sir Gervaise, but I'm judging ye'd mak' a varra indeeferent loblolly-boy."
"Bluewater, I shall be compelled to change ships with you, in order to get rid of the old stand-by's of the Plantagenets! They stick to me like leeches; and have got to be so familiar, that they criticise all my orders, and don't more than half obey them, in the bargain."
"No one will criticise your nautical commands, Sir Gervaise; though, in the way of the healing airt,—science, it should be called—ye're no mair to be trusted, than one of the young gentlemen. I'm told ye drew ye'r lancet on this poor gentleman, as ye'd draw ye'r sword on an enemy!"
"I did, indeed, sir; though Mr. Rotherham had rendered the application of the instrument unnecessary. Apoplexy is a rushing of the blood to the head; and by diminishing the quantity in the veins of the arms or temples, you lessen the pressure on the brain."
"Just layman's practice, sir—just layman's practice. Will ye tell me now if the patient's face was red or white? Every thing depends on that; which is the true diagnosis of the malady."
"Red, I think; was it not, Bluewater? Red, like old port, of which I fancy the poor man had more than his share."
"Weel, in that case, you were not so varra wrong; but, they tell me his countenance was pallid and death-like; in which case ye came near to committing murder. There is one principle that controls the diagnosis of all cases of apoplexy among ye'r true country gentlemen—and that is, that the system is reduced and enfeebled, by habitual devotion to the decanter. In such attacks ye canna' do warse, than to let blood. But, I'll no be hard upon you, Sir Gervaise; and so we'll drop the subject—though, truth to say, I do not admire your poaching on my manor. Sir Wycherly is materially better, and expresses, as well as a man who has not the use of his tongue, can express a thing, his besetting desire to make his last will and testament. In ordinary cases of apoplexia, it is good practice to oppose this craving; though, as it is my firm opinion that nothing can save the patient's life, I do not set myself against the measure, in this particular case. Thar' was a curious discussion at Edinbro', in my youth, gentlemen, on the question whether the considerations connected with the disposition of the property, or the considerations connected with the patient's health, ought to preponderate in the physician's mind, when it might be reasonably doubted whether the act of making a will, would or would not essentially affect the nervous system, and otherwise derange the functions of the body. A very pretty argument, in excellent Edinbro' Latin, was made on each side of the question. I think, on the whole, the physicos had the best o' it; for they could show a plausible present evil, as opposed to a possible remote good."